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My new nomenclature for July is “Jalaye “ , something that burns. It appears in calendars exactly midway in a year , a month I wish would skip in my planner and jump straight to August. It is wet, hot and sultry especially after the rains. I try my best not to remember dates but my prescriptions demand that I make a mention of the same, so even if I try to skip them by evening the numbers dance around my head. The eyes brim , throat all catchy needing clearing especially during conversations with my mother who fears July as much.Well in July we have to live with the ghosts of the past. I remember my dad on his birthday and twenty days later I offer him Shraddhanjali ! And in between comes the D’ day of my long lost brother. Between us we have become adept now at avoiding each other on these specific dates citing different excuses trying to still massage our hearts burdened with old losses . We are always itching to ask the other “ Does it still hurt ? Is it any better now ?During these days the dams break and once the noisy turbulence gets replaced by a steady flow , a vacuum appears and in that vacuum lies peace .
I greet silence in her new placid avatar where she is far more appealing and approachable compared to before . Learning to appreciate “Silence “ and make friends with her requires some work inside because every question in your mind of yester years has multiple choice answers. And she keeps us guessing . It is only at Point C , you realize that all answers were correct because it was determined by the state of your mind and emotions at that time which got the best or worst out of you .
Yet we take great pleasure in repeating our stories to ourselves and to those who can bear to listen to us . I was no different . I have sat inconsolably in those moments seeking answers till I hit a high wall which echoed my own sobs , sometimes with my family which has shrunken to a phenomenal low and now it is just me and my mother with our processed grief which has made our lives bitter-sweet . Of all the losses one can face the loss of life is hardest to bear because it is a point of no return .Wealth can be replenished, health can be restored , broken things can be mended and relationships evolve or new ones appear but the dead simply disappear.
I plan to say good bye to grief because it is nearing its own expiry date. Still a newbie at the art of detachment I am learning to let go of the stories that haunt. Past never offers “Now” its rightful place and keeps future in waiting . Something like the flights on a single runway. Allow one aspect of your life to take off to allow the other to land . My grief track , side A will hopefully never be played again unless some unrelated events automatically trigger it . I do understand though that I don’t need to be carried away by the weighty issues of someone somewhere and we also have the “pause” and “fast forward “ functions. It is a choice.
Forewarned not to step outside on the solar eclipse day , I mocked at the prediction because science questions beliefs always . Amidst the “Mritunjaya Jaap” planned for protection of our family caught up in some difficult scenarios , Dad had volunteered to sit through the ceremony to be completed in a fixed time frame. A regular normal extra pious day . A faint temptation gets Dad to start drinking early on the 4’th day. He had alcohol-addiction and was a binge drinker. He knew it well and tried his best to stay away from that temptation . Alcohol free months alternating with alcohol flow months and it had been like that. A fantastic person with a heart of gold except for that one single trait which identified him as a “Drunkard “ and shunned by his own tribe .
Rare show downs blown out of proportion at familial events , the hangovers, the stupors followed by days full of guilt over his drunken behavior and the days he has no recollection off. He remained sulky and withdrawn ,post binging, his silence lasting days to weeks . We would find reasons to break the ice to restore normalcy in our lives , till it repeated itself.
Deaddiction attempts with medications, family discussions , friendly talks, counselling , hypnotherapy all was tried . He never liked to meet the Psychiatrist and he hated those sessions where he would be prodded. We had to request, persist and sometimes emotionally blackmail him into seeking help. He smiled less often , sulked for days , rather he smartly learnt to hide his bottles , drink less, smell better , spit his medications in the toilet closet . It was like more than him we were fighting a war against his addiction every day trying to control him. He would then attempt to harm himself , threatening to jump into a well, slashing wrists , breaking pots over his head , hitting himself , minor accidents , nasty falls and to top it all he owned an armed weapon. We hid it and he was furious at us. He never harmed anyone in the family or outside physically because he wasn’t a violent person. He was depression prone and my brother’s death six years ago in July only made it worse inside. His grief clutched him tighter than us as he did not learn to cope . He wanted company in late hours of friends and family listening to his songs ,stories and whatever he had on his mind and we had no patience because we hid behind our work and excuses which were mere distractions.
