An ode to that uncle
At times we lose someone who has been a part of our life in the deep roots. They may not have been directly instrumental but you just cannot imagine a life without them. For example, I had a neighbour in my childhood, that uncle who was always there. While growing up, I lived in a colony of sorts where all kids went to the same school. It isn’t just about going to school, it was everything before and after that. From gossiping about the teachers, to competing with different sections, to playing and getting hurt, to ego and bruises and games and friendships. It was all in a world. You think it would be just another passing cloud but it was more than that. It was a cloud that stuck with you for 12 years, and the memories even longer. Friendships built there were not just for you but your entire family. Their parents know you, your relatives know each other, it was just like an extended family.
I moved out of that place 17 years ago. Our relationships grew apart but that fondness remained. Thinking of them not only made me nostalgic but also reminded me of the little fragile girl I once was. And how all uncles and aunties treated me so. And in their eyes, I probably would have never grown.
But today afternoon things changed. G uncle, the father of a friend I grew up with, the uncle who lived next door, the one whose family and mine had bonded as though we lived in the same house, the little brother who I treated as my own, the names of their family members which had become synonyms with my relatives and far friends, that uncle was no more. It was hard to believe that the memories I had with him now had had an expiry date marked to it. That is the thing, you would probably think that memories will always remain. But there is a difference when you think of memories of people who are alive and that of the ones who have passed away. When you think of memories with people who are alive, it brings freshness with an unsaid hope that maybe someday you can relive those moments of happiness, smiles, and comfort. When you suddenly hear that the person is no more, your memory now has ‘oh no, this is now officially a moment of the past’
When being with people I once grew up with, no matter how old you grow, or how fancy you are, that bond and those connections remain. I now recall how G uncle, asked me, with a smile, every time he saw me, So little one, how are you. Are you studying well? His daughter and I were in the same class and we knew there was this unsaid completion. He radiated approachability. I would have those childish fights with his daughter, but he was unfazed by all that. Despite that, he always had this genuine concern to ask about my welfare. I admired him for he, to me, seemed like someone who chose to stay away from unnecessary things. I could have been wrong and may have been too young to know. Yet, at that age, amongst all the uncles and aunties I met, I found G uncle to be simple, genuine, and wise.
He wore cotton pants and a checked cotton shirt always in the colour palette of brown. That is how I remember him. Perhaps that was his uniform. I did not bother asking. But every evening as we played and we ran around the road, hitting sixes and fours in our gully cricket, G uncle would walk past at 7 pm, an indication that we had to get back to our homes.
In the entire complex cobweb of relationships, ugly truths, and arguments that I soon started to notice as I grew up, G uncle stood out as a sign of things that can shine on its own too away from all this melee.
Today, as I heard about his death a day before his son’s wedding, I knew not what to do. It felt like a close family member had passed away. That is how strong the bonds of the heart are. I rushed immediately to tell my parents. Not thinking twice. A mistake I vowed to never do again.
My dad hearing that slumped and my mother’s BP dropped. For me to hear this, was one thing but for them, it was someone they knew far more closely and someone close to their age, a stark reminder once again. At that moment I realised how sensitive life was, how my parents as old as G uncle would now be petrified that time is unreliable. That even if you chose to ignore the unexpected ways death can meet you, the predictability of death with old age makes it no easier to be prepared for. As the three of us sat in the darkroom not knowing what to tell each other in a moment like this, I realised the bond in the network that we had once formed in our childhood with all friends and their families alike, was beginning to crumble and fall. The pillars breaking and disappearing one after the other. Into thin air and so suddenly that you start questioning if they were even there in the first place. The inevitable step we all take towards death.
The cruelest part, life has to move on and It does. The clock ticked reminding me of a call I was late for. It was for growth, so that did matter. I brushed the news aside, hoping that if I did not think about it that much, it may just not be true. As wise, strong, and old as I had grown to be, at that point, I was different.
I felt like that vulnerable little girl again who once in her early teens was lost in the dusk and the footsteps of the brown-clothed G uncle voicing familiarly ‘So little one, how are you, Are you studying well?‘
Rest in peace uncle, you will be missed.
