Lessons from my father’s pyre

My father’s soul departed his body on 10 October 2024. A day after, Ratan Tata passed away. Coincidence that two great souls left this planet back-to-back. We cremated my father just the day after at Nigambodh Ghat, one of the oldest and most popular crematoriums of Delhi/NCR, on the banks of Yamuna River. Crematoriums are called the land of Lord Shiva. Now my father resides there too, in the lap of our spiritual guru ‘Shiva’.

His health was deteriorating year on year for the past 5-6 years. Despite his bypass in 2002 which has a life of 10-12 years, his heart desired for a long life. An annual hospital stay to keep pace with his falling heart, became a very normal trip for all of us. This year his heart was only working at 15% of its capacity. After over a month of stay in the hospital we got him home. During the hospital, he often told us that he has been praying the whole night and now we should go and make offerings to settle things. Guess he was expressing his wish of going to Haridwar. A place where we spent our summer vacations taking dip in the holy Ganga and touching/feeling spirituality along with his go giving nature, as he offered food and clothes to the poor people.

Death and grief make you find reasons and dig into the very WHY. It makes you an outsider to your own emotions, and I am this person who just lost everything. My world turned upside down. I am writing this memory, so I remember what happened following my father’s death, lessons I learnt, and how I approached this phase of life.

We are all reading ‘Garuda Purana’, to find meaning in death. It is said Yamraj, visit you on your last day on this earth. My father was a strong-willed person, and he tried to get up early that morning and walk despite his illness and the state of immobility. He fell from the bed on the floor. A sign that he was wanting to walk gracefully to his death. Later in the evening, his soul left the body from his throat and eyes. Which is a good sign as explained in ‘Garuda Purana. Infact his eyes were open and didn’t close, until we all got together. By chance, I was booked for a home trip for Dussehra. The plane touched the ground at 7:20pm and I got the message from home, ‘Baba not well’ and a few minutes later another message received, ‘Baba passed away.’ I reached home and saw his body come home wrapped in a white cloth and hands/legs tied up tightly. When we opened the sheet and put him in a cold box, his eyes were open. I rubbed his head, felt his face and stood there in front of him so he could see me. His body was small like a child wrapped, white hair, small eyes, almost like nothing is left on him now. My eyes are like Papa and many more of my physical features. Thinking of how much he loved me, I closed his eyes with some effort for him to rest in peace. As the youngest child, I was his favourite and guess that’s why he longed to see me.

In Hindu religion cremation is usually held on the day of the death. In Papa’s case, we did it the next day as it was late in the evening and post sunset last rites are not conducted. I was travelling last week and had it been a few days earlier, they would have to wait for me to return. Somehow, I was here and booked for the home trip. A few weeks back I was thinking of stepping out of town this weekend and relaxing with family. I even changed the ticket once to make it into a long weekend. Destiny always walks two steps ahead of you. All conspired me to be here and around on his very last day. Papa always said, ‘Don’t plan too much as Waqt ek sa nahi rahta.’ I learnt at that moment ‘we desire to do many things instead of doing them’. A bucket list vs a to do list. What’s most important is to turn your desire into action every single day, make memories, call your family and loved ones, meet them; enjoy moments today and not push things to tomorrow. 

When we are alive, we are humans. Once the soul leaves, it is just the body. That is what I got to see and experience his presence around us. All family members collected together next to the metal box. Every eye was wet and swollen. An aluminium box was connected to an electrical outlet to maintain cold temperature for slow degradation. In a few hours, a sheet of ice started forming underneath him. He was getting cold but wasn’t shivering as it was just the body left behind. A round glass dome like cover allowed a view of Papa’s body/face. His head was tilting on the right side. I tried a couple of times to keep it straight. Later we put cotton on his nostrils and ears to close all open channels. It is believed that open channels can lead to an unwanted spirit entering the body. That is why in Hindu culture we guard the dead body till it is cremated.  

That night we all brothers and sisters sat around his body and remembered everything he did in his lifetime. Even if one night was not enough to talk about his good deeds, we spent time remembering him. Our father lost his baba at the age of 20 years and soon after his mother. Immediately he became the head of the family and worked relentlessly to fulfill his duty towards the family. The most important lesson we all have learned from him was ‘fulfill your duty in your role’. As the head of the family, he took everything in his stride to lead the family from the front. Endless stories of walking miles to borrow 100 Rs, to start his work, and giving up many jobs for the fire to start the business and be his own boss, still echoes in my ears. In one generation, he settled three-four generations. Some may say, he didn’t leave much behind in terms of assets or savings, but for me his priceless memories and lessons are lifelong treasures.

