Shekhar
was rather passionate about footwear, which had led to many a laugh when it
came to fighting for shoe space in shared cupboards. He would spend an
inordinate amount of time in their upkeep. Helping him shop for them was
another story…he was like a targeted missile and knew exactly what he wanted,
obsessing over it until he found just the right pair. He even used shoes as a
metaphor in his training programmes…
About
ten days ago, our younger son said he needed a pair of ethnic slippers for an
event he was attending. His foot size is now the same as his father’s, so I
suggested that we check out Shekhar’s footwear, which I had put away with an
absent mind after he passed.
We
pulled down the box and went through his shoes. A pair still had his socks in
them, others were meticulously packed with polish and brush, still shining from
his hand. It was almost as if he could walk back anytime and step into them or
demand that my son stop wearing his precious shoes…we wish…
As
we repacked the box for another time, the hand that was playing games with my
gut let go. It felt like I had packed the pain of fresh remembrance with his
shoes for now. The tears stilled with my heart. I had literally parcelled the
pain. It is one lesson that I have learnt in these past six years…from the
first instance when overwhelmed by the sheer enormity of his passing,
everything shut down – my mind, my emotions, my breath…I have intuitively
broken down the pain into metaphorical parcels. This one which revisits every
time the boys reflect him, the other while cooking something he loved, yet
another when something he preciously guarded reminds me of his essence…the
parcels shrink with each opening…some will never be opened again…that is both the
magic and tragedy of time and memory.
I
read somewhere that healing is a process not an event…the parcels are my
process. I pack away things, memories, pain for another time…sometimes I forget
what I put away. When Shekhar was alive, this habit of squirreling was pleasant
and surprising, leading to sudden discoveries, re-acquaintance and even some
remorse at having bought something I already had. But now, the things I put
away are parcelled pain.
After
my return to India, I kept unopened boxes as a visible reminder that I was not
yet home…wondering if I would ever be. In the past week, I have physically removed
these boxes. A huge step for me in accepting that for now this is home, as much
as any place without Shekhar can be. Like the boxes, someday, I expect that I
will be brave enough to open and release the pain from the parcels. Until then,
I will repack them each time with the sweetness of remembrance…not pain…that is
the hope.
***
Death
asked Life: Why does everybody love you and hate me?
Life
replied: Because I am a beautiful lie and you are a painful truth.
Unknown
