Veena Vak

Purandara dasa is a great poet and devotee of vittala. His poems are in Kannada. The dasa litreture in Kannada is very important not only for the language used but for the reason it started. The dasa’s though mainly follower’s of Shri Madhwaachaarya, wrote poems on subjects including devotion, various avatara’s of Vishnu, philosophy as well as society and it’s conduct. The purpose of these songs were to teach the illiterate people about devotion and philosophy. They are also set to music and so people learnt it as songs. Purandara dasa is called the father of Carnatic music. He formulaised the initial lessons of Carnatic music and brought structure to the way it is taught. Most kannadigas would have heard ‘dasara pada’s’ ( pada meaning poem) at temples, movies and social gatherings. Like all kannadiga’s I too have learnt many dasara pada’s and appreciated their meaning. I have tried here to translate one of them to English. I liked the simplicity and the affection and devotion to ‘vittala’. Each dasa has his own favourite diety. Kanakadasa’s is kagnele’s( a place in Karnataka) aadikeshava, vaadiraajaru’s is hayavadana ( the horse head avatara of Vishnu) and Purandara dasa’s is Purandara ( a place in Karnataka ) vittala.

Naneke badavanu naneke paradeshi

Shrinidhe hari enage niniruva tanaka
Puttisida tai tande ishta mitranu nine
Asta bandhuvu sarva balaga nine
pettigeyolagina ashtabharana nine
Shrestha muruti Krishna niniruva tanaka naneke
Oda huttidava nine odalighakuva nine
Udalu hodiyalu vastra koduvavanu nine
madadi makkalanella kadehayisuva nine
Bidade salahuva odeya niniruva tanaka naneke
Vidye heluva nine buddhi kalisuva nine
Uddhara kartru mama svami nine
Muddu Siri Purandara Vittalaninnadi Mele
Biddu kondiruva enagyatara bhayavonaneke

Why should I think I am poor
Why should I think I am a destitute
Oh shrinidhe Hari as long as you are with me

You are the father and mother who gave birth to me
You are my best friend
You are also my family and extended family
You are also the precious jewels in my box
Oh great Lord Krishna as long as you are there
Why should I think I am poor
Why should I think I am a destitute
Oh shrinidhe Hari as long as you are with me

You are my sibiling
You are also who takes care of me
You are the one who gives clothes to wear and bedding to sleep
You are the one who makes sure my wife and children reach there goal
When I know you oh lord is continuously taking care of me
Why should I think I am poor
Why should I think I am a destitute
Oh shrinidhe Hari as long as you are with me

Your are the one who is educating me you are the one who chides me
You are ‘ uddhara karta mama’ oh lord
The most beautiful Purandara vittala I have fallen at your feet so what fears can bother me
Why should I think I am poor
Why should I think I am a destitute
Oh shrinidhe Hari as long as you are with me

Brings tears to my eyes whenever I sing the song. If you see Him in everything and are sure He is always there to take care of you why fear?

