People fascinate me and the ones who read, all the more. It’s been a while we’ve been around one another but we started talking just a few days back. Looked a sleepy head every time he came in front of me but lit up bright when he smiled. When we first came to acquaint, he asked me what kind of books I like. ‘People! They should have people in them. That’s what I like.’ The first book he lend me, I got introduced to Paul Kalanithi who took me to another realm of being. It made me ponder what really matters in life. The profound reality of the frailty of our being struck me. With all our dreams and goals, each day pass as we tend to forget the truth of our nothingness. From sand we were formed and unto sand we return. The circumstances that break us and the relationships we endeavor, but is any matter or person really irreplaceable? I have been questioning if things that we strive are really worth it all. Every day begins with an unknown indefiniteness of not returning to the moment. Yet, we always live looking forward to the unknown tomorrow than to relish the now, the only promise we have the certainty to embrace.
A couple of pages were left of the book. His wife’s last few pages. It was painful. It was overwhelming, but at the same time light amidst the heaviness of heart. A bit relatable. My ammamma was a doctor and she had a long hospital journey at the end of her life and it had reached a time when they had to decide whether to take her off life support. I remember some elders around feeling awful that some were discussing such things in front of her aside her bed because she knew better than anybody the medical terms being the doctor herself. She passed away later then. That was the first real death of someone close. I remember being in school that day praying ammamma not die but when I came back that afternoon, she had already passed away. I never went to see her or her funeral. Ah! Those were the first memories that came to my mind while reading ‘When Breathe Becomes Air’.
On 22nd January, I wrote in my diary that after a long stretch, I finally talked to someone in town with whom it seemed easy to strike a chord and whose spirituality was uplifting. That evening I was telling him that probably he needs to do what his heart yearns and leave the city to return home. Later that day he told me he had just resigned his job that morning to return back. I was happy for him though at the same time thinking, ‘There goes away a source of my books and enlightenment’. The next day we met and I realized he is going away to a space I would probably never hear from him. On 23rd January, I wrote in my diary, ‘Really God, again? Is this for real that you want people I like to stay a minimum of a country away? Your possessiveness is nothing I really fancy now.’ As much as I was happy for him, my heart fell. As much as I wish we could have known each other earlier, I am glad we never did. These are the times I wish I was better at socializing. Better still, I am glad we were never friends before. Goodbyes are something I am still not accustomed to.
** For the dutiful son of Mahabharata that visited Dubai.
What's On My Mind 