Next morning, many rituals followed, and relatives started pouring. No cooking in the house as per our traditions so we arranged food and tea from outside. It was a bit chaotic that day. Someone was arranging Pandit, and others were running to prepare the body for the last bath. We needed a new set of clothes for him and my brother. I remembered how Papa called me regularly and expressed if he needed anything. Most of the time, it was a pair of kurta Pajama. With change in season, his choice of material would vary, cotton in Summer and woolen in Winter, and always light colors. Of all the siblings he only called me to express what he needed. I was thinking how he had asked me some months back for a new pair of Kurta Pajama and in the hustle of work and life, it slipped my mind. Now we are running pillar to post to see which shop is open early in the morning or should we search it on Blinkit. Today’s time, most things are available on Blinkit, except an opportunity to go back in time. In between many rituals we forget to get Bhai’s haircut. I was not getting enough time with Papa and started to feel empty and numb. Something which I am unable to express in words. Maybe it was regret of not buying that Kurta for him, or inability to speak with him, and helplessness of losing my powers. Power, as in papa’s belief in me. He felt honored seeing me do well in life. Making him proud was kind of my life’s purpose. Now who will be proud of me? Who will call me and ask, ‘Beta kaisa ho.’ Who will sense from my voice how my day is going or where I am with my emotions. Like we put power in god idols by devoting our prayers, my father gave me powers by believing in me. Now who will believe in me, so powerless in that moment.

Then my sister reminded me that we have to remove Maa’s bangles and toe rings. Signifying she is a widow now. Soon Maa came into the room and broke into tears. To lose your life partner, whom you spent 57 years of your life with, is heart breaking. Her entire life was in front of her in this aluminum box. My sister made Maa sit and with some effort removed her toe rings and bangles. I felt like we were removing Maa’s heart from her body. I was thinking, ‘what will they remove from my body, if something like this happens to me, I don’t wear bangles or toe rings’.

Soon we started to prepare Papa’s body for a bath. Panditji performed prayers and then everyone started to offer a shawl on Papa’s body. Maa’s bangles and toe rings were kept next to his right shoulder. Offerings of Marigold flowers and shawl covered his body. Everyone touching his toes and offering last respect. When my turn came, I didn’t want to let go of him. With courage, I hugged him and felt his forehead and face just like he used to do before I would leave home. I wanted to feel his warm hands but couldn’t. I said, ‘I love you Papa’ and let him go.

Bhai and all the grandchildren lifted Papa’s body on their shoulders and started to walk towards the mandir where an ambulance was waiting. Chatting ‘Ram naam Satya hai.’ In Hindus girls or women don’t go to crematorium. With modern times, things have evolved, and we sisters decided to go with Papa till his last rite.

Bhai and my nephew sat in the ambulance with Papa’s body. I ran home to get the file which had his death paper from the hospital along with his Aadhar card. How much I wanted to sit with them, but lack of space made me adjust into a cousin’s car.

On reaching the Ghat we divided into groups. One cousin and a few relatives got into the line to get wood allotted and get his official death certificate. Now a days, government offices are digital. You give hospital papers, and the death certificate comes to you immediately. Then only wood is allotted. I was thinking, ‘how much wood one needs for the last rite. Looking around it was obvious that the Ghat was receiving 150-200 bodies per day. Is shortage of wood an issue?’

Some of us took the body for prayer, Pitt daan and bath. We moved from one station to another. It is said that last rituals help us release the soul to find Moksh. Here I learnt ‘closure is the most important’. Be it life or anything, make sure you close things well. 

We got station number 20 allotted. The priest started to prepare the body on wood. Papa’s face was kept bare open. All the boys including my brother, cousins, and his grandchildren started to do as the priest said step by step. Putting wood in a certain sequence, small ones followed by big ones, making a heap. I realised that once the soul has departed from the body, what remains is mere structure or material, no different from the piece of wood on which it is placed.

My brother lit the fire, and the pyre was ablaze. My eyes were stuck on Papa’s head. Within seconds it was gone, and I could feel the heat. At that moment, I was asking myself – what is life? Made of five elements – earth, water, fire, air, and space; and it goes back and becomes these elements. The smoke from the pyre made me reflect on the air quality in Delhi. The mixture of many air components. New age cremations are electric, but they miss the five elements of life. Is there technology to capture this smoke? How many bodies are burned daily and what portion of Delhi’s air pollution comes from these grounds? Many thoughts going in my mind.

