sitara's passing gift : a story for my funeral.
It was one of those large multi-levelled houses bang in the middle of the suburban elite. Memories of diwali parties on the roof that enveloped the noisy clinking of glasses during card games were shared for weeks and months at end. It was a house of festive color, numerous servants that guarded the N-6 address with such fervour, you could almost imagine they owned it themselves. Rajesh, the impeccable driver of the ‘bade sahib’ kept all 4 cars spotless, their upkeep being almost a religious duty. It wasn’t much of a surprise though. ‘Bade Sahib’ was known for his semi-obsessive care of all things mechanical. Rajesh picked up the tricks of the trade. The best paid servants in all the colony it was rumoured. They never worked anywhere else, they couldn’t’ be poached and the visitors from various countries and parts of the city knew them on a first name basis. Full of pride they were, to be part of such a household. In an almost grudging respect known only to the poor when reciting stories marked by sheer adulation - Sitara was the reason for their devotion.
Born a healthy 5 pounder, she was the only child to the Jalwanis current generation family tree. A gorgeous greenish-brown eyed girl, her thick curly locks were a cause of great furor from a young age. The fact that she was beyond the average indian baby in her friendliness made her the most irresistable amongst all in the colony. Young boys prided themselves on wether she would react to their outheld arms. Vineet, the tall good-looking IItian living in the apartment complex down the road was one of her favorites. His friends joked on how she just liked playing with his glasses. He shot back that they were just jealous of her instant liking to him. With a younger brother of his own, he knew not the pleasure of a baby sister who could cause no harm like spilling mango milkshake over his video games….
The most loveable babies are always those who are a bit lost in their own captive beauty. They aren’t fully aware of just how hugable they are and many a time it stays with them into their tender and consequently – older age. Sitara was much like that. As young girls go, she had the perfect knack of balancing expressions and words that would make many gravitate towards her. She was the naturally the lead in the school play, the first girl asked for a dance at the parties, and the object of affection of many around her. And it wasn’t just the boys.
Sitara’s 18th birthday gift was a trip to Australia to meet her cousins whom she had grown up with in previous years. Besides herself with excitement. It was the first trip outside of the country that she could actually remember, her cousins were great fun (aged 3 and 5 its that time when they are literally 'tiny terrors' saved only by man's natural attraction to small animals) and it would be a great change from the previous months of insane studying, tension, board exams and random crushes that always seem to come together in a congruence most undesirable. A good break. What she didnt mention however was the inappropriate and almost macabre dreams she had been having in the few weeks prior.
For almost 2 years now Sitara had been hit with visions and answers to the meaning of it all. In her dreams, in her understanding, life could only be fathomed in death. For the impact we have on those around us only comes to light when we aren't there she wrote. Heated arguements would ensue with friends over the matter. Many a times it disturbed her dearest ones, they couldnt help but wonder why thoughts of 'the end' were so vibrant in someone so optimistic, so full of life. It was an emotional oxymoron.
Sitara felt otherwise, and noone would understand the wisdom and intensity of her understanding of the human spririt till....Lets just say it was ironic. God works in mysterious ways, he gives us a ray of hope only to better understand what shattering loss can mean, he gives us shining lights in the form of beautiful people that enrich our being, only to take them away at the helm of their influential existence.
When the plain crashed down on that fateful day of December, it was a surprisingly sunny day in an otherwise fog-ridden winter.
to be continued
Born a healthy 5 pounder, she was the only child to the Jalwanis current generation family tree. A gorgeous greenish-brown eyed girl, her thick curly locks were a cause of great furor from a young age. The fact that she was beyond the average indian baby in her friendliness made her the most irresistable amongst all in the colony. Young boys prided themselves on wether she would react to their outheld arms. Vineet, the tall good-looking IItian living in the apartment complex down the road was one of her favorites. His friends joked on how she just liked playing with his glasses. He shot back that they were just jealous of her instant liking to him. With a younger brother of his own, he knew not the pleasure of a baby sister who could cause no harm like spilling mango milkshake over his video games….
The most loveable babies are always those who are a bit lost in their own captive beauty. They aren’t fully aware of just how hugable they are and many a time it stays with them into their tender and consequently – older age. Sitara was much like that. As young girls go, she had the perfect knack of balancing expressions and words that would make many gravitate towards her. She was the naturally the lead in the school play, the first girl asked for a dance at the parties, and the object of affection of many around her. And it wasn’t just the boys.
Sitara’s 18th birthday gift was a trip to Australia to meet her cousins whom she had grown up with in previous years. Besides herself with excitement. It was the first trip outside of the country that she could actually remember, her cousins were great fun (aged 3 and 5 its that time when they are literally 'tiny terrors' saved only by man's natural attraction to small animals) and it would be a great change from the previous months of insane studying, tension, board exams and random crushes that always seem to come together in a congruence most undesirable. A good break. What she didnt mention however was the inappropriate and almost macabre dreams she had been having in the few weeks prior.
For almost 2 years now Sitara had been hit with visions and answers to the meaning of it all. In her dreams, in her understanding, life could only be fathomed in death. For the impact we have on those around us only comes to light when we aren't there she wrote. Heated arguements would ensue with friends over the matter. Many a times it disturbed her dearest ones, they couldnt help but wonder why thoughts of 'the end' were so vibrant in someone so optimistic, so full of life. It was an emotional oxymoron.
Sitara felt otherwise, and noone would understand the wisdom and intensity of her understanding of the human spririt till....Lets just say it was ironic. God works in mysterious ways, he gives us a ray of hope only to better understand what shattering loss can mean, he gives us shining lights in the form of beautiful people that enrich our being, only to take them away at the helm of their influential existence.
When the plain crashed down on that fateful day of December, it was a surprisingly sunny day in an otherwise fog-ridden winter.
to be continued
posted by Stories for my funeral at 10:20 PM
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