Eulogy

A year is a year when you celebrate a birthday or a wedding anniversary. A year is 365 days when you associate it with death. Each one of those 365 days stings and hurts. In my life 22nd of August will never be the same again. My birthday - August 22nd 2008, it will always be – the last time I talked to Kash. Exactly a week later the rudest shock jolted our lives, the intensity of which I can never forget even as I try my best.

It’s the finality of death that hurts the most. Never again. Never again will I get to see my brother, never again will I talk to him. Never again will I see my brother walk into a room and smile at my mom. Suddenly I and Hisham are bereft of a precious brother, my parents of a valuable son. In a matter of a few measly hours, what would have been a family of 8 got permanently set to a 6-member family.

August 29th marks the passing of 1 year without Kash. For a person who remembers the pettiest of days and dates, I find “29/8” irrelevant. Like I said, its 365 days, not 1 year. We say a special prayer, try to reminisce the good times without feeling overly sad, and life goes on.

Every time I face a problem, an adversity, I wish I could trade my brother’s life for a collection of the worst adversities I could possibly come to face.

How does life change when someone close passes away?
I can’t listen to music anymore. I normally turn to music for solace, to de-stress or simply to sing along. Now I cry if I listen to my favourite songs. It brings back memories of days when bro was alive, it’s tough.

What about your mobile phone contact list? Do you erase off a dead person's number? I try to ignore the buzz inside my head whenever Kashi's phone numbers come up in my directory or his name on those messenger lists.

I love taking pictures at just about every occasion and I have a huge collection of photos. Now I don’t care to take pictures and I don’t look at any of those innumerable photos I’ve clicked. Accidentally if I see Kashi’s snaps, it all comes back to me - I will never click another snap of his, never see him again. And sometimes the thought just seems preposterous. Why?

Coz I never felt my brother’s absence in an obvious way. I feel he’s still around, just not near me. Sometimes I just can’t wait to share news with Kash when I suddenly realize that’s just not possible. There are so many things I want to share with him – about the sequels of ‘In Harihar Nagar’ and that Mohanlal movie. I wish he knew Supin moved into Discovery Gardens, I wish he knew Barack Obama is the new US President. I wish he knew that Dubai’s Airport terminal 3 started functioning, and that the Metro is ready too. I wish he knew Bushire got his drivers license. I wish I could show him Haya, my daughter. I wish he knew I named her after Dubai’s Sheikha. He’d have adored the girl. I can only say Haya isn’t lucky enough to have known her uncle.

Most of the time, we all go about with our lives accepting the fact that Kash is no more. But there are these sudden moments of breathless, panicky desperation where you just wish Kash could still be alive and with us. It's like a cinderblock placed on your chest. These moments pass leaving a hole of hurt and pain, and then we move on again. I do grieve his death, pray for him, but I don’t feel as sad as I used to the first few months. For that, all I had to do was block out memories relating to his death, the way mom described their ride in the ambulance and what happened at the hospital and all.

My subconscious mind hasn’t accepted that Kashi passed away, if not physically at least in spirit. Kash features in my dreams just like any other family member or friend. So many times have I woken up from these life-like dreams to think it’s just so cruel to be made aware of the fact even in my sleep.

It may sound cold, but I don’t like to be teary-eyed and dull every time I think of Kash. Coz then I won’t be able to get on with life. I stop my thoughts with a prayer.

I pray that he goes to heaven;

I pray that God forgives Kashi for his mistakes and sins;

I pray that Kash has a wide kabr (figuratively, it’s like saying ‘rest in peace’).

Of late, I also pray that mom finds the strength and faith to move on in a life without Kash.

You’re always on our minds, the young vibrant you.
I love you Kash and I miss you so much it hurts.