Death in the Family

The first death I remember is that of my grandfather. He had a fall and was bedridden for months (or was it weeks?) He developed bedsores and was in great pain. He'd groan and scold his children at times. One early morning aunt R went to his room and found he was gone. By the time I woke up-perhaps I woke to the commotion- it was confirmed. Mother sat in one corner and wept silently. I was too young to connect to her sorrow, but I wailed out loud too.

Somebody from the neighboring house offered to take me there for breakfast, as people in the family wouldn't cook for the day. I refused. To me at that time the neighbor's house felt like it was across a continent. It was as if I was being taken away never to return to my home.

Grandfather lay there covered in white dhoti. His face was left uncovered for some time and all paid their respects. Later the men who assembled covered his face, tied his body to bamboo poles as was the custom and took him away for cremation. I was in great fear and avoided most of the sights.