Til Bhar Tulana: Ready to Die?

“The hardest thing is to live richly in the present without letting it be tainted out of fear for the future or regret for the past.”

- Sylvia Plath

A couple years ago, my Grandfather’s death threw me into a guilt spiral. I hadn’t spent much time with him in his final years. After my divorce, I didn’t know how to talk to him anymore. It’s so hard to explain why I felt that way. It’s not like he judged me or hated me for it. It’s not like his heart was so weak that he couldn’t handle it. Whether based on shame, pain or something else that I can’t pinpoint, my choice to pull away was cruel to be perfectly honest. I stopped asking about that evil homewrecker from his favorite Indian dramas and whether he had an adequate supply of karwi fakki. I stopped asking for his advice on ayurvedic medicine and his thoughts on a family history project I had been working on.

2016 came around, and I had no idea there would only be a few remaining opportunities to enjoy his presence. He was so happy and healthy that I thought he’d stick around forever.

Twice or thrice on Thanksgiving we played cards with the whole family. Once engrossed in the 9-card game (that I think my family invented), he didn’t seem sad to have lost me (even though we all knew that’s exactly what had happened).  Bapaji loved those games. When the cards were bad, he’d joke, “mein to mara!” I’m dead. And every time he lost a round, he laughed so hard he cried.

I’m grateful for those memories. They were gifted to me, a person who perhaps didn’t deserve them.

“Til Bhar Tulana” says (about the end of times) that the sun will be hot. Like super hot. And it will be bright. Super bright. There will be nothing to hide or search for.

But I’m not hiding, I already know where I messed up here. I just don’t know how to fix it.

So… yeah. Death. It’s the moment that solidifies who we are and who we wish we had been.