“True love is the ripe fruit of a lifetime,” Alphonse de Lamartine
A couple for more than fifty years becomes a constant in each other’s life. It’s reassuring. Also, they become a habit unto each other. Life’s a rollercoaster, all kinds of emotions are experienced together, binds them as a unit.
Everything seems so different now that her partner is gone. She feels broken, a part severed. She pampered her husband, keeping him happy, particularly after he retired, was an arduous task. She did very well for all these years to help him lead a life on his terms. And the respect for the partner is the greatest expression of love.
After six decades of marriage, Poornima Srivastava lost her husband, Bijai, an accomplished gentleman who did well for himself, family and the society at large. She could never be prepared enough to deal with the loss of her partner, and, when it happened, it felt like a bolt from the blue.
Grief too is a rollercoaster. She is doing well, for she is grateful in grief, to the almighty for a life well spent together with her partner and that there’s acceptance that things change, and change is the only constant, and life, now on, will never be the same again.
Poornima will soon be 82. She was still a teenager when she got married to her Prince Charming–though the hubby to be was at best an acquaintance, some years older with a promising future, thanks to a secure job in the government.
The Prince Charming went on to become the partner for life–they grew up together and then grew old together. In the process got to know each other so well that they didn't need to utter a word to communicate.
Death of a beloved is a sombre moment. To me there’s an inherent beauty and grace in the way Poornima is dealing with her loss. Her response is levelled, with no public display of emotions, all conversation veers to her partner. A deep sadness engulfs the room like a thick blanket of mist in the woods.
She is brave and responsible for her family, which she built together with their husband. Falling apart at this tragic juncture of life is the easiest option, almost effortless, but she feels responsible for her children, twin- sons and a daughter, after all they too are dealing with the loss of a parent.
Her children and grandchildren make a loving close-knit family. They are faring well, have their own family and their own set of challenges. The disappearance of the patriarch is new to all of them.
It will get more difficult with every passing day; she knows this very well. The absence of an age-old companion who had a constant presence for a lifetime transmutes into vacuum–a sort of lingering absence that in itself has an overwhelming presence.
Poornima knows that this lingering absence is there to stay and that she has to learn to live with it for the rest of her life. So, she accepts it, yet feels stifled, truncated. This feeling of being a lone-ranger is not a good one.
Everything seems so different now that her partner is gone. She feels broken, a part severed. She pampered her husband, keeping him happy, particularly after he retired, was an arduous task. She did very well for all these years to help him lead a life on his terms. And the respect for the partner is the greatest expression of love. Bijai were so used to being taken care of by Poornima, almost like a school going kid. His food, medicines, and all that he’d need was provided when he’d need it in the way he’d need it. Poornima made sure he was happy even when they were grumpy. And that required a lot of doing.
Poornima is very social and outgoing, but was happy to stay back with Bijai while the rest of the family was out for a wedding or a holiday or a party. “It was not a compromise,” she says categorically, “I felt good being there.” She’d play games on her mobile, Bijai would be content seeing her around.
Poornima, therefore, was the sunshine of her husband's life. Taken for granted when she was around, but her absence was acutely felt, almost disrupting Bijai’s life. He might not acknowledge it, let alone give a compliment; but acknowledging would be like stating the obvious and complimenting his wife would have felt a bit awkward to him, I reckon. What could he tell his wife that she didn’t know? This was so not because he didn’t appreciate his wife, to the contrary, rather too well. How would you compliment the sunlight of your life?
Now, all of a sudden, there’s this feeling that days have gotten much longer with a lot fewer things to do. Poornima feels like the project of life is done with. She’s lonely even in a crowd. There’s so much time, the emptiness is overwhelming. But she draws satisfaction from the fact that they had a good life together. Lately, Bijai’s life had become a prolonged suffering–so respite for him. He was totally dependent on her, and her life intertwined with his. Surrender to love is a joy of life.
Often Poornima would instigate an argument to keep his mind busy and his wit going. And when she'd overdo it, which was invariably the case, Bijai would quietly remove his ear trumpet. “My squabble was entertainment to him. None of what he said ever felt bad to me. Now that he’s gone, nothing feels good,” Poornima says in a level tone.
Poornima never shied from giving her hubby a reality checks every now and then, keeping him grounded. Like times have changed, you’re not what you were, that you’re retired and that changes the way the world treats you, children are parents now, they have their own point of view and life, and a good part of life is now in the realm of nostalgia, and such things. There were disagreements, aplenty, but disagreements were never taken to heart.
Poornima managed the household very well, every minute detail was taken care of, while Bijai was blissfully oblivious of the perplexity of running a household. Husbands often think, delusionally, that the household is run on an autopilot.
The mere presence was a source of great joy and confidence to each other. Their lives pivoted together. Now the pivot is gone. Even a kite needs a cord to fly. She is not young, but not old enough. She has an opportunity to do what she always wanted to do, but couldn’t. Now she can, but doesn't feel like it. And she seems to be so unsure for what future entails.
At some level Poornima is glad that Bijai left when she was around. Who would pamper him like she did? She doesn't want her husband to bear the agony of losing his partner like she does. She’s not selfish even in grief. Having said that, there’s a limit to what death can do, for instance it cannot end a relationship. And absence becomes a strong presence.
Hume gham bhi unka azeez hai, ki unhi ki di hui cheez hai–Raja Mehdi Ali Khan.
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