Mukhagni: Putting Fire Into The Mouth Of My Dead Mother

By Sadho Ram

Couple of weeks ago, I came across a set of very intriguing images on my Facebook News Feed. The images were such that it immediately attracted me towards them and reminded me of my father’s funeral pyre. I’m sharing one from the set below :

Artwork by Urs Fischer

Usually it takes over three hours for a body to turn into ashes and cinders, but, I remember very clearly,  when I put fire to my father's pyre -- his body completely deteriorated after over two decades of alcohol consumption and having poisoned a week ago -- melted in manners as if it was made of wax (just like the sculpture in the picture above).

The fire didn't even last for an hour. I stood there, right by the pyre, not at all feeling the warmth of it, because there wasn't any. It was surprisingly cold, almost like the night in an usually slightly hot month of May.

Although, not my first, the experience of seeing my dead father's body melting into the fire was surreal for me.

About four years before this, I had also put fire to my mother's body. The images of that night are still very vivid in my memory.

It was the night of 30th August. The year millennium. We had all come to the Jangipur Ghat in West Bengal. It was here where all the Hindus came to put fire to their dead loved ones.

There's a term in Hindi for it - 'mukhagni', which translates to "to put fire into the mouth of a corpse at the time of lighting the funeral pyre". And you actually do put fire inside the mouth. I remember when I was told to do so, I freaked out. Even protested. Shouted.

“How can anyone ask me to put fire inside my mother's mouth? Don't you know it would hurt her.”

No one said a word. Everyone just looked at me with pity.

“Why can't you all see how calmly she is resting? Why would you ask me to put this burning stick inside my mother's mouth?”

What do you expect, I was somewhere around 13 then.

It was agonising for me to comprehend the fact that I will have to perform that one task which will eventually wipe off her existence from the face of this earth. I couldn’t come to term with it back then. I’ve not managed to come to term with it even today.

I remember my father, who was otherwise lost in his grief (I had never seen him in such heartbroken state), coming to me and trying to explain to me why I must go ahead and do what the pundit was saying. I still couldn't. So he held my hand, asked me to close my eyes and took it toward her face. He then took me towards her feet and put the burning stick there. As soon as it was done, couple of relatives and staffs started piling the candlewood logs on top of her. I shouted at them. Again. Almost breaking away from my sobbing father’s arms.

"Stop. Stop. Why are you putting all these heavy woods on her? She can't take the burden. Please stop."

"She is beyond all that now, son," he whispered into my ears, holding me tight.

"Your mother is beyond pain and suffering. That thing burning there is no longer your mother. She is finally at a place where she can find peace."

…

Today is 30th August. And it's been 14 years to be exact now.

But I'm still not sure if she is really at a place where she has found peace.

You see, I don’t believe that those who were not allowed peace while they were here, can or will ever find peace anywhere. She was not allowed her share of joy and peace, and I refuse to believe anyone who have tried to tell me how she is now in a much better place. She is dead.

There is no better place after life.

So stop telling me what you don’t know. For it’s the one thing I don’t need people telling me about someone who they never knew.

Of Vultures of The World and Lovesick Crow!

By Sadho Ram

‘When the ‘sexed’ vultures of the world are eyeing the cuckoo,’ I said to my friend, ‘She doesn't fall for the ‘love-sick’ crow.’

‘Crow?’ asks the friend.

‘Yes, you idiot, that's me.’

Hell, the ‘crow’ still makes an effort though, however lame it is. And then vultures yell and the ‘horny-ies’ bark- ‘bow, bow... look at him! Got what he deserved. (bow, bow, and bow) instead of kissing she pissed on him, bloody piss-taker... bow, bow.’

I howl back ‘fuck-woof, you bastards.’

‘Damn, have I become an animal too?’ I then think. Yes, yes, yes... that's what her ‘socially cultured’ rejection has caused. A loud cry of pain erupted within and an animal was aroused. Ho, Ho, Ho, Haw, Haw, Oo-hoooo!

‘Is it a crime to like a ‘blue legged’ bitch? Or is appreciating her is committing a sin?’ The animal in me now gets thinking.

