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Indrani: "My wedding was attended by six hundred guests, which is nothing exceptional for
a Hindu wedding, and even slightly too few. Thousand to fifteen hundred is more likely. You can’t
imagine what would happen if you’d forget to invite your cousin's neighbours’ best friend
...."
Indrani’s father
"You look great, Dad," she says almost shyly. "Yes child, I lie back," I feel good too. "She will not stay
long. As she leaves after half an hour, again without touching me, I nod and look at the ground. I
can’t bear to see my child walking out of my life.
At night sleep won’t come. My chest is aching. I am breathless. Have problems stepping out of bed. Pace
up and down the room.
"Are you all right, dad?”, I hear.
"Yes, son," I reply with a voice that seems to come from far beyond. It sounds so strange.
This 2nd of November is a fresh, sunny day. On this same day I lost my grandson Ravi. Today the tears come
into my eyes on the slightest thought or memory. Ravindre hands me a handkerchief, keeping his eyes on the
road, and gently touches what is left of my thigh, a few bones covered by baggy trousers.
"You and your brother will inherit the house in Suriname," I tell him.
"Oh old man, what makes that cross your mind all of a sudden”, he brushes aside the legacy issue.
"No, that's my wish. You’ve known it, but let it be said again. Indrani knows too. A few weeks ago when
I thought my final hour had come I wrote down in her book that you and your brother should inherit the
property".
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We arrive at my third daughter’s house. Like her brother she also treats me utterly
carefully. After dinner I withdraw in her guest room. I get tired very fast. When I wake up, I draw the
harmonium to me and play.
'Zindagi dene wale sun, teri dunya se dil bhar gaya. Mai Yahan jite ji mar
gaya'. I cannot help it. Some time ago when I was playing the piano at Indrani’s, this song also
escaped my mouth and fingers, "You, who gives life, listen. I'm tired of Your world. Here I have become a
living dead “.
She ran to the kitchen to make tea. Now in the next room I hear her younger sister sob. I cannot help it, my
children. The end is near.
It's already dark, only six o’clock but pitch dark. We're leaving. I grab my cane, put my straw hat on
and wave to my children. They know, now I ‘m walking out of their lives.
In the car Ravindre turns on the audio player. Suddenly my voice regains its volume and is clear again. I
sing along with the bhajan. The devout sounds clear the path to where I will soon be, at the house of Vishnu,
who knows of every sorrow. I see tears dripping on my boy's lap, as his hands seemingly calmly hold the
steering wheel.
As soon as we reach the house, my boy lifts me out of the car and carries me up the stairs. My daughter in
law answers the door. As he supports me, gently allowing me to stand on my feet, I heave a sigh. I feel how I
instantly become weightless and my boy catching me in his arms. He lays me down on the floor and blows air
into my mouth while he massages my chest.
“Let it be, dear son. This is the most wonderful death a father could wish for himself".
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