Veena Vak

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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