Ha!

‘You see now, O’Dea’ friend, what the ‘... cultured’ rejection has found? The ‘creepy & awkward’ animal which eats ‘sweet candy floss’ gets profound.’ Oo-hoooo!

‘So, what’s the end conclusion, my animal friend?’ – Inquires the sane.

One of the vultures gets the cuckoo,

Takes her high on his flight, yuhoo!

Then ignores her plight

And bangs her tight!

‘That, my friend, is my version of conclusion, mixed with total jealousy and oozing hatred as perfect solution.’

Me, Facebook And The Profile Of My Dead Brother..

By Sadho Ram

Yesterday, I suddenly came across the Facebook profile of my dead cousin, who got electrocuted a few months back. He was only 14. He was sweet and a nice kid. Very adorable! He was studying in a city away from the village, and had come to the village to get his papers for some exam, and was about to leave on the night when his mother, my maternal aunt, asked him to say a day more, and so he stayed.

He got electrocuted the very morning when he stepped inside the bathroom to take a bathe and tripped over the wet floor along with the bucket full of water and electric heater attached to the plug. When I got the news, I was out with Blue, shopping. My sister had called to give me the news. I later came to know that he didn't want to bathe that early in the morning, but as his mother had other things to do, so she wanted him to get fresh and ready for breakfast.

That poor woman, my sister said, kept blaming herself. His father.. he did not believe even though he held in his arms the lifeless body of his youngest son, whom we all fondly called Raanu!

I never called his parents to share their grief, never made even a attempt to do so. I did cry. But I don't know why I didn't just called them up and say sorry for their loss! They were there when I lost my parents, they were there when I had lost almost everything in the past! But still I didn't .. I just couldn't do so much as to make a single call.

The reason I'm sharing this, is because I had almost forgotten about him but coming across his profile on Facebook yesterday, just threw me back to that day and all those memories of him just overwhelmed me.

Life is so short, we never realize what or who we might just lose in an instant!

I haven't still called them up. After all these months, I am not sure if it's the right thing to do. Moreover, I no longer know what is right or wrong. I just think that maybe I should just let them continue to think that I do not care or I've forgotten everything, even though I haven't actually.

Maybe it's just that people are better off without me or my presence in their life!

Remembering My Mother

By Sadho Ram

Saroj Devi, my mother!

12 years ago, today was the day, when surrounded by many a strange faces, a few stranger feelings and a wailing-like-a-child father, in the midst of cold August wind blowing calmly over the shaved off head of mine and graveyard dogs howling afar, and night sky covered with heavy clouds.. clouds seeming as if ready to burst.. pour.. come down, and those strange faces moving, changing shades.. shapes and chattering along the sides of Bhāgīrathī river at Jangipur town, I put fire in her mouth at the stroke of midnight while she lay, like a tired traveler after a long and tedious journey finally given a bed to rest, on her pyre made up of sandalwood logs.. and watched her body burn into cinders.. 12 years it's been today. And 12 years is a long time for a soul to wander. Hope her soul has found its place and now rests in peace!

Rest In Peace, Father...

By Sadho Ram

"I wish I had not cremated him, instead buried him. That way I could have at least wished that he would rise from his grave and come and see that his son, whom he loathed, is not that worthless today as he had said once on his son’s face."

I wish you would rise and see that today your name is known after me, my name, which I, your worthless son, have made your this particular dream come true, that people around today know of your name because of me and my deeds.

Hello father,

I wish you could rise from your ashes and see that no one remembers your death nor do they remember the date on which you died, no one, except me, except your son. But don’t worry; I will make sure that the world does remember. So here it is, O'world, today, on 14th may 2004, my father – Gulab Ram Choudhary – breathed his last, exactly 7 years ago, tied to the hospital bed, he succumbed to the poison running in his veins along with the alcoholic blood.

Rest in peace, father, rest in peace.

And please forgive me for momentarily disturbing your sleep, but you see it was needed, or else how would I have told the goddamned world about you and your death anniversary, which sadly no one remembers, not even your own mother. But you see, I have to live up to you and your dreams, even though you are fucking dead, thanks to your good old friends.

