 |
| From the very last picture taken of Jithu, days before he fell ill |
A few years ago, after the very
mundane act of buying shirts, trousers and a belt for my younger brother, we
both sat down for chai at a wayside eatery. The chai may have been eminently
forgettable but not the memorable discussion we had that contrasted heavily
with both the setting and the earlier act of purchases…
My brother, Jithu, startled me with
a complaint, “cheTTa you are too attached”. Jolted from intellectual inertia, I
asked him what he meant. He grumbled about my being much attached – to my wife,
my family, my possessions, possibly my ideas as well (yes, I tend to be deeply
opinionated). Trying to sound casual, I asked him why I was supposed to feel
guilty about this happy (as it appeared to me) fact. Jithu, by then, was deeply
influenced by the ideas and outlook of the spiritual organisation
“Brahmakumaris” and sported a badge near his heart that had an insignia of
outward-moving red rays like the spread of light from the sun, and the words
“Om Shanti” etched on it. Even as an MBA graduate and a person in the sales
department of a corporate company, whose sole motive would be profit, he saw no
incongruity in professing detachment. I asked him the purpose of this sacrifice
he was recommending to me. He said that except the individual’s atma
(soul/spirit) everything was mortal and transcient. The soul, he said, has its
ultimate goal – being one with the paramatma (Supreme Being). This, he argued,
was made easier or facilitated by practising detachment. I was taken aback by
his preaching all this to an avowed atheist like me, but I laughed it off and
said that I believe only in the truth of my existence which began at my birth
and shall end with my death. I would want to live my life with all my
attachments intact, I said. As for what happens to my soul/spirit after my
death, I continued, I leave it to the soul-traders to do whatever they wish to.
In retrospect, I should admit
that I have moved away, ideologically, to somewhat a sense of detachment from
the material aspects of life. This is not because of the reasons Jithu gave me,
but more with the understanding that they don’t give us much happiness in
comparison to the human relationships we share with others. Much against
Jithu’s advice, I have doubled my investments (of time and energy) in these
beautiful relationships of mine with my wife, my parents, brothers (earlier,
brother now), friends and relatives, as also with stray people I meet. I try and
understand their predicaments more than I ever did in the past.
Ironically, my brother Jithu,
died of brain haemorrhage a month and a half ago. I do hope that his spirit has found its ultimate goal, like he so badly wanted. But my attachment to him
(even in his physical absence) has only been deepened by the knowledge that he
remained rather calm and composed through the long and frustrating periods of
ill-health he suffered, and even as a dead body, by the smile that remained on
his lips, the closed eyes and his clean-shaven head – motifs of a Buddhist monk
in meditation. The smile almost still mocking at me for the attachments I continue
to have, even as he left us all with fond memories to keep us bound to.
I am now at peace with the
reality that he is absent (I still don’t believe in spirits and souls), but he
has left me with several questions as well as an unwavering attachment I feel
with memories of him. 21 September would have been his 33rd
birthday.
Deepesh C