Years of addiction had dulled his power to think clearly,the challenges in life at that time with two long-drawn legal battles never seeming to end. The uglier one being of his own daughter’s divorce proceedings along with constant threats , and endless suggestions by well-meaning society. The battles in the courts are ugly , threaten mental peace , trip emotional resilience and social humiliation is a big part of it. The whispers , the phone calls, the innocent enquiries anything can be a potential trigger for a depressed person. Dad did his best to cope by drinking more till he passed out and those days we needed to tranquilize him .Mostly indoors yet the scenes did not escape the notice of his friendly escorts who brought him back safe, occasionally by relatives who happened to be visiting at times, patients at our premises and the neighbors. Once he almost stopped breathing and this experience was so traumatic for my mother who swore never to inject him with any drug. She did not want his blood on her hands. So I had to be brave and become the stern one. He knew that we knew the trick to salvage him every time . Fortunately related to two lovely doctors in his family who would fight tooth and nail and drag his six foot frame to hospital if the need be. He would not let go of his addiction and we would not let go of him because between those ugly days there were harmonious months of love , laughter and joy. He was cheerful, helpful, pleasant and so full of life. A heart that valued connects and was there for anyone who needed him, a superb human being undoubtedly.
This would just about be his mental frame and that particular July day was no different . A minor confrontation at home regarding the inappropriateness of his drinking at an auspicious occasion with my mother due for an important medical appointment , in laws in the house who were visiting , he failed himself again . He sensed the gloom which was to follow perhaps and he moved in for a kill ,to kill himself. A lethal insecticide brought fresh , gulped with a glass of water and he lay to rest on the mat . As a post graduate Chemistry lecturer he knew the chemical composition very well. He announced his departure. A hopeless rescue attempt with inability to secure a single IV line in his collapsing veins, a gastric lavage with my hand in his throat literally nothing seemed to be working that day. He blamed no one in those parting moments ,rather insisted on signing some blank papers to safeguard us . My mother sat bewildered , shocked and angry and I was furious as hell as I ran on a wild goose chase with his friends to rush him to the hospital as one last ditch sensible effort to save him .The doctors in emergency were thoroughly professional in getting a medical history from a suspicious medico attendant daughter trying to be safe at the medicolegal end. The typical medical questioning style as to what he drank ? Why did he do what he did ? Plus they needed to decide his antidote .
(I drank because I had too! I wanted to drink so I drank). I remember him clearly asking me if he will survive in that state of sinking consciousness .He had an inkling of doing something incredibly stupid but this time it was irreversible. He knew he hurt us tremendously with that last action of his when he saw me wailing. He was more used to wiping tears off my face , that day he could not raise his hand as his strength failed him .The poison spread fast in his body and I watched him unable to talk, gasp, thirsty and beckoning me to hold his hand. His monitor rhythm spelled doom and his ICU Doctor was kind enough to hand me his ABG report knowing my medical background. The pH value of 6.9 or 7 is incompatible with life , my brain fired and my heart was almost derooted with sheer pain and helplessness.
Oh God! Please no ! Spare him! Don’t do this ! Give him that last chance!
I promise he won’t drink again ! Please God! Pleeeeeese !
The pleading voices turned to sobs as I watched him beyond the glass walls while he sank further , his agitation getting replaced with calmness and then the heartbeat going flat. With the scene of CPR culminating “The End “ was declared as they covered his body and closed his eyelids. My dad took his own life and the cause of death was mentioned as Suicide. I could not speak to my mother to confirm his death . We understood by the tone of our voices .She was wise and prepared herself for widowhood. The house got arranged exactly like six years ago, ready to face another cycle of grief. The news of his death spread like wildfire since he was a well-known man in a small town . I don’t know what I felt inside but I swallowed a heavy cocktail of rage, guilt, shame, pain and loss together. I have called him a coward in my silent conversations with him and many more times later while I have tried to make peace with myself. His deal was to stay and live with us despite all problems he had promised.
He had a beautiful name “Digvijay” ….victorious in all directions in the conquest of the world yet he lost to himself. The direction with in .
The Solar Eclipse that day engulfed my life in another grief cycle for years. Painfully enough even the style of dying was unacceptable . Suicide ….no death note , no last wish , no hiding just a trail of heavy suspicion that tagged along wherever I went. I requested the Medical Superintendent of the hospital not to do an autopsy . What could they have found ? Can someone cry foul play over his life conditions ? Can the condition of organs reveal what insults they have been subjected to by self in one single lifetime ? No one can sample the brain for that one single last thought which can push a sane, composed human being to an act of self-destruction. The despair, the angst, the helplessness resides in the heart unable to express its heaviness and sorrow.
