Lost a friend from childhood to cancer yesterday. Not that we were super close or anything, but he was someone who shared my childhood with. I cheered him on when he won medals, he clapped when I debated. Many years we weren't even in touch. Till Facebook and a subsequent school reunion brought us back together. With great news and bad. He was married to an awesome woman. He was getting treated for cancer. Stunned. I made all the right sounds and inside I was like, "what am I saying? what DO I say to someone who's telling me he has cancer - and with a smile!?" He went into remission for a while. Small sigh of relief. And then it came back. With a vengeance. Spread to his lungs first. Scrambled. HAD to do something. What? Got in touch with someone wonderful who does Reiki, very powerfully. Phew. At least we could do something. As his cancer spread, so did my involvement (from a distance) - Let's get him Reiki, which would - at the very least - ease his suffering. But my life continued. It didn't come to a standstill as his wife's or his parents' or his brother's. Then came the news that he was in hospital. Grim. I HAD to go see him. At least once. Turned out to be my first and last time to see him ravaged by the Big C.
I stood there at the gate of the cremation ground. Waiting for the hearse to bring that once happy, once smiling boy to the place where he would be Amit Khanna for the last time. Alone in a group of people, each fighting their grief in their own way. Someone stood a little distanced from others. Someone stood huddled, holding on to another for support. Someone stood quietly, listening. Someone chattered nineteen to the dozen. I stood there mindlessly, numbly, chanting a mantra that, ironically, was famed to hold the powers to prolong a sick person's life.
Came the hearse, everyone moved forward to follow it. I lagged behind. Someone called out tome urgently. I followed blindly. All this while quiet, composed. Then I got a glimpse of his blister-covering-bandaged head and I trembled. They called us to pay our last respects. I stood there watching people queue up. Some found their way to the family, hugging them, consoling them, condoling the loss. Some stood there, quiet. Some walked slowly, respecting the queue. Some cut the queue and kept standing there. Some fell back, some went more than twice. I dragged my feet - how could I face him even now? I couldn't do anything to save him...
The priest mumbled the mantras. His father and younger brother came with an earthen pot to fill it with water. Their composed faces pierced through my haze. Tears stung. The sight of uncle's hands balancing the pot containing water broke my composure - my archetype tells me no father should have to consign his young son to the flames. Yet, this...I felt hot tears coursing down cold cheeks.
They picked him up to take him to the pyre. Once again I fell behind. How do I face the stoic wife, younger than even I am? What do I say to her? Words are empty at this point. How do I watch someone I grew up with, burn to nothingness? Emotions are meaningless at this point. How do I console people who were closer to him than I ever was? Compassion is useless at this time.
Time arrogantly flies by and the flames of the pyre jump higher. Wails grow louder before dying down to soft sobs. I realize my chanting has stopped. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
I see Aatisha. Hug her and hear myself tell her how strong she is and that that's how she needs to continue being. Pointless, right now, isn't it?, my mind asks me. It is. And I shut up. I've promised to be more available to her than before.
Time to go home. Wish others goodbye. What a place to gather, I think. I'd have been happier without a re-union this way.
Silently I get into the car. Silently I ride back home. Silently I eat. Silently I go to bed. I wake up and I'm silent. For right now, any sound is jarring.
In silence I write this.
For all there is left for my friend, is silence.
