Today I was going through Dada's things with Savi in India and we came across two shirts hung up by Dada from almost 7 years ago. He hung them up in the typical rush of preparing to leave for the United States. The expectation being that there would be plenty of time to take care of all material needs and closing-up-of-the-apartment prior to departing and the truth of being Rushed Rushed Rushed to get the bags packed and get to the airport for that 4 AM flight.
Those two shirts, hung up by my grandfather 7 years ago had gathered age themselves as their owner aged further and proceeded to outlive his son and subsequently pass himself at the age of 98 a little over a year ago, in a land far from his homeland and people. yellow spots of some odd cabinet discoloration had appeared on the shirt. Puffs of dust arose as I removed them from the hangers. Then, I noted a heft to one of the shirts.
Taking a closer look, I noted the front left pocket, the pocket which my grandfather forever kept full of tissues and paper towels, to be full of coin. A fistful of 1 and 2 rupee coins filled that pocket. I solemnly showed my grandmother and we proceeded to suddenly sob over the loss of this man who was our quiet patriarch. Our collector of items whether coins, rubber bands, paper towels, and other bric-a-brac. My grandmother's life-partner for 77 years. My first playmate and a solid pillar of my life for almost 40 years.
We cried. We cried in the way all grieving family members do. In the way all spouses do at the loss of their person. in the way of all grandsons at the loss of their grandfather. The type of crying that can make rough-and-tumble uncles put on a brash front and tell us to stop crying, as he has his own way of grieving. In the way of my grandfather's niece-in-law providing support from the side as she herself admits her own method of grieving over the past few years.
We cried at the loss of someone who had knowledge of us in different periods in our lives. Those who knew us when we were in our prime. when the youngsters were but spitting up milk and toddling around. The loss of a man who travelled the breadth of India on the rail lines. Who travelled to another country to help his son. Who played Aggravation with an 8yo despite not knowing the rules. Who kept change in his front pocket.