In a few minutes, the ceremony of Kapala kriya, or the ritual of piercing the burning skull with a bamboo was conducted; to make a hole or break the skull, so the person doesn’t remember anything from this life, and to release the soul. I stood watching it, thinking why I can’t see Papa any longer and why do I see things turning into ashes.

Everyone was standing there witnessing the pyre with wet eyes, except the priest who was not part of our circle of grief. For him it was a job and his living. In 40-45 minutes, we started to move out. I stood there longer than others. I wanted to tell Papa that I will always make him proud. I will live up to his values and life lessons. I even took the pledge on his pyre to not leave any stone unturned in taking care of my family and fulfilling all my duties. His whole life was about completing his duties and taking responsibility settling us, be it in work, marriage or life. I started to walk out and kept turning back to get the last glimpse of him.

At home, we all took turns to take baths as a ritual and wash away the impurities of the cremation ground. New rituals followed to feed the cow and meet everyone coming home to offer their condolences. In between all this we managed to barely eat. Food tasted bland. I remembered how as a child, I would wait to eat dinner with Papa, which was often late. He would return from work around 10pm and dinner would be around 10:30pm. His trademark habit was putting extra salt in his food for taste, from there I got the habit too. Now without Papa, food is tasteless. 

What followed was hours of sharing Papa’s life and good deeds. Best part was in his going also he got the family together. Time we sisters spent together was valuable and something we have not managed after marriage. We reflected on Papa’s last wish and decided to go to Haridwar with his ashes. We connected the dots with what Papa told us in the hospital.

Coming to Papa’s room I could smell him and see all his things intact. The room I always had as a child to hide. Be it Holi to escape colours, or preparation during exams to find peace. The oxygen concentrator, glasses, pillows, hanky, medicines etc. His room felt like a memorial now, which surely, I know will be kept as is by my mother.

Where the dead body is kept, that place is sacred and in Hindu religion we don’t leave that room or space alone. It meant; we took turns to sleep in the room where Papa’s body was kept overnight before cremation. Someone kept a plate where his head was. It is believed the soul returns home and tries to connect with the family. Didi and I chatted endlessly about Papa that night. She had spent a lot of time in the last two months with him. She kept saying wish we had more time and wish we could make more of that time. Papa’s honor was his children and especially daughters. He educated us well and always taught us to study more and more. Of all the siblings my eldest sister is one who continues to study till date. There is no degree she has left to acquire. Her quest to study continues and now she wants to gain knowledge in astrology. I told her to give a try for NEET as her dream has always been to become a doctor. One of Papa’s key teachings was, ‘The world can take everything from you, but one thing no one can take away is your knowledge, education and capabilities.’

Papa the eldest amongst his siblings, had the fire to make it big in life. His village roots kept him grounded but dreams made him fly high. In his lifetime, he first put his brothers and sisters and then his wife and children. We never saw him much at home as he would be running places to build the business and make ends meet. He fought many legal battles with courage to get all properties sorted with the clean title, which his parents humbly built. I have a clear childhood memory, where he fought a legal battle for one of his factory coworkers, who lost his life in a car accident. Papa got the compensation sorted so it could be of help for his coworkers’ old parents. That day, I learnt that unconditionally helping others is one’s true Karma. Blessings in return can change the course of your life.

Papa’s entire life went in building our home. His fondness for girls was enormous. He even got his married sister’s daughters to live together with us. My mother raised close to 8-9 girls as her own children. We were a house of 30 family members and 12 children. He believed in the institution of extended joint family where everyone lives together. His belief that he can give all of us a good life, education and opportunities, kept the family wheel going. So, our generation grew up on strong values of giving, a culture of doing the right things with integrity at the very core, and responsibility to follow our duty. His Karma was his family. While he was a go getter, he was also a go giver. A rare quality in a few humans.  

We lived empty days missing Papa in every small thing. Walking or talking, we all were living our story of loss. Between life and death, which are the two most certain things in one’s life, are many incidents of joy and pain. I realised and learnt, life is nothing but just a memory and some pictures of time captured. 

In the afternoon, Didi and I went to the temple Papa went to every day, to meet Panditji. As a child I had visited this temple daily with Papa. We took Panditji’s advice on what prayers to keep at home for Shudi and which rituals to follow for his Terahvi (13^th day prayer to release the soul). In Garuda Purana, it is mentioned how the soul travels each day for thirteen days to get Moksha. Journey of paying for his good deeds in this life and meeting the gods in heaven. Papa was one of the purest souls. I believe he would travel with ease to his last destination. Panditji suggested ‘Gita Paath’. The Bhagavad Gita is a sacred Hindu scripture with teachings of Lord Krishna about the essence of life. Papa was a spiritual person and his daily practice of going to temple was his biggest source of power and courage. From here comes the habit of visiting the temple amongst all of us.