ಅಮೇರಿಕಾ ದೇಶದಲ್ಲಿ ಹೆಜ್ಜೆ ಇಟ್ಟಾಗಲೇ ನನಗೆ ಅನಿಸಿದ್ದು …. ಅಬ್ಬಾ ಇದು ಎಷ್ಟು ದೊಡ್ಡ ದೇಶ ಎಂದು. ಅಮೇರಿಕಾದಲ್ಲಿ ಎಲ್ಲವೂ ದೊಡ್ಡದು, ರಸ್ತೆಗಳು, ಅದರಮೇಲೆ ಚಲಿಸುವ ವಾಹನಗಳು, ಹೆಚ್ಚು ಕಮ್ಮಿ ಜನರು ( ಇದೂ ಒಂದು ಆಸಕ್ತಿಯುತವಾದ ವಿಷಯವೇ. ಎತ್ತರವಾಗಿ ಬ್ಲಾನ್ಡ್ ಬಣ್ಣದ ಕೂದಲಿದ್ದರೆ ಸ್ವಲ್ಪ ಜರ್ಮನ್ ಜೀನ್ ಇರಬಹುದು, ಇಟಾಲಿಯನ್ ಆಗಿದ್ರೆ ಕಪ್ಪು ಕೂದಲು ಸ್ವಲ್ಪ ಒತ್ತಿ ಒತ್ತಿ ಮಾತಾಡುತ್ತಾರೆ, ನಮ್ಮಂತೆ ಕುಳ್ಳಗಿದ್ದರೆ ಖಂಡಿತವಾಗಲೂ ಮೆಕ್ಸಿಕನ್ನರು …. ನಮ್ಮ ಭಾರತದಂತೆ ಅನೇಕತೆಯಲ್ಲಿ ಏಕತೆ )
ದೊಡ್ಡ ಗಾತ್ರ, ರೆಸ್ಟೋರೆಂಟ್ ಗಳಲ್ಲಿ ಕೊಡುವ ಊಟ ಕೂಡ ಜಾಸ್ತಿ.
ಇನ್ನೊಂದು ವಿಷಯ ತಕ್ಷಣ ಅರಿವಾಗುವುದೇನೆಂದರೆ ಇಲ್ಲಿ ಜನ ತುಂಬಾ ಕಡಿಮೆ. ರಸ್ತೆಯ ಇಕ್ಕೆಲ ಖಾಲಿ ಖಾಲಿ. ರಸ್ತೆಯ ಮೇಲೆ ವಾಹನಗಳೂ ಕಡಿಮೆ ( ಮುಖ್ಯ ರಸ್ತೆಗಳು ಊರಿನೊಳಗಡೆ ಇರುವಂಥವು, ಜಾಸ್ತಿ ಜನ ಇರುವ ಊರುಗಳು …. ನ್ಯೂ ಯಾರ್ಕ್ ನಗರ, ಸ್ಯಾನ್ ಫ್ರಾನ್ಸಿಸ್ಕೋ ನಗರಗಳು ಇಂಥ ಕಡೆ ನಮ್ಮ ಬೆಂಗಳೂರಿನಂತೆ ಟ್ರಾಫಿಕ್ ಹೆಚ್ಚು) ಮತ್ತೆ ಎಲ್ಲಾ ವಾಹನಗಳು ಶಿಸ್ತುಬದ್ಧವಾಗಿ ಅವಿರುವ ಲೇನ್ನಲ್ಲೆ ಚಲಿಸುತ್ತವೆ. ಲೇನ್ ಬದಲಾಯಿಸಲು ಸೂಚನೆ ಕೊಡಲೇ ಬೇಕು. ಕೊಟ್ಟರೂ ಕೊಡದಿದ್ದರೂ ಹಿಂದೆ ಇರುವವರು ಮುಂದೆ ನೋಡುತ್ತಲ್ಲೆ ಇರಬೇಕು …. ಲೇನ್ ಬದಲಾಗುವ ಸಮಯದಲ್ಲಿ ಅಪಘಾತವಾದರೆ … ಸೂಚನೆ ಕೊಟ್ಟಿದ್ದು ಕೊಡದಿದ್ದರ ಬಗ್ಗೆ ಯೋಚಿಸಿ ಫಲವೇನು. ಅದಕ್ಕೆ ವಾಹನ ಚಲಿಸಲು ಲೈಸನ್ಸ್ ಪಡೆಯುವಾಗಲೇ ಡಿಫೆನ್ಸಿವ್ ಡ್ರೈವಿಂಗ್ ಬಗ್ಗೆ ಪಾಠವಾಗಿರುತ್ತದೆ. ಒಮ್ಮೆ ಈಥರ ಅಪಘಾತವಾದರೆ ಎಷ್ಟೇ ಚಿಕ್ಕದಾಗಿರಲಿ, ವಾಹನದ ವಿಮೆಯ ಬೆಲೆ ಏರುತ್ತದೆ. ಪೊಲೀಸ್ಗೆ ಹೇಳಲೇ ಬೇಕಾಗುತ್ತದೆ …. ಇನ್ನು ವಾಹನದ ರಿಪೇರಿ ಖರ್ಚು. ಈ ಎಲ್ಲಾ ವಿಷಯಗಳಿಂದಾಗಿ ಇಲ್ಲಿ ವಾಹನ ಚಲಿಸುವಲ್ಲಿ 99% ಜನ ನಿಯಮಗಳನ್ನು ಪಾಲಿಸುತ್ತಾರೆ. ಬೆಂಗಳೂರಿನಲ್ಲೂ ಇದೆಯಲ್ಲಾ ನಿಯಮಗಳು ಎಂದು ನೀವು ಹೇಳಬಹುದು. ಇಲ್ಲಿ ನಿಯಮ ಪಾಲಿಸದಿದ್ದರೆ ಪೋಲೀಸಿನವನಿಗೆ ಲಂಚ ಕೊಡಲಾಗುವುದಿಲ್ಲ. ಪೋಲೀಸಿನವನು ರಸ್ತೆ ಬದಿಯ ಮರಗಿಡಗಳ ಮರೆಯಲ್ಲಿ ಕಾಯುತ್ತಾ ಕುಳಿತಿರುತ್ತಾನೆ, ತನ್ನ ಸ್ಪೀಡ್ ರೇಡಾರ್ ಒಡನೆ. ನೀವು ಸೂಚಿಸಿರುವ ಸ್ಪೀಡ್ ಕಿಂತ ಜಾಸ್ತಿ ವೇಗವಾಗಿ ಚಲಿಸಿದಲ್ಲಿ, ಆತ ನಿಮ್ಮ ಹಿಂಬಾಲಿಸುತ್ತಾನೆ. ಹಾಗೆ ಹಿಂಬಾಲಿಸಿದಾಗ ಏನು ಮಾಡಬೇಕೆನ್ನುವುದನ್ನು ಕೂಡ ಲೈಸನ್ಸ್ ಗಳಿಸುವ ಮುನ್ನದ ಪಾಠದಲ್ಲಿ ಹೇಳಿರುತ್ತಾರೆ. ಅದರಂತೆ ಪೊಲೀಸನು ತನ್ನ ಕಾರ್ ನಲ್ಲಿ ನಮ್ಮನ್ನು ಹಿಂಬಾಲಿಸಿದಾಗ, ನಮ್ಮ ಕಾರನ್ನು ರಸ್ತೆ ಬದಿಗೆ ( ಶೋಲ್ಡರ್) ನಿಲ್ಲಿಸಲೇ ಬೇಕು. ಆತನೂ ಸ್ವಲ್ಪ ದೂರದಲ್ಲಿ ನಿಲ್ಲುತ್ತಾನೆ. ಅವನಾಗಿ ನಮ್ಮ ಕಿಡಕಿಯ ಬಳಿಗೆ ಬರುವ ತನಕ ನಾವೂ ಗಾಡಿಯಿಂದ ಈಚೆ ಇಳಿಯಬಾರದು. ಆತ ಕೇಳಿದಾಗ ನಮ್ಮ ಲೈಸನ್ಸ್, ಇನ್ಶೂರೆನ್ಸ್ ಮತ್ತು ಕಾರ್ ರಿಜಿಸ್ಟ್ರೇಷನ್ ತೋರಬೇಕು. ಆಗ ಆತ ಎಲ್ಲವನ್ನೂ ಪರಿಶೀಲಿಸಿ ಒಮ್ಮೊಮ್ಮೆ ಹೊಸ ವಾಹನ ಚಾಲಕರಾಗಿದ್ದರೆ ಎಚ್ಚರಿಸಿ ಹೋರಡಲು ಹೇಳುತ್ತಾರೆ ಇಲ್ಲದಿದ್ದರೆ ಒಂದು ಟಿಕೆಟ್ ಬರೆದು ಕೊಡುತ್ತಾರೆ. ಅದನ್ನು ನಾವು ಕೋರ್ಟಿಗೆ ಹೋಗಿ ವಾದಿಸಬಹುದು ನಮಗೆ ನಾವು ತಪ್ಪು ಮಾಡಿಲ್ಲ ಎಂದು ನಂಬಿಕೆ ಇದ್ದರೆ. ಇಲ್ಲದಿದ್ದರೆ ಫೈನ್ ದುಡ್ಡನ್ನು ಕಟ್ಟಬೇಕು. ವಾದಮಾಡಲು ವಕೀಲರು ಬೇಕಿಲ್ಲ. ಕೋರ್ಟ್ ಕೂಡ ಹತ್ತಿರದ ಠಾಣೆಯ ಬಳಿಯೇ ಇರುತ್ತೆ. ಎಲ್ಲಾ ಸೇರಿ ಒಂದ್ ಎರಡು ತಿಂಗಳುಗಳಾಗಬಹುದು. ಎಲ್ಲದಕ್ಕೂ ಒಂದು ವ್ಯವಸ್ಥೆ, ಎಲ್ಲವೂ ವ್ಯವಸ್ಥಿತವಾಗಿದೆ. ಇದ್ದಕ್ಕಿದ್ದಂತೆ ಏನೂ ಏರುಪೇರಾಗದು.
ಆದರೆ ಇದೆ ಪೊಲೀಸರು ಆಫ್ರಿಕನ್ ಅಮೆರಿಕನ್ನರನ್ನು ಶಂಕಿಸುವುದು ಇದೆ. ಇತ್ತೀಚಿಗೆ ನಡೆದ ಹಲವಾರು ಘಟನೆಗಳನ್ನು ನೀವು ಯೌಟ್ಯೂಬ್ ನಲ್ಲಿ ನೋಡಿರಬಹುದು ಪತ್ರಿಕೆಗಳಲ್ಲಿ ಓದಿರಬಹುದು. ನಾನು ಕೇಳಿ ತಿಳಿದಿರುವಂತೆ ಅಮೆರಿಕಾದ ಅತಿ ಪೂರ್ವದ ರಾಜ್ಯಗಳು ಮತ್ತು ಅತಿ ಪಶ್ಚಿಮದ ರಾಜ್ಯಗಳು ಸ್ವಲ್ಪಮಟ್ಟಿಗೆ ಶಿಕಾಗೋ ಸುತ್ತ ಮುತ್ತ ಪ್ರದೇಶಗಳು ಇಲ್ಲಿ ರೇಸಿಯಲ್ discrimination ಅಷ್ಟಾಗಿ ಇಲ್ಲ. ನಾನು ನ್ಯೂಜೆರ್ಸಿ ಅಲ್ಲಿದ್ದ 17 ವರುಷ ಒಮ್ಮೆಯೂ ಈ ರೀತಿಯ ವರ್ತನೆ ಅನುಭವಿಸಿಲ್ಲ. ಆದರೆ ಅಮೆರಿಕಾದ ಮಧ್ಯ ಭಾಗದಲ್ಲಿ ಇದು ತುಂಬಾ ಇದೆ ಎಂದು ಹೇಳುತ್ತಾರೆ. ತಮ್ಮ ನಾಡಿನಿಂದ, ಬೇಸತ್ತು, ವಲಸೆ ಬಂದ ಜನತೆ ಕಟ್ಟಿದ ದೇಶವಿದು. ಬಹಳಷ್ಟು ಮಂದಿ ಕಷ್ಟಪಟ್ಟು ದುಡಿಯುತ್ತಾರೆ. ಆದ್ದರಿಂದ ದುಡಿಯುವವರನ್ನು ಗೌರವಿಸುತ್ತಾರೆ. ಆದರೆ ಈಗಿರುವ ಜನತೆ …. ಕಷ್ಟ ಪಡುವುದನ್ನು ಮರೆತಂತಿದೆ. ಆದರೂ ಪರಿಸ್ಥಿತಿ ಮೇರೇ ಮೀರಿಲ್ಲ ಇನ್ನೂ….
ಇನ್ನೊಂದು ಖೇದದ ವಿಷಯ ಯೂರೋಪಿಯನ್ನರು ಬರುವ ಮುನ್ನ ಇಲ್ಲಿ ಇದ್ದ ಜನಾಂಗದ್ದು. ನೇಟಿವ್ ಅಮೆರಿಕನ್ ಅಂತ ಕರಿಯಲ್ಪಡುವವರು. ಅವರ ಸಂಸ್ಕೃತಿ ಕೇವಲ ಬೆರಳೆಣಿಕೆಯಷ್ಟು ರೆಸೆರವಶನ್ ಜಾಗದಲ್ಲಿ ಉಳಿದಿದೆ. ಸಮಯ ಸಿಕ್ಕಾಗ ಈ ಎರಡೂ ಸಂಸ್ಕೃತಿಗಳು ಒಂದು ನಾಡಿನಲ್ಲಿ ಕಲೆತಾಗ ಆದ ಘಟನೆಗಳ ಬಗ್ಗೆ ಓದಿ. ಬಹಳ ಖೇದವಾಗುತ್ತೆ. ಪದೇ ಪದೇ ಪರದೇಶಿಗಳು ಆಳಿದ ನಮ್ಮ ಭಾರತದ ಸಂಸ್ಕೃತಿಗೆ ಈ ಗತಿ ಬರಲಿಲ್ಲವಲ್ಲ ಎಂದು ಸಮಾಧಾನವಾಗುತ್ತೆ. ಮತ್ತೆ ಹಾಗೇಕಾಯಿತು ಎಂಬ ಪ್ರಶ್ನೆಯೂ ಏಳುತ್ತೆ. ಉತ್ತರ ಇನ್ನೂ ಹುಡುಕುತ್ತಿದ್ದೇನೆ. ನಮ್ಮ ಸಂಸ್ಕೃತಿ ಅಮೆರಿಕನ್ನರಿಗಿಂತ ಹಳೆಯದಾಗಿರುವುದು ಕಾರಣವೇ?
ಇಂದಿಗೆ ಇಷ್ಟು ಸಾಕು … 😊

