This
is in memory of Pradipta or Tublan who was and will remain the apple of so many
eyes… It has been seventeen days since you left us – a very insignificant
number not marking anything. Then, why is it that I chose today to be the day
when I pen down every thought that I have been feeling since 5th
July and not uttered to anybody? Is it because I have finally come to terms
with your loss? Guess not. Because that is beyond my power. Despite my always
having been a person who chooses the head over the heart, I cannot come to
terms with this. This has made me question and doubt the very source and
destination of my daily prayers. The last seventeen days, I would wake up every
morning and somehow believe that you, keeping the ritual of sending me ‘good
morning’ texts alive, would send me yet another text wishing me ‘good morning’
and add that all I have been hearing about you was a big nasty prank…
When
I shared this idea with a friend, she (probably thinking I had gone berserk) calmly
explained that I had to accept the truth that you aren’t coming back. It took
me some more days to register and here I am, taking one deep breath after
another and writing everything down because I have never thought of myself as
an expert at handling crises; and speaking about you without ending up sobbing
inconsolably would be a Herculean task I am not capable of.
When
my mum told me ‘Tublan aar nei (Tublan is no more)’ I thought I had heard her
wrong and that you had probably met with an accident and had been hospitalized.
Those clarificatory details however, never came. The shock those three words
caused me has often woken me up in the wee hours of the morning with a jolt and
hit me like a cold wave when I sit up and wonder as to where we went wrong to
deserve such punishment.
Wherever
you are at the moment, I would like to believe that you are much happier than
any of us here but what angers me is the fact that you had the privilege to
explore it before any of us had the chance to. I am told to derive solace in
the belief that you are at peace there but what about all those whom you left
behind? What about each one of us who still holds on to you steadfastly?
I
still remember that you were the one who gave me my first Barbie when I was six
years old. You were the one whose interest in Swami Vivekananda was so
infectious that I started reading about him, myself. It was you whose example
my parents would cite when I scored poorly in my exams. It was you who sent me
those long texts so frequently in the form of poems stating that the days that
we spend in school and college are never going to come back and therefore, should
be enjoyed to the greatest extent possible. All this meant so little, then. Now
that you are gone, all I have left is the past which I ruminate over time and
again and whose every facet, I remember in painstaking detail. I have three
messages of yours in the form of jokes in my phone. (I always regarded you as
one who thought it his personal responsibility to make those around him smile.)
Once my phone memory becomes full, I will probably feel compelled to delete
even those three messages. But every minuscule element that I remember about
you is probably enough to honour everything that you are to me.
When
I sat grieving on the 5th of July, my Dad tried to console me saying
that studying diligently and scoring well in the exam I had on the following
day was the least I could do to honour you since you have always been so
hard-working. I derive succor in the fact that I did my best and that you would
have had no complaints against me while you were leaving. I do not question His
deeds anymore because you have always been so spiritual and I do not shy away
from talking about you anymore (fearing those tears) because I take pride and feel
privileged in having known you. Although this grief of separation is insurmountable
and has created a void in my life, I look forward to seeing you on the other
side; and trust me, it will be sooner than you think…