We walked back home, and I listened to my sister endlessly talking about Papa and his stories. I realised that even in the midst of loss and grief, we have to find solace. In the evening, we went to get his picture printed and framed for all the prayer rituals to follow. We picked one of Papa’s smiling pictures with me on my birthday. We edited it and framed it in a 14/10 frame. A man who was 5’9-5’10 and lived a long life, full of many challenges turning them into opportunities, is reduced to a 14/10 frame. He was unafraid of challenges and always stood up to face life in its thin and thick days. My mind went into the direction that we all should select a good picture of ourselves so when we are gone, we are remembered well. 

Another night of memories followed, and we realised the time we are spending together is something we haven’t done in ages. We laughed, cried and exchanged personal anecdotes of whom Papa loved the most. He could never say No to me. So, if we needed him to say Yes, I was the front runner for most things in asking him. I remember how once Bhai wanted a new bicycle; he asked me to request Papa for it. Soon came the very first Hero cycle at home. In another incident, every year on 2^nd October Khadi Sale, he would get 10-15 silk sarees for mom. On Diwali he would get new and similar clothes for everyone at home. I detested it the most. I wanted something different. So, before every Diwali Pooja he would take me to buy my favourite dress or frock. When we looked into some old pictures that night, it was evident that I looked different. Plus, in each picture he is holding or having his arm fondly around my shoulder.

The next day, we started to collect all prayer related things. We had to make a bag for collecting Papa’s ashes and bones. Panditji said to make long white bag, hand stitched by his children, especially girls. I took the opportunity to personally stitch it. Everyone kept saying no need for the bag, we can manage with the Kalash, but I was adamant to handmade the bag. Thinking maybe this is the last white kurta or piece of cloth I can offer him. I made the bag with wet eyes. Every single stitch made me miss Papa. Feeling the cloth like I am feeling his warm hands. All the relatives sitting around were amazed at my clean stitched bag, with speed. In the evening, we designed invite for the Terahvi ceremony.

Early next morning (two days after the cremation), we all got ready to visit the Ghat for the ritual of Phool Chunna (collecting the bones). We walked to station 20. My eyes searched for Papa, but what was there was only ashes. Bhai had to sit for another round of pooja. All the grandchildren followed instructions and started to pick the bones carefully. A curved piece of bone looked like his skull. Panditji, showed us ‘Attmaram’ the bone which is the C2 vertebra and looks like Shiva sitting in the meditative pose. It is said Attmaram is found for those who are great souls and have lived a good life. Papa’s Attmaram was intact. I clicked a picture of it. A memory, that he is with Shiva now. As soon as I turned left, I saw a bull roaming between all stations. Bull represents Nandi, the vehicle of Shiva. He was going from one station to another. Somehow, he gave me that look ‘I will come to you.’ My attention diverted to ashes. Slowly, children pick up fragile bones and put them in the basket. They were broken and in pieces. Pooja was performed by washing his remaining bones with Gangajal and milk. Bhai started putting the bones and ashes in the Kalash and then in the white bag I stitched. On the top of the bag were Maa’s bangles and toe rings. A sign that she was an integral part of Papa’s life till the very end. Seeing this sight, I learnt that life is nothing but a small bag of bones.

Everyone started walking out of the Ghat. I stood there for a bit longer remembering my father. Closing my eyes in his memory. I opened my eyes and saw the bull ‘Nandi’ at station 20. His sign that ‘I will come to you was now coming true.’ I watched how meticulously he ate the burfi from offerings, not afraid of the lamp, he removed the flowers and ate an apple. Moved to another corner and ate something more. Looked through the corner of his eyes with power, in which I felt the supreme presence. Now he is here having breakfast with Papa. 

I moved towards the car. Bhai sat with Papa’s ashes, and we all drove to Haridwar.  5-6 hours of car journey with a small tea break. A journey we brother and sisters took together after ages, maybe after 35 years or so. Last time we travelled was when we were kids. Going to Haridwar during Summer vacations and Vashino Devi in autumn break, was our usual holiday plans. His belief in supreme power and good deeds was truly remarkable.

I held papa in my arms when everyone stopped for a tea break. First, we took out a portion for Papa and later offered that to the cow as daan. On reaching Haridwar we looked for the priest who had been performing our families’ last rites. A chain of rituals followed with the final step of taking bath in the Ganga and immersing his ashes. We emptied a bag full of Papa’s specs, dentures and some more stuff so we could rest in peace with his closest belongings. I tried to stay still and watch flowers and ashes mix into the Ganga. A man who lived for more than eight decades was now flowing in front of me. None of us were part of that, which reminded me of what Gita says, ‘You come in this world alone and you go back alone. I clicked a few pictures for the memory and watched the kalash and ashes take its course and turn.