Death is gross and leaves the body cold and rigid and its appearance can be best described as only “ death like “.It leaves the grieving family members in a state of rigor mortis (rigidness) for years .
The police officials needed to be convinced too for they need to wrap up the case with no loose ends but I had nothing to hide or reveal . No sensible police official can question a tale of broken spirit. Case closed. I do not recall who all accompanied my dad’s body in his “Antim Yatra Vahan “ but I do remember the piercing gaze of hundreds of people who had gathered to be with us in that moment . Everybody had a question “ What happened ? “ and that was the toughest because I really had no explanation. Human behavior is complex and can be abnormal but why ask ? Why not understand ?
Yes , suicide is shocking and a rude end of life, unnatural mode of exit but is it also not the choice of an individual ? We have to respect that too ! We are okay accepting old age, accidents, disease , murder, rape as manners of dying ,why so many questions around suicide? Why the differentiation ? Why the curiosity ? Why the speculation ? Whose failure is it ?
I am sure my Dad’s story may have more hidden traumas in his psyche in his childhood or adulthood as I do not have that information . What drove him to that level of self -sabotage by drinking himself to death are some questions which have haunted me for years. Unfortunately these are the answers his family circle should provide me since they had the least acceptance of his death. This was ironically the same world who accepted him only in his sober moments, shunned him in his drunken state and ostracized him multiple times at their own convenience . It hurt him tremendously . As immediate family members we could have contributed to some of his misery in our own unaccepting ways but weren’t we dealing with mental and emotional abuse with his dysfunctional behavior for years. A state we could not discuss with anyone for social shame. Where was our iota of sympathy when his death was being discussed so openly . We all falter at places because we are human .
I have heard many accusations and queries in past from all corners neighborhood ,friends , acquaintances even his favorite shop keepers , some silent and some vocal . They must have done something ! No one can die just like that ! Was he sick ? He was talking to me yesterday only . Last week he was at a function . Bhai sahib was so nice and such a happy go lucky person! May be no one understood him ! How could they not know? They are doctors ! Did they not know his mental condition ? Did they take him to a psychiatrist? Did they seek medical advice? What will happen to his assets ? His son died sometime back . Now all the ladies can live happily etc.etc.
The dissection goes on for weeks and months as if it was their own . The whole world loves that one single sad person more than his immediate family . Some issues are never discussed or revealed for reasons of privacy and they need not be questioned . The sudden , catastrophic unexpected event is punishment enough for families to keep sinking in their own self speculation and guilt. They need to lick their wounds privately and they need to rest, cry and breathe. Can the world maintain its own sanity by not repeating the same story endlessly , digging, speculating , presuming and putting everybody in a quizzical box ?
I did lose my sanity ,sensitivity and peace in the post mortem by society which I never wanted in the first place. I became bitter , cynical and sarcastic and I cut off my relations completely with his clan. I just found solace in the company of those who would just let me cry and not ask anything.
He was not the strongest dad , but he was a fine one . I have managed to untie the knots of my own twisted relationship with him which oscillates between love and hate , guilt and shame. Only after my own pain settled over years , I could see him clearly for who he was, accepting his human fallacies and have come to an understanding that there are points in time when death is an easier option for someone.There are no scapegoats in reality. I did not let myself off the hook for years for not giving him that gastric lavage properly and not getting an IV line sooner. My sister who is no more alive lived with hers for years for offering him that last glass of water with which swallowed those pills. She was neither assertive , nor observant enough to gauge the last action of my father’s life .My mother who perhaps has had a far more deeper history with her husband has resolved it angrily, silently, boldly and sheepishly in all manners. Only I sense her pain that she has never spoken about to anyone , not even me . She has been taunted for being happier after he was gone. Just because she chose not to drown herself in self-pity and continued to lead life by being busier and graduated to learning banking, technology and buy vegetables which she never did as long as he lived does not mean she has it all sorted inside. Thankfully July rains disguise our tears and no one knows easily.
We never could trace that bottle filled with that evil liquid then , but it did reveal itself from its hiding place by falling from the bamboo chick blind right next to the Puja room . We were cleaning it up for Diwali two years later because we never bothered visiting that part of the house. As it shattered and broke spilling that evil golden colored liquid I too wanted a sip just to know what was that power in that substance that held him imprisoned for years when his own sense of belonging to the world could not.
