Celebrating Shashank ...

My heart is so full just now. While my tea was brewing, I went and sat in the inner courtyard with my eyes closed, and the bulbuls came back. For almost 10 minutes I sat still while they inspected the lamps and then went from branch to branch of the Champa. We will all feel a bit better if they start making a nest again in the same lamp. The remnants of the previous nest are still there inside, so I'm keeping my hopes up. 

Yesterday, a friend of Shashank's said that during a chat about death and after, he mentioned that he'd like to be in our garden always. I cannot imagine why young people in their 30s would even have such a discussion, but then these are strange times, and Shashank had lived through the loss of a friend at 20. All I know is that we never had such a discussion with each other, though everyone who matters knows that I'd like my body to be donated. 

When Ravi walked into the house with the ashes, there was never any doubt in our minds that a part of Shashank would always be with us in our home. And he is, after a heartbreaking dignified ceremony in the beloved inner courtyard.  

It gives me goosebumps to know that this was exactly what Shashank had desired. I wish the need to follow his instructions had come many years later, preferably when we, his parents, were not around to be a part of the proceedings, but then these are strange times. Mad times, as Shashank would say.  

It's funny to have a heart that's feeling so heavy and so light at the same time. 

Celebrating Shashank forever

 Shashank, my son.

He'll be here with me

every time I see a spider working on its web,

or a sunbird doing a balancing act on a hibiscus flower,

or a slug making its way slowly across the paving stones.

He'll be here with me

every time a cat pauses at our doorstep

or yawns gracefully

as she stretches languidly in the sunshine.

He'll be here with me

when the dark clouds start gathering,

when the smell of petrichor wafts across the terrace,

the harbinger of the rains to come.

He will be here

when I am planning a pattern for the loom

or thinking up the colours for a new quilt,

never the World map quilt that he wanted.

He will be here every time I pick up my crochet hook,

looking over my shoulder,

making sure that my spider has 3 or more eyes,

that my owl does not have ears - even if they are cute,

that the dugong i am making has a longer snout (or is that a manatee?),

that I don't call my tortoise a turtle.

He will be here every time one of us is leaving on a journey

and we pose for the selfie-taker who has to record the moment,

much to the amusement of the waiting cab driver.

He will be here every time we sit

in front of a beautifully plated dish

or a particularly attractive dessert (the creamier the better)

that just begs to be photographed.

He will be here every time I make a dosa

or a carrot cake

or a mango lassi

or a biscuit pudding

or. ....the list just goes on and on

He will be here all the time.

I just wish he wasn't gone.