To Paati

 

Hi Paati

Now that you are dead, I'm hoping whatever language I write in just gets to you somehow. Paati I used to talk to you maybe 10-20 mins a day if I was home. If I wasn't home, then none. I used to get to know all your shenanigans from mom. 

I'm sorry paati. I really wish I had been a better grand daughter. Because so many times we had fun talking but so many times more than that I was annoyed at you forgetting things, at you repeating the same thing the hundredth time, at you trying to do something to get the attention back onto you. I'm sorry. I could have had more empathy. More patience and joy for having you around. 

I have a lot of love for you Paati. It might have seem like I don't care but I've been thinking over and over again on everything I could have done right had I paid enough attention and care to you. Maybe if I had stayed back home instead of leaving. Maybe if I had told you goodbye at least before leaving when you were fine. 

You were like a gray old tabby cat. Fine by yourself, loved others but would claw anyone out if you felt like it. 

No one would ever call you a sweet gentle paati. And that's okay. I think I'm gaining the same reputation for myself sometimes. 

What drove you to walk to us that day? Was it the same cat-like insolence to our instructions? You just thought, these things are beneath me. A couple of stairs? For me? Hmph.

I hate that. 

I hate that you did that. 

I hate that things ended this way. People keep saying that it's better this way than you going to Chennai and hurting yourself while we were not around. 

But fuck that. 

You could have just sat where we told you to. I never yelled at you for that because I felt it was pointless to when there were things to attend to and forms to fill so we can get you the medical attention you needed but now that you are floating here in this house somewhere, tell me why. Why did you do that?

It must have hurt a lot for you. And it hurt for me as well to see you like that. For all the twisting and turning I did to your legs to take an x-ray. All the blood you had to give up and all the needles that pricked you. I'm so sorry for putting you through all that. 

I'm sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't save you from this. It's not my fault but I still wish somehow it was. That it was a situation that was solvable. That it wasn't a case where death was inevitable no matter what. Because in that case I need to come to terms with the fact that death just happens. Without a warning. Without a cause. 

I cannot accept that. I need a cause. I need a reason. I would rather that your death was because of me mishandling things. Than be of no reason. That seems cruel. 

I know you lived a long and hopefully happy life. But all your organs were fine, and all it took was the hip to break. Everything else was fine. Which means without the fall, you could have lived another couple or more years without a problem. 

Even though you were old, you didn't die of old age. You died from all your infections from the surgery. I just think it's cruel. It's so cruel. That death can happen that way. It's unfair. Why live that long only for a fall to take your life. 

And what is death then, if it comes like this? It doesn't feel fair that it plays by no rules and regulations. I do not like things that are not controlled. I do not like it when I don't have an idea on the inner workings of things that I'm dealing with.

On the last day I saw you being normal, you were singing old songs to me. I thought you were fine. I was on call. I told you I'm bored and I'm going to go walk around outside and I'll be back soon. The person on call told me that you might need me and that's why you're singing songs to me. I told them that's just how you are and left. 

They were right. 

And I should have been there listening to whatever you wanted to sing to me.

I left and the next time I saw you, you were struggling to breath through your oxygen mask, on the hospital bed with your body swollen up and eyes closed. There were tubes tied around you everywhere. 

I hope you're not mad at me Paati. I have never been affected by death until yours. I never knew the importance of goodbyes or calling people for nothing but to know how they are. It's all just us having checkpoints against death. Just checking and checking again and again if death did come for you someday I wouldn't have been unaware. If death did come for you someday, your last memory of me would be of a warm goodbye. God be with ye. Or whatever it is that the white people said that turned to goodbye. 

Everything makes me anxious these days Paati. Because I thought I had a level of understanding on the worst case scenarios possible. But suddenly things seem all the more worser. 

Whenever there were more than 5 people at my house, I would work myself into hyperactivity trying to figure out what could go wrong. 

Someone drinks too much and tries to off themselves by jumping off the terrace. Someone slips and falls on table edges. Pukes. Pees themselves. A fight breaks out. A fire. 

I'll try to be vigilant. Look out everywhere for everyone. Make sure things are in place so that anytime anything bad happens I have everything to prevent it, if not, then whatever I'll need to deal with it. 

But death must be more of a planner than me. I cannot outdo death. Now it haunts my every thought any time plans are made. 

My dad, travels to his office that's 2 km away. 

I'm thinking of every possibility of death. Road accident, fainting, falling, diabetes, aircraft malfunction, ghosts and just plain old death because of no reason at all.

I'm so scared of it. I thought I wasn't. But the way it happens - the way death always has the upper hand. I'm scared to even put the words down because I have no idea what rules death plays by. 

I know I'm supposed to be friends with death. Afterall it's the only thing that talks to everyone and it's good to be on good terms with someone that popular. But how?

How can I be in good terms with something that just, doesn't tell me anything at all? Anything except that - I will come anytime, please just let me have my way so it's peaceful for you. 

Did death talk to you Paati? Did it tell you to not fight and you bring your stubborn self did the exact opposite? Did you fight death for days by pure spite? Because I won't put it past you. It runs in our blood to be inconvenient little fucks. 

For what it's worth Paati, I hope I don't turn out like you. But I do love you. I'm sorry you turned a cog that you didn't know will run so many gears down the line and play a hand in your own death. You were a cog that was pushed yourself. But I refuse to move anymore. I saw what hurt can fester into. I saw what it did to you. I saw what it did to the people you hurt. They hurt me too. But I'll let go of the satisfaction of hurting back. I'm seeking the boring and unsatisfactory choice of peace. I'm sorry for the cogs I've pushed until now. I'm sorry for the gears that may shift because of me but unbeknownst to me. 

I'm so sorry, Paati. I wish I was a good granddaughter to you. I'm sorry I didn't say goodbye. I'm sorry that when I did come back to say goodbye it was too late for you to say it back. I hope you're relieved of pain wherever you are. 

Goodbye.