My grandmother passed away last week and it's taken me some time to put things in perspective.
She lived to a ripe old age of 85, however, at her funeral service there were less than 10 people. Reminded me of Eleanor Rigby. She was very social and had been a teacher for 30 years, had 9 brothers and sisters and a large, fragmented extended family. However, being in Delhi and away from everyone, she had to be put to rest with only 3-4 people around her.
Being asocial and not having people to fall back on, I don't have anyone to share my sadness or happiness with.
My son was born on March 25th. I have not been able to indulge in his birth and share my happiness with anyone. It's a sad, sad situation and it's getting a little bizarre.
My life is a cigarette, and as I'm approaching 30, I realise I'm already half-way through my journey. However, I'm not sure what I've achieved. Death of a loved one always makes you muse about Existentialism, especially after vodka.
I hope I've been able to touch a few lives and will be remembered after I'm gone.
Death is the greatest leveller and as I sit and sort through my Coeen's meagre belongings, I realise we come into this world with nothing and go with nothing. In between, if we can create something worthy- like new life or art, it may, just may be worth it.
Let's hope for the best.