Anyways, that was it, I have done my duty for today, have told the world that you died on 14th may 2004, exactly 7 years ago. I should now let you rest in peace and head towards that one person who doesn’t consider me worthless, she instead thinks that I’m perfect. Which again makes me wish that you would have survived longer enough to see that what kind of devastatingly comforting beauty have fallen for me, for that son of yours whom you considered nothing. But anyways, you rest in peace, just wanted to let you know that I’ve found my peace. It doesn’t actually matter now that you are not here, for I’m happy that you did not have to suffer longer than you already did. But see, that’s the thing it is, you would not have suffered had you loved my mother the way you did after she was gone. Trust me father, had you loved her before she died, you would have had a much better life. Much, much better!

But why the hell am I telling you all this, you are dead, right?... burnt into cinders, so then why?

I guess I’m just having a mighty good time by telling you what could your life had been, had you only realised what you did realise after it was too late to realise anyway. So, rest in peace, father, for I’ve made sure that people know a bit more about you, this time through your death anniversary.

Of Yore and Of Hope [Emotional Atyachaar]

By Sadho Ram

Author’s Note: The below posted narrative is one of my personal experiences. It happened with me about a year ago. My motive behind posting it here now is nothing specific except that I’m participating in this month’s Indiblogger Emotional Atyachaar and Weblog's  Sleepy Sunday contest. Though partly sad, partly mad, but I enjoyed completely while writing it and I hope you all enjoy it too.

Have fun reading it, friends!

Part 1

On the 4^th of June 2009, I was in Pune, about 170 kilometres away from the suffocating humidity of the furiously sweating city, Bombay, and it was warmly cold in there (yes, warmly cold).

And for the first time in 3 months I found myself almost so very close to shivering (in the season of summer), and so naturally it was unbelievable for me but it seemed like magic, I mean the feeling was something I had only experienced once in my life (I will get to that too). So the first thing I ask myself,

“Man, am I not supposed to sweat?”

And then this thought appeared into my mind,

“Maybe not”

Because I was in Pune, where the sky was frigidly blue and was smiling as vibrantly as my animated heart, which was so filled with the fragile but sturdy thoughts of that girl, Sasha, whose mere glimpse were enough to send me into the world of serendipity and romance.

I first saw her on the very first day of my new class in my college, which was held in our Auditorium.

I was sitting on the first row, waiting for our new faculty to arrive, and chatting with others quite loudly, when she walked in and while the entire auditorium went on just as it was before her arrival, I (trust me, friends) somehow went into an unknown state of quieten trance where calmness took over me and my eyes followed her to the third seat from the left in the third row and then remained constant there on her charmingly simple face. I had completely lost it… my senses were somewhere, while I was out of sync with the nearby happenings and my heart was drooling when all of a sudden (when the guy seating beside me kicked me with his leg) my beautiful dreaming world came to a screeching halt and brought me along with my senses to the middle seat in the first row. As I came back to my sane state I realised that the class has gone silent and everyone was staring at me (including our new faculty who, I don’t know, when had walked in).

Here I must confess, that I had to literally force myself to stand still (given my condition a moment ago) and at the very first glimpse of our new faculty further demanded that I now must force myself from laughing out loud while not to blurt out the obvious (WTF).

You see, our faculty actually looked just like the character ‘Jack Sparrow’ from the movie ‘Pirates of the Caribbean.’ (I know all this sounds weird but I’m telling you this is what happened).

And so from that afternoon, Jan 14^th, 2009, I have been simply watching her, while she played games in her mobile and took notes simultaneously, though I did confess my instant feelings for her to few of my class mates and other friends outside but I somehow was not been able to gather the courage to go and tell her all that how her presence and absence, both, made me feel.

That how her confident voice made me nervous when she spoke in class (which she did very rarely), that how lucky I felt when she unknowingly looked at me even if it was only for a second, that how badly I wanted to go to her and just say, how special she is to me, but somehow I just couldn’t say.