“Ammaa..” my daughter was calling me. From the sound of it I knew something was wrong. The word Amma ( meaning mom) can be said in different ways. A mother knows, just like I knew when my daughter was an infant and she would cry…. I would know whether it was for hunger, for feeling tired or just bored…. It took me sometime but I learnt it. Similarly now I knew.
I looked at the clock it was 7.05. My mind was calculating furiously…. If it was a small problem maybe I can fix it… if it is a bigger problem I have to do the it- is- not- the- end- of- the- world routine. Then I realized that the bus text hadn’t come yet…. So how much time do I have? Is there a mistake… last evening’s bus text was also late… maybe I should call Nagraj(The school bus in-charge) My chain of thought was interrupted as I felt my daughter’s arms hug me!! OMG it is a big problem …. Maybe I should just go with the it-is-not-the-end-of-world routine. I hugged her back waiting for her to say something.
Gone are the days when I would go ahead and tell her that I know what was going on in her mind. I have learnt that if I do that then the hands would go right back where they came from and my daughter would suddenly become this stranger. She would go away without saying a word and that hurts a lot more than when she answers back…. I think all moms understand this. I didn’t want her to go away to school with that look on her face. God knows that it is only fleeting… she will forget about the whole thing once she reaches school. But, something told me that this was serious.
Then she slowly told me ….” My hair…” . I was relieved it was not a forgotten homework, it was not about losing an important notebook … just before the exams and thank god it was not that she had an exam today and she hadn’t studied for it. I had to hold back a smile that was about break on my face. With all seriousness I asked “what about it?” Then I noticed her hair. It looked all clumped up… like how my hair used to be after my mom had put all that oil in it. Definitely it was not a big deal. I told her, “maybe we can comb it and put a hairpin… it will look neat”. She shook her head “why has my hair become like this? It used to be so soft?” My 15year old know- it-all, thinks that hair can actually change from one type to the other overnight? It is unbelievable.
Then I realized, however intelligent she maybe when it comes to various other things, she was still a 15 year old. For her, hair mattered a lot more than it did to me. “Okay, as soon as you come home today we will wash it again and make it better” I said hoping against hope that it would solve the problem and she would start stepping out of the house. She started wearing her shoes but didn’t look convinced. At that time her father came up and said “why is your hair like that, what if you get pulled up for hair not being combed properly?” My daughter gave me a pained look. My husband understands my daughter very well in certain matters… mostly academics and building her confidence, etc. But, hair was completely my domain. Really, what do fathers know about such things? I just gave him a don’t-say-a-word-more look and stepped out with her to the car. All through the ride to the bus stop I kept telling her stories about how people deal with embarrassment. At the bus stop she didn’t get down like she always does once she sees her friends. She asked to stay in the car till the bus came. I told her more stories to make her feel better.
Finally, I asked her what it would say about her if she stayed back home just because she had a bad hair day? That seemed to have had an effect as the next thing she said was” it became like this because of that shampoo you asked me to use” That made me feel better because my feisty daughter was back…. She hadn’t done anything for her hair to be like that, it was all Amma’s fault. I smiled inside. At the same time she saw the yellow bus in the rear view mirror and quickly got out of the car, pulling her bag up her shoulder…. Yelling I love you … she was gone. I was glad that my daughter did realize that there were more serious things to worry about than her hair…. Like missing the bus… OMG! that would be the worst.

