Remembrance and more

Papa's school friend was laid to rest today. After spending quite some time in the hospital fighting varied illnesses, he breathed his last. Peacefully, I hope. Because I remember him saying around this time last year that he was fed up of medicines and treatment and would rather prefer to leave.

While the world mourns someone's passing almost every day, it's when people whom we have known (however small a period) leave, that it usually hits or nudges some corner of our heart to reminisce.

Surendran uncle 

Surendran, or 'Papa's classmate' as I fondly called him, and papa reconnected last year. Papa used to tell us how uncle's mother used to tell him that while it was my grandmother who gave birth to him, it was she who took care of him. She loved him like her own son.  

While we counted days post the lockdown, here was a friendship that rekindled over chats while watching the sunset, sitting on an almost collapsing bridge (it's been like that since sometime now. That gives it an ethereal effect almost at any hour of the day). 

They sat and spoke about the ones who were once part of the same classroom but today are either leading lives away from each other or lost to the vagaries of time. 

"Oh, avan eppozhe poyado!" (oh, he died long back!), "Avan avde und. Kaanarund" (he's there. I meet him often) were some of the lines I and mom used to listen while they chatted and we walked past them in what was a part of our evening routine.

While the evening breeze lent us a breath of fresh air, it nuzzled these two men, bringing with it memories of a bygone era when things were different (or much the same).  

The place that was witness to their evening chats

What remains a special memory for me is how papa used to become a school boy while with him. All his so-called "old-age problems, multiplied thanks to an angioplasty" seemed to vanish while he sat with him. I will always remain thankful to that school friend for giving us all a sneak peek into a childhood just by way of his presence -- in a lungi and loose shirt, with cigarette smoke at times blurring his face while he smiled at us.

Papa re-living his youth 

On days when papa didn't accompany us, he would ask about him (again reminding me of a scene where a school kid would enquire whether his friend would come to play with him).

Yesterday, while I stepped out with my husband, I narrated those incidents and wondered why uncle wasn't at his usual spot. And today, morning brought with it the news of his death. While the smoke would have once again blurred his face, I hope the memories remain crystal clear.

Thank you, uncle, for the memories. You'll be remembered. And missed. Hope you found peace.

Wishing strength to the family!