My grand mother died last month. She scared me with the flip-side of her character she slid into for about two weeks before her death more than she did with her natural poisonous words. I was so fallen into thought, that I am still in it. Is she what she was before she got sick or is she the other one she resigned herself to be in the end? My father had done his best to keep her confident and happy. I lost my best competition at home and I'm not happy.
My relatives and my mom, as usual, created scenes for the final drama of human life where the protagonist takes off and others get abnormally active. Pyre? or Coffin? That was the question. The whole lot were divided into two mad sets -- Christians and Hindus. Reason for this is -- my grand mother unknowing of these consequences once went to Varanasi and slept with The Bible under the pillow in the final years of her life. Finally Christians won. My mother feels, she let them won because she is too good and cannot do otherwise. I should accept that Hindus suffered the Christian hegemony for the sake of dead woman. Mark Twain once said "If Christ were here, there is one thing he would not be -- a Christian"
Though Christian ways were followed, my mother still talked to the Brahman for the general course of action. This man has easily used my mom's stupidity and suggested her to leave the house in which my grand mother died and threatened with the forecast of horrible things if she won't. She passed on the order to us(dad and me) to search for a new house immediately. We tried but failed to convince her otherwise. I thought, "If Brahma were here, there is one thing he would not be -- a Brahman". Religion is no more a peace-maker. It has become the mixture of impracticality and absurdity. The present flat in which we are living right now is the best we have ever lived in. It is just perfect. It took lot of time for me and my father to convince ourselves that we really have to move out. So we finally nodded to my mother along with other two nodders-by-birth -- my brother and sister. My mom is the greatest puppeteer. She uses tears and sentiments to make the puppets play to her tune.
