Stirring memories

I am back from Baroda and as I write this, am looking at few things, arranged neatly on the table near me. Old photographs, an intricately carved and beautifully designed German silver tea set, exclusive silver utensils used only during festivals or birthdays, a Reader's Digest atlas that was gifted to me on my birthday with beautifully written note from my father in his artistic handwriting, antique, brass and copper utensils used for puja, a thick volume of The Bhagwat Gita, a stunningly beautiful Saree of a rare weave that my father bought from Assam for my mother (an art collector's item), a few old vinyl records of maestros of Indian classical music, woollen shawls ....etc.

I have got these things with me from my parents' home after fulfilling responsibility of division of their wealth as per their wish. The experience is life changing and has taught me profound lessons about relationships, human nature and life in general.

The most painful part in this entire experience was vacating my parent's home for the new occupant. Cleaning out my parents' wardrobes, going through their personal belongings, checking every little thing in the house before distributing or giving it away to charity brought back acute sense of loss. I went through surge of mixed emotions of virtue, satisfaction, respect, realization, grace, patience, forgiveness, joy, sorrow, shame, rudeness and wrath.

I missed my mother asking me for scalp massage with hair oil. I missed her wanting to feed me endlessly and cooking elaborate meals despite her failing health. I missed her telling me about a new book she had read and the house being specially cleaned and made all the more presentable before my arrival. I missed the guests who went on pouring without any prior phone call, endless nights spent with siblings, dozens of cousins, family friends and neighbours singing songs, laughing and making mad conversations, demanding food that was invariably prepared with great care about everyone's taste and was served with utmost love. I missed being dropped and picked up at railway stations during my visits to Baroda. I missed my father wanting to travel and me getting upset with him and advising him against it due to his health issues and he getting mad at me in return and banging the phone suddenly during our chat. I missed the daily conversations with my father over phone filled with love, concern and deep understanding. I missed those words that my parents never spoke, acceptance that they never gave for few things, the apology they never made, the affection that sometimes only I was entitled to receive, the missed conversations due to different wavelengths and getting on nerves of each other in spite of all the love and mutual respect. It is strange what all we miss when we lose our parents! I felt uneasiness at its zenith!

It is a painful experience to clear out house of our loved ones with whom the very core of our identity is attached! The void I felt in the house after everything was distributed or given was too much to deal with. A strange sense of loss engulfed me; and it felt as if I was throwing them away in bits and pieces. The sum total of their life lay before me in corrugated boxes waiting to be given away and that feeling gave me lump in throat.  I know my parents are with me in spirit and I don't need to keep them alive through any material thing. The experience however painful has helped me bring some closure and what matters is how I carry on with life with my late parents' blessings and evolve with every experience life throws at me and learn to take it in my stride with great élan just the way my father and mother did when they were alive. 

C'est la vie!