Why?

Well, (including the above mentioned factors there was something else too) that I actually wasn’t ready to repeat the same scenario of my perplexed past, in which I once had felt the same emotions sparkling inside my 4 inch tiny heart and then was left to moan after being used like a mere toy for a little fun.

It was the month of December 2005, when the pathos came into my life hiding behind that innocence, which, without any qualm, ridiculed my days of adolescence.

******

Part 2

‘Excuse me, are you Gopal?’

A sugar like voice knocked at my ear-barrel and the spoon, with which I was feeding myself, stopped just inches before my open jaws (yes, pretty BIG mouth I’ve). I then looked up and for a moment I forgot to blink my eyelids.

There she was, standing just before me, on the other end of that round table in which I was busy gorging myself just like I did daily, but that day it was different and also new but somehow it felt surreal, because, I thought,

“This can’t be real”

And so just to make sure that she was actually standing in front of ME and asking if I indeed was who I was (Gopal at that point of time and Sadho at this moment), I looked on both sides off my shoulder and when I found no one there, my heart suddenly started pounding so heavily that it seemed like it was going to burst anytime now.

‘Excuse me, I am talking to you, are you Gopal?’

That sugar like voice once again knocked at my ear-barrel and this time it slowly made way towards my heavily pounding heart.

‘Oh, ‘m sorry, what? No, I am not Tejpal.’

(Yup, bloody me) it was the first line that flushed out of my (BIG) mouth and in reaction to it, her face displayed the signs of disbelief and her eyes got widened.

‘Are you deaf?’

She shot at me and in reply this time it was I, who had to widen my eyes.

‘What?’

I shot back at her.

‘I asked …are you the Gopal?’

She threw another question in reply.

‘Of course, I’m Gopal, the or not, that I don’t know.’

I said it with a tone that even surprised me (don’t know what it did to her), as I thought,

“Dude, I sounded pretty arrogant there, didn’t I?”

And which could have been enough to send her off on any other day but as I said “that day it was different.”

‘Listen, I need your help. Can you please ask your friend, Zahid, to stop following me? I have tried telling him myself, but he seems least interested in listening to me.’

She said and was about to turn and leave (I guess).

‘Wo, wo, hold on, lady, Zahid, and my friend? Who told you so? I don’t even know him properly.’

I, in complete company of instant surprise, immediately shot back at her and she at once stopped and looked at me, with only innocence in her eyes.

‘But that girl in my class said, you two are ...’

I cut her in middle.

‘Listen, I don’t know why the girl in your class told you so, but the truth is that, you can ask anyone out here and each one of them will say that We, Gopal and Zahid, are not friends.’

*****

Part 3

It was fine till there. And my life would have been as smooth as it was minutes before her ‘excuse me’ approached me, which infected me with the terminal bug called love. But, I guess, it was not supposed to be like that and so I promised her that I will try to talk to him (even though I really didn’t know the guy at all).

She smiled and turned to leave but instead stopped abruptly and said,

‘Thanks, hoping to see you around sometime.’

And I stood there like a box watching her leave and fixed my hypnotised eyes on her (she had the most curvaceous figure I’ve seen in my entire period of life) till she disappeared into the crowd outside the canteen.

Three months went by, we became friends and then one day on the eve of Valentine’s Day, I finally proposed her in front of the entire college. She said yes and I felt like, I have conquered the world.

But the euphoria lasted only for few weeks, as one day when I accidently bumped into her and the Zahid in a pizza store.

I was shocked (understatement) to see her cuddling in his arms and when I went near to their table in the corner, she after seeing me, didn’t seemed to care enough as if… as if I was a total stranger to her.

‘What the hell is going on?’

I, after standing there for like almost 5 minutes (which in reality seemed like an eternity), shouted at them and pulled her away from his arms by grabbing her hand.

‘What do you think you are doing?’

I once again shouted at her.

‘Seems like you are as blind as deaf you were on that day in canteen, Tejpal.’

She said while jerking her hands off mine.

‘Hey, Zahid, look at his face, poor baby, I broke his heart, touché.’

