2 days back when I heard the words
“My father’s passed away” for a moment I did not know how to react, what do you
tell a person apart from “Don’t worry, It will be ok.” Will it be? Will it ever
be the same when someone who gave birth to you dies in front of your eyes? Someone
who has taught to walk is not walking in front of you. Do we mourn death? Or Do
we mourn the memories, times we have spent together? Or Do we mourn the time we
could not spend & words we could not say?
You were lucky I thought – you
could hear him breathe his last, say his prayers, keep his body preserved,
nicely in a casket for people to pay respect. You did not have to identify the
body amongst sacks of dead bodies kept in the morgue, stinking as most of them
were rotting & then carry the body for 30 minutes. Nobody could pay respect
because they could not stand the smell.
I was in my 3rd round
of the morning walk when I found the body of the pigeon. It was bruised, must be
a case of dangerous flying – I thought. It was lying right in the centre of the
running track – I ignored for the first time but could not take the image out
of my ahead. In my next round I picked it up & placed it near a flower bed.
So that it’s not crumpled by a passing car.
Later, I took bath, changed &
came down to drive to office. Curious me, I took a peek around the flower bed
& could find only feathers of the bird scattered all around & a house
cat lazing in the sun.
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