The Funeral

Always go to a funeral, whether the person was family, a friend or even an acquaintance. A funeral gives you a little glimpse of how well the person had lived.

This was a conversation I was having with dad when I was 15. Coach had passed away. And since I had never been to a funeral, I had a lot of questions.

When we arrived, there were a lot of people standing in small groups, the men were talking in hushed tones, the ladies were comforting coach’s wife and kids. A few people were preparing for the cremation. It felt like a scene from a movie, a bustle of activity and people moving around, while the main protagonist was lying there, centre stage – in a way taking in all the attention, one last time.

At the cremation, when the son lit the pyre, I was amazed by the insignificance of life – while this person was alive they would have fussed over him even if he mistakenly touched a hot pan and now they’re deliberately lighting his body on fire.

Over the years, while I attended more funerals, I noticed that they were all so predictable, people dressed in white, huddled in groups, speaking in hushed tones, everyone in a sombre mood, mourning the person’s death; with predictable conversations; I met him just the other day, he looked fine, I wonder what happened; she was so young, she has two kids, how will they cope; she was such a kind soul, that’s why god took her away so soon.

In all this murmur, I would notice the sorrow and pain in the eyes of the loved ones, because irrespective of how old the deceased was, how good a life they had lived, how well settled their kids were – they were gone, never to be replaced. Leaving being their loved ones, wishing they had a little more time, for one last conversation, one last hug, just to say, I love you.

It made me wonder if having all these people around in their biggest moment of grief, was calming or in fact distracting for the family.

Then Dad passed away. He was unwell for some time, but that did not lessen the pain. I felt vulnerable and did not want any one to see me, let alone see anyone myself.

Everyone from family, friends, acquaintances, the watchmen, the car wash guy, the paperwala had shown up at the funeral. They were huddled, talking in hushed tones; perhaps, discussing the predictable.

But when they came to pay their respects, in their silence, the folded hands, the teary eye, in every hug and every nervous smile, I noticed a reciprocation of the love and respect that Dad had given over the years.

It took me back to my conversation with Dad years ago – all these people were here today as a testament that Dad was a Good Man, who had lived a Good Life!

And as this brought me comfort, it helped lessen my pain and I finally understood!