She continued her verbal attacks on me, while Zahid continued to enjoy the show along with others, who seemed as insensitive as those pizzas, that they were piling themselves on.

My mind had lost its basic understanding and so it wasn’t able to decipher what was happening and I could not believe what my ear-barrels were listening, and so I thought that I am dreaming, yes, I’m dreaming (oh, how I wished and still wish that I was dreaming) and it will be over as soon as I shall open my eyes, but I wasn’t actually dreaming and neither could I open my eyes, because, I don’t really know how to open those things which never ever closes (you see, my eyelids remain half opened even when I am sleeping).

‘But why, Neha (yes, that was her name), why did you play with my heart?’

I somehow asked her, while trying to garner the audacity to stand still.

‘Huh, you still want to know? Well, I was a bit bore by my monotonous life, where I only dated hunky guys, so just to freshen up it a bit, I, as you said, played with your heart for a little fun.’

She delivered her last part of dialogue as innocently as if I was a mere plastic toy straight out from her cupboard and so has no feelings whatsoever, which stays as its owner keeps it and remains silent even if its owner beats it.

But I was not a toy and so I finally fell on my knees, tears dripped out of my red eyes and I chocked as if I was about to die (this is true… you see, I had genuinely fallen for her and given the factor that she had the figure any woman would be jealous of and any man would kill for, besides, I’m an emotional man, so this – chocking down – was bound to happen).

She left with Zahid, hand in hand, leaving me alone more than I was before she had come.

And so, since then, almost half a decade have passed by, but those blunt memories of my yore are still so sharp that it leaves a cut mark every time I try to walk by it, ignoring unknowingly and sometime even intentionally (can’t help it), with a companion which I quite often choose in these days of my chilling solitude.

And, I know my past was like a bad dream but unlike the bad dreams, I’m yet to get over it, and so the pain of yore continue to haunt my times of hope.

WHAT WOMEN WANT?

By Sadho Ram

Let me guess… a good life? A rich husband? A perfect man (the one with six pack abs)? Happiness with lots of chocolates? Nail-polish maybe?

Hmm…

Well, I’ve known a lot of women in my life, like for example… my mom, my sister, my girlfriend, HER girlfriend (Yes, after one full year of dating her I came to know that she ALSO likes women). After this incident I often wonder that… do I really know women?

I mean it’s not tough considering men and women happen to be made of same organic materials but it ain’t any easy task to do (to know WHAT WOMEN WANT).

Their chromosome and our chromosome do not really match.

My girlfriend… she use to say that –

‘You know, Sadho, I like you a lot, but… I donno why… I don’t WANT you’

I would then look into her eyes and look deep… deep enough to see if… only if I could somehow know what really she WANTS.

But as luck would have it… she used to close her eyes and I would miss out on the rarest of opportunity to know at least what one WOMAN WANT.

-Sigh-

But the case with my mother was different. I knew what she WANTED. But she never really got what she always WANTED.

When she was alive… all she WANTED was the love of her family… her husband, her kids and a few more people around her.

She did everything that a woman is supposed to do… sometime… she did even more, but love… ah, she never got this one thing, never.

My sister says she WANTS to see me happy. That’s so nice of her, that she thinks of me so dearly. She knows what I want but once again I have no clue as to what SHE WANTS?

A few village women I met last year while travelling to north, told me that all they WANT is that their husbands to stop drinking and beating them. They also said that they WANT to see their son become good man (not like their father).

But this is all they want for other people who are related to them in one-way or the other. What about themselves? I asked them… so one of them said, looking up in the sky, -

‘Humara kya hai, who khush toh hum khush’

And I could sense the substance in her voice (I am not suggesting that this is what she WANTED)… there was this pureness (of being a woman)… which said –

­‘She is the kind of woman who would gladly sacrifice for the happiness of her family… that family who doesn’t really give a damn about her happiness’

And that’s what my mother did.

Although it would be wrong to call it sacrifice, as she WANTED to live. She WANTED to see me grow young. She WANTED to listen to me speak in English (yes, this she WANTED very dearly). She WANTED to see her daughter get married. She WANTED to grow old with her husband. She WANTED the love of him… that love which she so desperately needed… in order to survive.

