All it takes

Have cried now, thanks to my mom who spent a good hour on the phone with me after reading my post (after the kids had gone to bed).

Incidentally, the video in the previous post was in the making since the 14th. My grandpa has been appearing in my dreams and thoughts since the day before my "MP3 post" on the 4th of November. Had started listening to that tape (after a gap of 2+ years) and realized it was going bad. Then figured out that using the old Walkman and some freeware (like A-Kay said) it was possible to digitize the tape.

Spent days converting that tape and canceling noise to get the audio cleaned up. Sent an email to my brother and cousin on the 14th that "Appa's voice" is now in MP3! My cousin suggested that I upload it somewhere. Having no experience in uploading to audio share sites, but having plenty of experience on Youtube, decided to have that audio as a soundtrack and put pictures of the entire family to go with the audio like a slide show.

Never realized that it would become a "In memory of" video.

I am reasonably sure that it is not a coincidence that my grandpa appears in my dreams multiple times in a span of 10 days, two weeks before his death.

Seriously, what are the odds of me vividly remembering my dreams (to the point that they feel real), what are the odds of having two such dreams and the odds of starting to make that video a week before?

Cannot think of this as coincidence. They tell you that sometimes thought and feelings can cross physical boundaries.

Told this to some of my colleagues and they thought I was going Cuckoo! The good thing is at least my mother did not think that I was going Cuckoo..

Maybe it is because "Cuckookum tan kunju pon kunju?" (see I am back to my old self already!)

The kids had a debate earlier today on what color "Thatha Angel's" wings were. The little one claims it is white like a butterfly and Jr. claims he has glass wings. To each his/her own. I cannot imagine him as the flying type.

If Appa wanted to do something in heaven, I can imagine him sitting on a mountain of folded Vethalai (betel leaves), with his silvery seeval and pugai-ilai(tobacco) box, chewing away till the cows hung their head in shame and realized that they were better off learning from the Chew master than coming home. It was not easy for him to quit chewing tobacco when he had his first heart attack almost 20 years ago, but he did it.

He also gets to hear GNB live in heaven, something which we cannot do. No more falling down often and going for stitches, no more tubes up his nose and mouth, no more having two people help him go to the bathroom, no more sleeping on rubber sheets like a baby.

As my mother put it after my crying spree, time to move on and be happy for him.

Maybe his wings are made of glass like the kid says?!

All it takes is the right person to say the right thing and this mind does wonderful things.

Tomorrow is going to be "make the wife and kids happy again day" at our house.

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Tears when you need them

Have been on the phone with relatives and friends for the last 24 hours. For some strange reason, have not been able to cry.

It is like this great body of tears has all welled up somewhere and there is something that is stopping the dam from bursting out. San has cried and gotten better, Jr. who heard grandma cry over the phone, cried in turn, threw up by psyching herself and the little one did her thing as well.

For some strange reason, tears evade me. There is a lot of guilt, for making my bed here in the USA, a far away land, knowing that it would not be possible to go make it to India in times like these, within a time frame that would make any sense.

There is a rich culture and an elaborate grieving process that actually helps the people left behind, of which I am not a part of, right now. That with the guilt for having no one else to blame for this situation but myself, is not helping.

So, in an attempt to justify my internal logic, I am living in some kind of delusional world where on the one hand the death of the grandfather who epitomizes the word "love" for me is conflicting with thoughts like "I could have been living in Bombay instead of California and there could be a flood there or an airline strike there and it would be the same situation..." etc. etc.

The hamster inside the head is running at 400 GHz, quite aimlessly for it knows not how to get all those well intentioned emotions out.

My mom called me and broke down today over the phone. Somehow, news reached her that I was in an accident on thursday morning and escaped near death. As a family have had more reasons to be together than ever before, this year.

We for our part did not tell her about the accident because we did not want them to worry. They for their part did not want to tell us that Grandpa was admitted to the hospital and was in critical condition, because they didn't want us to worry. When I told my mom that maybe if she had given me a hint two days earlier, there would have been a plane ticket, she told me she knew about my accident and how I did not tell her. That sealed my lips.

Now we have sealed tear ducts and sealed lips. My school teacher mom promptly reminded me of

Home They Brought Her Warrior Dead
by Alfred Lord Tennyson

(a poem that is not easily forgotten)

Home they brought her warrior dead:
She nor swooned, nor uttered cry:
All her maidens, watching, said,
'She must weep or she will die.'

Then they praised him, soft and low,
Called him worthy to be loved,
Truest friend and noblest foe;
Yet she neither spoke nor moved.

Stole a maiden from her place,
Lightly to the warrior stepped,
Took the face-cloth from the face;
Yet she neither moved nor wept.

Rose a nurse of ninety years,
Set his child upon her knee--
Like summer tempest came her tears--
'Sweet my child, I live for thee.'

Somehow, someone needs to slap me or say or do something that will get all this stuff inside to come out.

Maybe it is fear of losing my composure in front of Jr. and the little one that is making me do this?, don't know.

Till that happens, going to walk around with a blank stare.

God knows I miss him. Thought putting this in words might help. Still doesn't.

ps. We were at Tamizh school this morning and as I waited in the car for San to drop off Jr. in class and be back, saw a grandpa carrying a little on on his hips and hold his version of Jr. by the other hand and it reminded me of my grandpa doing the same thing with me and my brother. Almost started crying and San came back with the Little one and I stopped. Sure that emotional dam will burst. Just hoping it is sooner than later!

The little one is truly blessed. She can cry on demand and get tears instantaneously for no reason.

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