The smell of the mangoes was just so heavenly. I never thought that I would ever smell them again. To tell the truth I had almost forgotten it. I had been away from the scene for almost 2 decades. The only reminder was whenever I obtained a single good mango in NJ, held it to my nose and took a whiff. It was so rare that it seemed strange…. It’s like some neuron in my brain would suddenly wake up to bring back all the memories of eating mangoes so long ago and would go back to sleep again. Now, I was walking in the madivala market along with a friend…. It is just the beginning of Mango season and it had already made its presence felt. The market which is colourful as is with all the veggies, green of the greens and various types of beans and squash, Red of the tomato, brown of the potato and ginger, purple of the onion and sweet potato, orange of the carrot and pumpkin and white of the garlic and radish…. Has suddenly become more colourful with the arrival of the mangoes …. A single fruit with all colours …. Except for the white and brown. But, right now the varieties of mangoes that have arrived are mainly yellow.
Growing up I only knew about maybe three varieties of mangoes… the raspuri, badami and alphonso. I didn’t even know about banganpalli… till my husband told me…. He grew up eating that and he doesn’t know about raspuri! Now, since I came back I am learning about all these different varieties like malgoa, sindoora, mallika, kalapad, rasaalu, and I am sure there are more varieties.
My grandfather had a mango grove so long ago in his village. I never got to spend time there because I was very young…. But my sister and cousins have spent a night in the watchman’s hut in the grove! She told me about how there was such a strong wind one day that the mangoes were shaken off their trees. My sister and our cousins had a fun time collecting all the mangoes that had fallen down. I don’t know how long ago she told me this, but even now I can imagine the grove with winds blowing … and my sister collecting the mangoes with her frock pulled to one side by the wind…. And my cousins bending down to pick the mangoes with a very happy face….hmmmm It is like a still photograph etched in my memory … although no one had taken any pictures that day  That grove was one of the first things to be sold, when the stream in our village started thinning out…. It was a very sad day for all of us.
Eating mangoes after every meal has become like a routine now. I am even more excited because my daughter also loves it so much…. She has it like a snack during the mango season. It is one of those times when I feel that moving back was a good idea… my daughter is able to experience some of the things I treasured growing up. I just love it when she eats a mango without using the knife or a peeler…. Just one hand and teeth 
Mmmmm all this mango talk tells me it’s time to eat a mango…. Bye now time to eat a mango….