But none of it… absolutely none of it… she got.

A wife WANTS love of her husband. A daughter WANTS care of her mother and support of her father. A girl WANTS… well; she WANTS so many different things.

But do anyone ever wonders that WHAT DO THE WOMAN IN THEM WANTS?

Indira Gandhi WANTED to bring a revolution (though I don’t know of what kind).

But did she get it?

And Mona Lisa now probably WANTS the world to stop analysing her simple smile.

Will she get it?

The answer is… No.

WHAT WOMEN WANT is often not important to the world, because the world hardly give it to THEM!

There have been lots of cases… like the little girl in my colony, who comes to pickup rags daily, WANTS to go to school. But she never gets to do that.

My maid, whose husband is in jail (for raping another woman), WANTS the world to stop looking at her through her clothes and into her fair skin… as if she is for all to feast their thirsty eyes.

Last I heard about her… she tried to commit suicide.

Material want is always there, but does it fulfil her from within? It might for a while… but on a long run… the attraction of it… would just fade away.

So it’s not material pleasure that all she wants.

Well, I guess I’ve some rough ideas as to what she WANTS…

Light of the day with her family, Dark of the night with her man, Sundays with chocolate ice-creams, Mondays with another flavour, Small gossips with her friends, Bed tea from the hands of her husband, to be pampered when sad and to be loved when mad!

A walk in the rain with an old college friend, An hour in the park with her dog, to watch the sun rise while standing in the midst of mountains covered with fog!

There are many things that SHE WANTS more than the years she lives.

But she gets less than what SHE WANTS… less than the decades she lived.

And so no matter how much I (man) claim that I (man) know WHAT WOMEN WANT… seriously… I've (man have) no clue as to WHAT WOMEN WANT!

Their Futile Hopes! My Wasted Life!

By Sadho Ram

My brother, the one who stood by me when I was falling apart, financially and emotionally, and supported me in my every necessary and even unnecessary demand, has now stopped taking my calls!

My sister, the one who never ever dared to even stare at me, has now started questioning me, though in jest, about my commitment towards my professional life!

But it ain’t their fault.

No!

It’s bloody me, who have been cheating on them and few others. It is because of me that those who once never got tired of me and my egotistic gibberish have now started looking for petty excuses to avoid my useless company. But what am I doing to stop all this and bring back the lost respect of mine?

Well, to be precise nothing exactly, except lamenting boorishly over and over again.

I have no clue about what has been the prime reason for continues untried failure of mine in every path, which would had taken me to certain heights till now if only I would had tried once! I have made my life miserable. So miserable that now it seems even the destiny has decided to dump any kind of support it may have provided to me in my future endeavours.

Sometimes during the evening time of day when the crimson Sun prepares itself for way back to home, I take an auto to the Barista Rock Beach in Versova and sit there pondering over my past life and the deeds. Of course, without any thoughtful outcome, as to why the bloody hell am I in such sympathetic condition where I am bestowed with what usually most desire but lack the audacity to claim that particular thing which is there for me?

Why?

Because I took everything, my life devoid of the love’s warmth, my path devoid of determination, my goals devoid of inspiration, my people devoid of trust and my ability devoid of productive use, for GRANTED! Yes, I took everything for granted.

Even the dreams of my late parents which, at one point of my life I have vowed to fulfil by turning them into reality. I guess I should bloody slit my throat and let every single drop of my unworthy blood drip out through the hole and then die slowly.

Yes, I ain’t kidding. I do think sometimes and have often taken up the knife but as I my failed life I regularly fail to fail my failed attempts.

My people, back there, still think I will someday be a very big person. That someday I, too, like thousands other, will bask in the glory and make a hell lot of fortune out of it. But alas their hopes have proved futile just like my wasted life.

I have forgotten my past (and they say the ones who forget their past are bound to doom) and I am lost in my present which means, as of now I have no future.

A somewhat self-constructive article by a very self-destructive Mango