I wrote this eight years ago. One of the few things constant since then is my persistence to deal with loss through words. They come flowing, every time I am out of balance. Here they are again.
I only learnt the hard way that there is so much learning in losing. For me the world is split into two – those who have withstood loss, and those who haven’t. I have several moments in my day when I see people obsess over the smallest of things. Things that just should not matter. At times I wish I could tell them point blank – Don’t fret over these little things, there will be worse things that will happen to you in your lifetime. What will you do then? But I don’t. I just smile. These people are in a better state than I am. They have what I don’t. Who am I to judge them?
The Bhagwad Gita explains death in a few words –
“As a person puts on new garments, and gives up old ones, the soul similarly accepts new material bodies, and gives up the old ones. ”
A very simple concept. But so hard to understand. It’s been eight years since I have been trying to internalize this concept. And yet, I don’t think I fully grasp it. And even if I understand it, I am still susceptible to that hollow feeling I experience when I see a father and daughter together. Or when I see an elderly couple taking a walk together. I am reminded of the void in my life. The void in my mother’s life. I am reminded of his absence.
Only a father believes in his daughter unconditionally. I don’t have any one who believes in me that way. I will never have anyone believe in me in the same way. And no, that void is not going to fill with time. It’s the void I have to learn to live with. I come across several mirages, but that’s all they are – a mirage.
It’s like living with a wound that refuses to heal. It is as red as it was eight years ago. It still pains as much.
And this pain is the other constant that has persisted ever since I wrote this post at the airport, on my way home, exactly eight years ago.