The end of one chapter

His death didn't come as a shock. He'd been ill for a long time, and this time it didn't seem like he was going to bounce back. Nevertheless, the family was optimistic. His swelling had gone down, and he'd begun eating. His only demand was, "I want to go home". After days, even the doctors relented. The nurses were pleased their gentle patient was finally on the mend. On Saturday night, he was coaxed into eating dinner amidst promises of going home on Monday. He even ate a slice of his grand daughter's birthday cake before going to bed. The family went home for a peaceful night's sleep. He was definitely better and coming home. Perhaps he'd live to a 112 like a relative of his? At 3 in the morning, he woke up thirsty, drank a glass of water, lay down and died. He didn't suffer.
*
Despite being prepared, everyone was shocked. I sat back and thought about him over the years. I met a much younger version of himself on the day when his son married my cousin. I was their flower girl, who followed them around till someone suggested I go and eat with the rest of the family. Then I saw him again over the years in either of our houses. He came over often with my cousin and her family, and theirs was the only house I felt comfortable enough to visit. He was friendly, hospitable, and the happiest if you sat down with him to watch a movie. He went on long walks every morning, and spent his sunday mornings in church. He loved a banana after each meal, and an egg with breakfast every day. At 4 he'd amble around asking for tea, and wait patiently if his daughter-in-law was resting. He pampered his grandchildren and looked upon his daughter-in-law as a daughter. A man with no formalities, he'd eat everything, sleep anywhere, and enjoy every trip he made. He liked going for weddings, meeting up with his friends, and he always looked a little sad when people left after a holiday. "Come again", he'd said. "I will also come". If not for him, I doubt if i'd have been half as comfortable going there as often as I did.
*
The funeral was in Coorg, as he wanted to be buried next to his wife. The family was coping well, though they'd all miss him terribly. We drove down from Bangalore to Mysore, where he had lived with his son, daughter-in-law and granddaughters. We checked into a hotel because the house would have been too crowded. However, even though we'd reached late, we decided to go to the house. At 11 in the night, we went there. He looked peaceful and fast asleep. Atleast the end hadn't been painful. The family was in different rooms, preparing for the funeral the next morning. Adiv was curious about why a man was lying inside a box. When he was taken closer, it scared him. After that he busied himself with a few helmets and games with the children in the house. He entertained everyone, and by 1 we decided to head back.
*
The funeral went off well. Despite the rains off and on, it didn't interfere with the burial. We spent part of it in the car, feeding Adiv who was quite restless. He wanted to run around, and we were holding on to him for fear of having him fall into all that slush.
After the burial, we drank some coffee, and drove to a nearby estate where lunch had been organized for everyone. We hadn't seen as much greenary in a long time. Lunch was well organized and in such a beautiful location. The lovely house lay nestled beside a pretty lake. And to get to this pretty house, you had to follow a driveway surrounded by tall green trees and reach their well manicured lawn and garden. The dogs barked furiously at being denied the excitement of having so many people over. We went to look at them, locked up in their cages.
After lunch, we said our goodbyes and drove back to Mysore. His family wept for him, but also shared amusing stories about him amidst smiles and laughter. It had been a beautiful end to that gentle soul.
As people who weren't related to him directly, we also sat around talking about him. We came away the next morning. With Adiv sleeping peacefully on my lap, I wondered if Adiv had been affected by this undeniable fact of life.