Restless sleep and a tearful day

I spent more than ninety minutes on Deepa’s couch tonight, a fitting metaphor for the day. She could sense my restlessness, my fluctuating mood and the detachment, and asked me about it. Yet I couldn’t bring myself to bring forth the simple thing that was at the root…it’s the day Daddy passed away.

While our family and I don’t believe in them, I wonder if that’s why we have all these rituals on such occasions – to distract and soothe? Like any other day when I have something on my mind, I spent the day at two levels…conducting normal conversations, going about my normal work at one; and going through a tougher set of thoughts and emotions at another. Maybe just immersing myself in mindless rituals would have calmed me down…like gardening. Anyway.

I remember my primary emotion in the few months immediately after the event in 1997 was not grief or shock, but worry. A few weeks before he passed away, he and Mummy had made a painful, irritating, expensive and useless trip to Delhi, the true reason for which got revealed by Mama later – that, in a hotel room, Daddy had asked Mama and Masi to take care of us if/when something happened to him. I know that he was worried about us, knowing very well our financial and emotional condition at that time. And I am superstitious enough to believe that a soul that has so much attachment and worry, can never find peace or release.

So my mantra over the next few years, every time I thought of him, was “We are ok…don’t worry….we are ok”. I never allowed the depressions to last too long, never allowed the feelings of helplessness to overwhelm me. Chin up, doing what I like, being as happy as I could on a day to day basis, I could just assert my message.

Today as I look back, I think I succeeded to an extent. Or rather, we succeeded. From the rubble that our lives were fifteen years ago, we have managed to build something that, we believe, is strong and sustainable. Of course, one never knows what tomorrow holds. But at least these fifteen years have seen many moments of growth, joy, love, happiness…and most importantly, independence. Something we lacked for many years and craved.

But am I happy with myself? Have I truly done what I should? I love so many, I am loved by so many…but have I always been there, supported, eased the lives of all those people? Betu, for whom I know Mama was terribly worried when he passed away? Mummy, whose inner loneliness has just increased her clinical state of depression? L, who continues to face challenges in the face of all justice? Shalini, who struggled with fundamentals throughout with a smile on her face? Unni, who tries to balance his inner demons with the harsh realities of the world? Dolly, who truly made every single effort for Nanima? Nanima herself, who tried to speak to me much more often than I did?

I could go on and on with more names…but I know there’s no use in that…this will just become an exercise in self-pity. So I will stop. And just let this mix of grief, worry, disappointment, relief, pride, contentment, discontentment take me over and lead me through another night of restless sleep.