Yes, applying a blue eyeliner took me to the depths of sorrow. Don’t be fooled by the innocuous title of the blog. This blog is sad and if you stop reading it, I completely understand.
Grief surfaces unexpectedly. One may be doing the most mundane chore, in this instance applying eye liner, and it hits one from nowhere. I was smiling about what ma would make of me now – this woman who applies blue eyeliner nowadays. The non fashionista daughter of a woman who loved to dress up. My ma had such a joyful energy in her youth. Her zest for life, her laughter, her desire to dress in bright sarees and bold lipsticks. But we didn’t have money so she had to improvise often.
And then I remembered what she used to say in jest about her own funeral. “When I die, make sure I have the best make up on, the best saree on. I want to go in style.” I used to say, “Yeah, yeah, you are not going anywhere.” Death was an abstract idea then. Death comes to all, sure. But not to my ma. What kind of world would it be without her. That world was outside the realm of possibility. A fantasy world. Covid made it real though. The complete failure of infrastructure in India made it real.
I was thinking about her desire to dress in her finest when she went on her last journey. Not only did she not get her wish, in reality, I didn’t even know which crematorium the hospital took her after her death. She died but baba was still alive. I did not even have time to properly grieve her because I was trying to arrange oxygen cylinders to keep baba breathing. Her last journey was not marked with honor or ritual or best saree and make up. She was a number, a statistic among all the other dead bodies that were piling up four years ago in Kolkata and all over India (and world). I was far away. But even those who were in the city could not say goodbye to their loved ones. Their mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, wives, husbands, children – all became mere statistics in death count.
Culturally I am Hindu. Hinduism talks about reincarnation. But it is hard for me to think I will never see my ma and baba again. That they will be born in different lives where they will not know me. I don’t think of my own mortality with any fear because I like to think they are waiting for me in a different realm. Once I cross over, we will be reunited.
I saw a beautiful sunset today. And some young buds which are ready to bloom. I always think the sunsets are more vibrant because they have ma and baba’s indestructible energy. The buds hold the promise of breathtaking beauty because my parents spread their essence in them. The peony that my friend gifted me after they died four years ago has come back to life this spring. I take comfort in the idea of renewal. But I hope they are waiting for me. One day my energy will meet theirs.
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