Coping with Loss - Reflections on loss, from India

By Suvir Saran


A non-denominational saint from India, Kabir says, "When born into this world, all were rejoicing, but you came out crying. Now lead such a life that you go smiling and the world is left weeping for the passing of a great soul."
It is that time in the cycle of seasons when we ought to do some reckoning, however shallow or perfunctory it might be. But our human frailties lure us away from reflection and instead have us thinking of what shall be and how we want things to be. Mindfulness that beseeches us to reflect upon what was is mindlessly trumped by the thrill given by fantasies, however untenable they might be or removed from those truths that make us who we are.
Scents, sounds, cadences, accents, diction, erudition, or lack thereof--these are haunting me this year as I cope with the losses I have had to bear in these pandemic times. Death is the one guarantee we are all bestowed upon birth. None before, and none in the future will escape the finality of a passing from life. Thankfully, some amongst us live such that, despite being gone from this earth, their legacies and their presence continue to be felt. It is those mortals with immortal minds and actions who haunt me today, and I know they will lead and guide me as I journey along the many highways, roads, footpaths, and cobbled streets of my life.
My father passed away young, despite having lived a disciplined life. The poster child for all that medical doctors wish for their patients to be, he was also the child every parent longs for, a spouse who ensured his significant other was his mainstay and not just another, a father who worked meticulously and smartly so as to enjoy every evening with his children, a friend and neighbour who was empathetically engaged and forever present in the lives of those that touched his, a father to many of our friends whose dads were lost in the rat race of their professional lives. Papa was the life of any and every party, a peerless raconteur, a born entertainer, a jovial prankster, a live wire with energy to enliven the most boring situations. His passing was a decade ago, and I cry for him and smile because of him, daily. When at a loss for what next, I allow my mind to wander into memory lane and be one with Papa, who flows in my DNA, and whose life and life lessons are readily accessible and need me only to be present and mindful.
This last year took away from me a couple whose lives were entwined with mine from my birth. Abha Aunty and Ajay Uncle were our neighbours growing up, and my parents' closest friends. Their three daughters and my brother, sister and I were all born within a span of 5 years. We came of age together, the arcs of our individual lives closely connected with each other. What the Kumar family brought into my life was more than just friendship and love. Through them, my universe stretched far and wide from what it would have been within the confines of my own home. These two elders treated me like their own son and were indulgent where and when my parents were strict or busy caring for my siblings and other essentials of life. Uncle brought me paper, brushes, ink, paint, clay, cuttings, and bulbs to paint, create and garden with. He will live eternally in me and be omnipresent as I enjoy the visual arts and walkthrough gardens any and everywhere. Aunty enjoyed my passion for cooking and my singing, appreciating and finding a smile even when I sang out of tune. Her own special way of talking and her inquisitive manner will never leave my mindscape. The scents and textures, tastes and colours of the dishes we cooked and savoured together bring her alive even more today than before Covid rudely took her away. No New Year's Eve party was ever complete or correct without her baked beans on toast, and today I smile through tears as I write about it and wish that she could be making some for us all to enjoy.
Barely had I made my peace with the passing of Abha Aunty and Ajay Uncle within days of one another, when life sent another horrid blow our way. Dr Prabha Manchanda, the famous and most sought-after New Delhi gynaecologist of her times, who had delivered all three of us for my mother, was lost to Covid. Aunty Prabha, like Mum, was one of Delhi's proud grey-haired ladies of substance and charm. Mum and she were inseparable. Both coiffed with short hair in a nation where women were admired for their long tresses, between them they taught us kids self-confidence, self-respect, and the importance of being circumspect and polite. Aunty Prabha was instrumental in fostering in me a deep passion for reading biographies and books about history, current affairs and politics. She would visit our home several times weekly, and sometimes more than once a day. She would come with a wry sense of humour, a tough-love demeanour, and spoke with a confidence that was peerlessly charming and awe-inspiring. She reached the highest annals of her profession and earned the respect of her peers through sheer hard work and determination despite the odds sent her way, and I will always chase these strengths and strive to do the same. I had secretly hoped to celebrate her 100th and my mom's 90th with a big splash. That Aunty became a Covid statistic is a loss I still grapple to make my peace with. Her Christmas caroling despite being born a Sikh, her endless energy to live life with not a minute spent lazily or complaining - these and other attributes surround my life with her handsome presence that shines a light on beauty both inside and out.
Papa, Abha Aunty and Ajay Uncle, and Dr Manchanda - these are losses I mourn. But with the passage of time, I am finding ways of living and working, loving and discovering, remembering and looking at tomorrow - all with these loved ones present in my life in the moments that matter and informing how I go about my personal and professional involvements. Losses like these will never be filled; they are permanent and final. Cold and bereft of any hope of reversal, they come to us all. Some must face them earlier than others, some most unexpectedly, and, of course, some most horrifically. But to live with respect for those we love, we mustn't allow gloom and doom to be our guiding principles in life.
Covid has wreaked havoc globally. The pandemic has taught us about the self-indulgent endemic that our lives have become. Yes, we have all been cooped up inside our homes longer than we ever imagined possible, we are separated by our loved ones due to travel restrictions, it is challenging to access many things that are hard to find in the supply chain. But Covid has gifted us with something that can make our losses more bearable and ensure that we continue to be delighted and touched by the extraordinary lives we are mourning. Covid is teaching us to live with eyes wide open, to have minds that are thinking and acting with circumspection, and to live not just for our own advantage, but also for those we share this planet with. These are lessons that make our coping easier and also ensure that we and our children will have muses and inspirational figures who will give our futures rich and proud memories.
Loss comes with an opportunity to pause, understand our realities, appreciate our own mortality, and connect to the departed in ways beyond the physical. In doing so, we become one with the cycle of life and life's own journey where we and our loved ones are but a small ant line. As we begin the new year, it is in our hands to make it one that is more meaningful and driven by a purpose that is greater than our mere mortal indulgence. Will we in our brokenness lose the opportunities our loved ones strove for us to capture? Or will we rise again and be one with them and with life?
Disclaimer: The author of this opinion article is Suvir Saran, who is a Chef, Author, World Traveler.