A COMMON CALAMITY

I am shocked! I just don’t know how else to begin this article. Even after having written a tome of a book on it, I’m yet to understand the weird phenomenon of Death. After years, there has been yet another tragedy in our family. Not that after my Daddy died, there had been no deaths, but they were mostly the distant kinds of Aunties and Uncles. And even if some happened to be very close and dear to us, there was one common factor to them all. They had all belonged to the previous age bracket. This time however, it was the turn of the generationext- our generation! And maybe that is why it has me totally rattled.

My eldest brother in law Mr. Shabbir Siddiqui is no more. In a more florid way, he has what people term as ‘left for the heavenly abode’. The circumstances which led to his ultimate death is also a constant reminder of the fact that no matter how much we are prepared, human life is always so vulnerable. When my sister Naaz and her husband were posted in Kandla, a port in Gujarat, naturally there was apprehension in the family. In recent times, despite all rational thinking, Gujarat and Muslims somehow do not harmonize. But my brother-in-law would always extol the port that he was stationed in. Whenever he spoke of the place and its people, he assured us that the picture there was not all that oppressive as it was painted out to be. Moreover, he said, Death could strike in so many ways. How true his prophecy was!

The conditions that were directed to his end were simple yet strange. He was traveling in a train with my sister. He went to the toilet and succumbed- to what will always remain a mystery. Perhaps it was a heart attack, a diabetic attack, high blood pressure or just plain accident. The door had to be broken open to get him out. And to get immediate medical attention they had to take him out in the next station. That happened to be Baroda.

He was immediately rushed to the hospital. But it was too late. When we got the news of the disaster, our first reaction was naturally that at a time like this we should all be with our sister. She was all alone in a strange place, with a deceased companion- one with whom she had spent more than three decades of her life. But, since there were no direct flights to Baroda (two flights to change and then another nine hours journey to finally reach Kandla, where the burial was supposed to take place) every single sister was advised to be more practical than emotional. The men folk (all our husbands and brothers and whoever else was capable of handling emergencies and formalities) immediately rushed to the spot. The weird thing was that a death in the family is supposed to bring everyone together. But here we all were, so terribly strewn apart.

And to top it all, it was registered a case of accident. So naturally there had to be a post mortem. For the next twenty- four hours, phones had become the only constant link between all of us apart from a stark helplessness that permeated from within the static lines. It was also not possible to carry the body all the way, either to Bhubaneswar, where all of us could have somehow made it, or to his hometown. It was just not practical. So, even without wanting to, the no-nonsense, matter of fact decisions had to be adhered to. And finally, a dear member of our family had to be laid to rest in a totally alien place- nothing to do with his roots and his attachments.

Everyone was anxious about what was happening out there in Baroda. Everyone was worried how each would take the news. We were worried about our Mummy. What great a punishment for a bedridden mother than to see her daughter turn into a widow? The kids, some of whom are scattered all over the globe, were worried about us. Maybe they saw in this tragedy, a cue that all mothers and fathers are not immortal. And the feeling of maximum concern was naturally for my sister and her children. But she seemed to be made of much greater stuff than what we had given her credit for. Even the children took it surprisingly well. Perhaps they were all dazed. Perhaps they were all traumatized. Perhaps they were all stunned. Or perhaps, all tragedies automatically come coupled with courage. If not, the world would have long since crumbled.

It’s really surprising how the direction of a life can change its entire course with just one small breakdown. It’s really nauseating that even with all the cracks and fissures, the wheels of this earth still keep on rolling, as if nothing has happened. It is also astonishing that within a span of a mere twenty-four hours a life can be snuffed out, formalities taken care of and normal affairs simply forced to continue.

Earlier Baroda was a place I hated because when I had to accompany my husband for one of his orientation courses, I was subjected to some very distressing moments in my life. Something that I have never spoken about to anyone and most probably never will. And after this incident Baroda should automatically qualify as a name I should forever detest. Yet I cannot. For the fact that a few of the families settled there, regardless of caste and creed, went unconditionally out of their way to help some unknown souls who had landed out of nowhere. And also for the simple reason that something dear, which belongs to our entire family, now lies buried there! Death is so expected of everyone. Yet it always comes as a bombshell.

Nargis Natarajan.