Remains..

The house help  was like a warrior at battle.  Brandishing her mop, soap, and a newspaper to wipe down the windows of the room.

I had disallowed her from cleaning the windows of this particular room in my absence.   In a corner, in the flowerbed , outside the windows, was a small bag which contained a box.  I did not want her probing or even touching that bag.

Mortal remains.. cremation of the mortal remains.. confining of the mortal remains to the fire...

Corporal..corporeal.. that which is of the body, material world..

Life  already  snuffed out.. it is the कलेवर . the outer shell.....mere mortal remains which remain  and they  need to be cremated.. effectively wiping out the trace of that person.

But then I still have your remains.. your ashes. .... bits of your bones.

Bits of bones... of that towering frame of yours.. You.. My father... of who I am a part.

You are no more.. Your body is no more. and yet of your existence, all I have... and yes I have .. are a few bits of bones.

The husband and the son had gone to the cemetery to collect these..

Oh I can never forget the sight of your feet as you passed in to the incinerator..  inch by inch.... and me.. almost hysterical  in that desperation... you are going.

You were gone already.. but as long as your body was in sight... to me ...my father was with me..

Aand then you were being swallowed in... into the incinerator and I remember my arms stretched out.. and a wail..

Those feet...the distance growing... between you and me and the belt rolled your body in...Call out to him thrice.. for the last time I had been told.. .. Annaaaa Annaa Annnnnaaaaaaa
and yet when I pushed that belt.. and you rolled away... Annnnaaaaaaaaa


The husband and son had  came back with a small box that evening.   of bits of bones of you...


....the hand, the legs and the skull he had told me...


I put the box away carefully


When the box was opened for the ritual ceremonial cremation, once again, my stomach churned... that was you in the box... I froze


We invoke the Pretaraj the priest said..

seek his permission.. blessings... for a 'proper ritualistic cremation'.

The preta... you..

you were formless now.... traveling a perilous journey

I fashioned a light for you, dhwaja, sandals for your feet which were walking on embers, seeking mukti...

With the rituals. you in your preta form were nourished with the milk and water...

given form and body with the pinda...

your father, your grandfather...invoked invited ..


You were merged with them..

And they took you along..

From preta .. you became a 'pitar'...ancestor.

Your journey was complete.



But what about me...

Mine was stunted in that one moment when I lost you

for all our differences.. for all our spats... you were my father.. my parent,


You passed away... and I lost you.


How apt those words sound.



Your ashes...

They are still your mortal remains... And I still have them.. and in their form, I still have you...

You remain  with me.