I wrote this back in April, but for many reasons did not want to put this up. By the permission of Akhil’s sister, I am sharing this with you. Hoping that wherever he is, he will know, that he lives with us
Akhil Chopra
April 6, 2010
It has been while since I wrote a real piece for my journal. I have about 15 pages written, many old articles that could easily be put up, and yet I have been dealing with something else.
The idea of a blog.
Asking myself, that from the very beginning my intention was not to share much personal stuff but may be my interaction with the world around me and how it brings me to understand some universal issues. How that interaction also allows me to understand myself, and how I fumble and stumble through all the information and experiences to arrive at some understanding of our common lived experience.
But something happened this March. When I called home I was told that my cousin sister’s 23 year old son Akhil had been in a car accident and that the whole family and the extended family had stopped their lives and were just focussed on praying, hoping, and wishing that he would just wake up. I, like many people, have this belief that young people are invincible and that they are not supposed to leave before the older ones.
Silly and untrue. I know.
But that is where faith and hope coincide.
I just believed in my heart that nothing was wrong. But I knew that something was not right, when I called his parents. We call and simply ask from afar, so how is he, how are you?
And we can do nothing. Of course, it is better to be there ‘in voice’ rather than not. And may be this constant checking adds to the nervous energy. But one fears, one stumbles again, and starts to look for light. Light and hope in connection, in giving the support to those affected by this, that they are not alone. That their grief is and will not be borne alone.
But when I heard my Jijaji’s (Brother-in-law) voice, I just broke inside. To hear this man, who I had known for all my life, tall handsome, commanding, in a weak voice gave me a whiff of what fear, and pain does to us.
In Art of Living Guruji (Sri Sri RaviShankar) says, Pain is inevitable, Suffering is optional.
How to separate the two?
A few days later when I called Jijaji again. In a voice that seemed lost, and too heavy to feel anything, too numb with pain, he told me, that Akhil had left us all. That everyone had gone to get his body from the hospital. That people were calling to check on him but no one knew yet, that he had left us. I listened more out of shock and disbelief and then muttered an apology.
The whole day and days after that and even now, I kept trying to pull up memories of Akhil. He must have been barely a couple years old when I left home. I remember how ecstatic his were when he was born--a boy after three girls!!
I remember how I loved his name. Akhil --meaning complete, or universal. Akhil was just a joy to be around. I have less than ten memories of the boy. I remember him at barely few years and then about eight when I was visiting India. He was talkative then and kept asking me about painting and I promised him that I will send him colors from the US. I am not sure if I did, all I know is that life got too busy for me and I simply could not follow up on anything.
Then my last and the most beautiful memory of Akhil is December 2009. I visited my cousin, Akhil’s family at their new house. They were celebrating their new apartment, which though outside Delhi and much further away from us was really spacious. The young man was now old enough to help his father--any father’s dream to see his son wear the same size shoes that he wears. I was exhausted from my travels. But I have missed so many family functions that I make extra effort to attend any event that I can. So, despite a long list of things to do, and other arrangements to make for my new move, I decided to attend the function. My brother in law kindly agreed to drive us from Haryana to Uttar Pradesh, via Delhi ofcourse. That meant going through three states and back in one day. Rather one evening. We left around 5 pm and were back by 2 am.
As I approached the building where the Jagrata (Jaga --to keep awake or stay awake, rata, all night), which is a all night prayer and song ceremony that people engage in. It can be loud for those who do not understand the reason. The volume basically shakes the feelings deep inside of us. And even though it sounds like cacophony on the outside, after a few hours of it, you reach a different state of mind. At least that is how it used to work for me.
Soon as we got there, we were surrounded by loud, happy greetings, young and old dressed in their finest running up and down the stairs. And there came two boys running towards me, helped with the bag I was holding and swooped down to touch my feet--a way of greeting the elders. I just have been away so long that I am still a bit surprised when that happens. While I was touched, I patted their backs and tried to recognize them. Akhil was easily recognizable because of his wide smile and mischievous eyes. ‘That is Akhil,’I said hugging him. The other one was his cousin, his mama (maternal uncle’s son).
But I had a very obvious question for the boys. “How did you recognize me?”
“You look like Seema didi (a reference to my sister)”.
Oh, and then there were scores of laughter, dancing, joking around, and poking loving fun at each other. The jagrata sounds kept getting louder and louder and I saw Akhil, with his usual smile and friendliness always chatting with someone (despite the loud music) or helping someone.
We had a long way back and so we left before the program ended but I had a great feeling of meeting my cousins after ages. Seeing relatives I had not seen in years.
A few weeks later I had to move again and I got busy. When I first heard the news of Akhil, I believed he will just wake up and give us his usual smile and tell us that he was just playing.
Like so many of us do when faced with dire situations. We either wish it were not true or we want to believe that we are dreaming.
Time and again I have thought of this. I started writing this in April and had to stop many time. It is the middle of August now. I have had to tell myself that there is no closure on a thing like this.
I had asked a friend who has helped me much with what I consider abstract matters. And he had said, whenever in pain, try to help out someone else who is in more pain. Pain is inevitable, suffering is optional. It sounds cruel to give these words of advice to those who are going through this process. It is not something gets resolved in a day or in a lifetime. It is an acknowledgment that we are still here and we need to go on, with the dreams that we had for the life that left us, may be we can bring the joy that planned to share with them to someone else.
No it is not the same, but we live in a world that gives us no answers. Every questions bring up more.
May be in the deep recesses of our hearts and minds, we can connect with all those who suffer any sort of loss, and know that regardless of differences we remain united in this human condition.