It is strange that my first blog should be about death. Then again, I believe, like most people, death is like a new beginning.

I don’t know what happens to the person who dies, but I do know it does change the life of people close to him/her. I have been exposed to this truth, twice so far and I am sure a lot more will follow.

The first was my father’s. I had spoken to him just a few hours before he passed on. It was my daughter’s birthday, and we had telephoned my father, so that he could bless her. We were living in NJ at that time. We discussed his travel plans, as he was planning a visit to NJ. He talked about having gone to the travel agent and getting the details. Everyone was so sure that tomorrow would come and we would be alive to carry out all our plans. The next day did come, and I got the phone call from Bangalore… the dreaded phone call…

In all the years, I had been in NJ; I used to think how I would react to that phone call. When it came, I still didn’t know… How does one react to that finality? What could I have done? That helplessness brings tears… and that’s all one does… cry. My husband… couldn’t tell me anything either… everyone was suddenly at a loss for words. He immediately began calling travel agents to book my tickets to Bangalore. That was all he could do. He understood. Nobody could fill the big gaping hole in my heart…. I don’t think it will ever fill back up. My daughter all of five…. was my rock. I was amazed at how well she could console me. Sometimes I feel that it was my father speaking through her. I know it sounds too farfetched… but…. when death happens… I don’t think the human mind could handle the separation. We always are in denial. Or we try to justify… my father had lived a full life… he really had had enough he wanted to go very badly and he got his wish. He is still alive in me and my daughter, my siblings and nieces and nephew.

The second death…. was that of my uncle. This time however, I was a little prepared for the event. I knew what would happen next. But the helplessness was still there. I could understand what my cousins were going through…and that’s all… once again words fail. I could feel my aunt’s pain. But, this time I could keep my senses around me… there was a lot to be done, lots of rituals to be performed.

Hindu rites and rituals during this time, I feel, are designed to take your mind off the sadness. The children and relatives have no time to grieve immediately after the fact… the body has to be cremated as early as possible, friends and family have to be informed, a priest has to be arranged, money has to be arranged, etc., etc. One might argue that the rituals get in the way of grieving, what is the necessity for having a crowd in the house when one wants to be left alone? But, then again what is the point in doing otherwise, for something that was bound to happen? My father used to say “Jaathasya Maranam Dhruvam” If you are born, then you will die, that is certain. Like I said, it does hurt at first, but it is an eventuality that everyone knows, is going to happen one day. It might be sooner or later. We might think sometimes that it was way to early when young people die, sometimes very old and people with serious illnesses have an agonizing wait, but we have absolutely no say in this matter.

But, life goes on. We move on, I did and my cousins will too… like my mother says… we cannot go with anybody who is leaving… we have to wait our turn. She is my other rock, she believes in doing, so that we learn by watching her, than her telling us what to do. She believes… or at least it seems like that to me… that, since we have this life to live, we should make the most of it, what is the point in feeling sad or wasting time just waiting… put it to good use…. do what has been put off on the back burner, help people… keep busy…make life meaningful as long as it lasts. So that if at all there is life after death… we should not look back and say… I wish I had done that or this… there would be no regrets.

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