Namaskar Uncle Lal

February 21, 2015
Saturday afternoons we have off. I need a break from working on my case study. I abruptly leave the dinning table, and take off without any word. I find myself in lotus pose yet again at a space on the ridge between two others I have been before. I see the bridge to my left where we cross to walk to Kogate and Suping. I see the jail on my right, near the field where l I often walk to in the morning.

I space out into the horizon, waiting, hoping…

Why am I always looking as far as I can, searching for something?

I look closer at a tree in front of me. Nothing. Closer, to the ground below me. Just dead grass and pebbles…

Well, would I be sitting on the alive plants in the adjacent field? No…

This grass that gives me a place to sit and meditate, and be “grounded” is here because it is dead and flat. I put each hand on a shrub of dead grass on either side of me. My hands float so my palms can meet above my head. Coincidentally, wind begins to stir around me. My palms settle down to my heart center. The wind stops. Stillness. My spine is long, and I am light and elated, yet rooted and calm.

It is the dead that support us, earths us, keep us present. Like Uncle Lal….

Uncle,

I’ve observed and

Watched you smile and dance.

I tried to keep you in mind as Bex’s patient, and separate myself because I was scared; I know I haven’t said much, but I feel I got to know you a bit over time. Your stories and your suave captured your life. I hope you know.

The way your nephew talks about you. The way your daughters and wife care for you - I know you were and will be well loved.

I heard your body was to be carried down. I was at clinic, and couldn’t leave my current patients, but all I was thinking, “I have to be there.”

I was given a way out to come see you one last time. I almost started running. I got to your house, and you weren’t there. Lost in translation, but I heard it was done. Pacing back and forth, unsure of what to do. But knew I couldn’t go back to clinic just yet. Then a mysterious man – your uncle? - took my hand, and ran me down to your funeral.

As we finally arrived, it looked as if the others were about to leave. Bex saw me and approached me, gave me a handful of gravel and dirt. I held it in my hands, without words knew exactly what to do. The family was telling me to throw it. I hesitated. Not yet. I must say one last prayer. The space was filling up you and your belongings disappearing. There were more sensations in my chest than words or prayers could describe. Rest in peace. Shanti shatnti shanti. So thankful and glad to have met you. You were always complaining – or wishing - to give when you were too sick to. “I wish I could paint you a painting. I wish I could go out and dance with you.I wish I could work, so my family wouldn’t have to work so hard…” But you did, you gave your family, and us all a chance to receive and give back, to feel love and compassion.

Though it was so painful to watch you suffer in your last hours, I saw your daughters hold your hand and chest, keeping you comfortable and safe. I saw your nephew shed tears as he took his turn to hold you. I saw your wife touch your face and prayed to God to take you, and relieve your suffering as soon as possible.

And the dirt and gravel flung from my hands. I watched it fly and fill the space, I took a step back, and my eyes instantly began to flood. I barely knew you, but you’ve touched me somehow, Uncle. I hope you know that too. Rest in peace and Namaskar.