Later my sister found a good spot for us to take a proper dip. We sisters took bath remembering how Papa used to make us feel the holy Ganga in our childhood. We changed into a fresh set of clothes and visited the temple at the Ghat. We went to offer some food to the poor people as his last wish. Over lunch, one of our cousins shared that the priest told him names of our seven generations and we even managed to add the newest member ‘Devik’ to the family tree. We started to travel back to Delhi. The return journey is always longer and painful. We reached home late and slept over the day. My last thought that day was, ‘Papa never slept the whole night. Work and the factory always kept him awake. When the world would wake up around 4-5am, he would go to bed for a few hours. Now he must sleep well.’

Next day onwards ‘The Gita Paath’ was to start at home. I went out to buy fresh flowers and garland to keep Papa’s photo ready. Many days followed where we listened to 2-3 chapters of Gita and related stories. Afternoon was full of family and friends visiting us. After marriage this was the longest, I have spent at home. Over the past few years, I have seen my father’s health decline. Every stay in the hospital was a sign of bad news. But they weren’t preparing me for the worst news. A few days back my sister messaged ‘he is stabilizing but not looking good’. I had the hunch but didn’t want to believe that his time was up. I told her let’s see. In many ways, intuition was a sign which I was not ready to accept. Papa’s death was making me introspect my own feelings and find meaning in what is next. Confused on how to grieve and what to cry for. As a child I was quiet, and I could feel this episode of life drawing me to that quiet state once again.

Days followed preparing for Terahvi. We started to collect all pooja related things and offerings to be made to thirteen Pandits. This was my first experience of seeing all the rituals closely. In the evening, we would go back to reading and understanding ‘Garuda Purana’. Each night sleeping in the room and wishing we will have contact with Papa. One early morning, I could hear him say my name, I got up and saw my niece on her phone. I told her to sleep as it was 4am in the morning. During school days Papa used to wake me up around 3:30-4am for revision. Later he dropped me off at school. He continued to do so even when I was in college. I clearly remember before every examination while dropping me in the car, he would say, ‘you have studied everything, now leave the book and relax’.

His death provided a context to understand many aspects of life and all he had done for his family. My niece and nephew were preparing notes and poems to share at the prayer meeting. I started to write my part. But somehow, I couldn’t comprehend. For me a few minutes weren’t enough. I instead wanted to make a memory through this writing and remember what I felt and how I want to remember Papa.

His prayer meeting was attended by immediate family members and friends. It was a lesson that in our lifetime we make thousands of connections and relationships, but the most important ones are just a handful. In today’s digital world, our social media account on any given day has hundreds or thousands of connections, and none of these people know where we are in life and what we are going through. They have the ability to like a post but are unable to call and find out our whereabouts. An aversion towards social media grew in me at that moment. While Papa lived his life for his family, he only believed in a supreme god. His courage was exemplary and his dedication to family was unmatched. His faith and confidence were always surrendering unequivocally to the will of the Divine. With this faith he had shaken mountains multiple times; faced setbacks; rebuilt himself, along learning and teaching that vicissitudes of life could hardly trouble us.

A period of many days and weeks followed with endless discussions on what Papa taught us and how each of us have taken some of the biggest traits and lessons. For me the most cherished ones are – 1) a sense of duty towards your family and making it your karma; 2) staying grounded to your roots and unconditionally helping others; and 3) no matter what time- high or low, having faith to rise from your rock-bottom like a phoenix rise from the ashes. These lessons are part of who I am, and I will always try to live up to these. ‘In a way it is all about relationships you build between yourself, good deeds, and God.’

Death, which we think is an end, is actually a vehicle of meaning. It is a way to look back and forward. All rituals are equivalent to a marriage. A new beginning! We slowly return to normal life with a void. We start to act like nothing happened, but so much happened. We live each day in grief. So, do we let go of things and memories as we grieve? I don’t know. For me grief feels like a very heavy stone on my heart. I feel the ache each day. Some days I cry on the very thought of not hearing his voice and unable to dial his number, while the other days I try to find courage through his life and teachings. What seems heavy today will be lighter in days, months and years, to an extent it is bearable.

The most comforting thought is, he is in a good place, in the lap of lord Shiva.

I will be grateful for the life he gave me. He will live with/in me forever.