RIP B.D. Manocha

My last living grandparent - my paternal grandfather - B.D. Manocha - pitaji - passed away on the 18'th of May, 2009. He was 95 years old.

This was coming - he had severe Alzheimers, had suffered a stroke that had paralyzed the left side of his body, was very frail and pretty much fully dependent on others. It is because of this that I feel this was a good thing. He had led a long and (for the most part) healthy life - lived long enough to see his great grand children (the oldest of which is now almost 19 years old), seen all his grand children (save me and my brother) get married and been there when his wife passed away. His passing away relieved both my uncles (his two oldest sons) from having to constantly worry about him (though, amazingly, I never heard them complain - infact they often fought over who would be the one taking care of him).

I debated over the content of this post - should this be a eulogy or a detailing of my trip to India to perform his final rights. I will give both a shot, starting with the former.

I didn't really know pitaji too well. From the time I remember things, I knew him as a deeply religious man - so much so that he almost completely ignored everything else - including his wife (for example, I don't remember a single time when both of them slept in the same room, not sure if he did it earlier in his life, but definitely not since I remember anything about our family) and his youngest grand children. The most vivid memories of him I have are the ones where he used to come to our part of the house for dinner or when he used to be the one chairing the prayers whenever a common one took place in the house. My older cousins tell me he was a strict taskmaster - he used to see if they finished their studies, were disciplined etc. Non compliance usually meant they would be hit with a cane. He didn't take non-compliance too well (this is all too evident in my father too) - as was witnessed by him scolding us or our mom when we used English instead of Hindi (he was a Gandhian). He was also obsessive-compulsive about his health (this may be why he lived to this age). He was never one to try to build a fun and playful relationship with us. I remember my younger self asking my mother how come pitaji didn't play with us like the grandfathers in the movies played with their grandkids. However, by the end of things, he had changed significantly - everytime I visited, he would enthusiastically hug me and ask me to sit by his side. I'm not sure if he knew who I was, but he liked people sitting with him, holding him or holding them in an embrace. He had also, as far as I could tell, given up on religion (this could by my bias) as well as on good health (part of this was 'cause he couldn't walk after his stroke, but he also started loving sweets - when he used to not eat much more than 3-4 spoon fulls of the stuff earlier). I guess, I had more fun being around him in his later years.

He passed away on Monday, 18'th May. My dad left for Delhi the same day. My mom followed the next day (Tuesday) and me the day after (Wednesday). He was cremated on Tuesday morning. We went to collect his ashes the morning after I arrived - almost all the males in the house. This was done with all pomp, ritual and ceremony - none of which I understood. We laid out different kids of food on all 4 corners of the rectangle as well as the 4 mid points of the sides of the rectangle. This was followed by some shlokas being read by the in-house pandit. We then did what's know as phool chun-na (pick the flowers). This involved saperating the bones from the rest of the ashes in the pit. We then headed home with the ashes as well as the bones. The afternoon saw a 3 hour rendition of the Bhagvat Gita followed by lunch. This was mostly attended by family members as well as mid to old aged housewives from the neighbourhood (given that it was a thursday afternoon, most of the men were apparently unavailable to attend). We then had an hour's respite and then headed to a temple where a more public ceremony was held - attendance was actually quiet good. The ceremony involved 45 minutes of funeralistic songs followed by a 20-25 minute eulogy delivered by the family priest. The ceremony ended by 6:30pm, after which we all returned home, where plans to go to Haridwar to put his bones in the Ganges were made. 11 of us in 3 cars were to go. We all left at different times the next morning, but ended up meeting just oustide of Haridwar. The drive there in my uncle's Wagon-R was actually pretty taxing - with the A/C not working fully well and the tempreatures soaring over 40C. Once we reached Haridwar, we checked into our hotel, rested for a few minutes and then headed down to the main river bank (called Har-ki-pauri) to put his ashes in the Ganges. Our priest met us at the banks - who then performed another 10-15 minute prayer. We then gave his ashes to the Ganges and then everybody but me, a cousin and his wife, followed it up with a dip in the river. We then headed back up to the hotel, took a shower and headed down to meet our Haridwar priest. This is the guy you go to to register a death or birth (though the latter rarely happens) in the family. He has records for the Manocha family going back 3-4 generations - apparently. This done, we went for a stroll in the local market. We rushed back to the main bank of the river by 7pm for the aarti held daily. The place was packed which meant people were rubbing up against everybody. Rather distressing but I survived what was a - fortunately - short prayer. A quick trip back to the hotel, we headed back out for dinner after freshening up. We had dinner at a Dhaba type place and then headed back to the hotel to call it a night. The next morning involved another dip in the river for most everybody and then checkout followed by our drive back home - which was plagued by the same ills that troubled us on our way in.

That was it for the performing last rites part of the trip. Many things about these 3 days pissed me off. Not least of them was the fact that after deciding to not go to India for this hoopla, I changed my mind after a call from my dad asking me to come. Now maybe I was being naive, but I thought he asked me to come 'cause he needed me there - somebody to talk to and stuff. It turns out I was window dressing - a body to show that the grandkids from our end of the family haven't all suddenly gone AWOL (since grandkids from the other two brothers were in attendance). But as I said, I was probably being naive to expect otherwise. Anyway, many of the rituals irked me too. The putting food on all corners of his pyre, the picking of his bones from the ashes, the floating of said bones into the Ganges (no wonder the water there was so nasty), the singing of the songs, the pseudo-eulogy delivered by the priest instead of his kids etc. I am sure if I had been there for the cremation, I'd have had problems with that whole process too. But I guess this is to be expected - I believe dying is the end of things - nothing lives on. You remember the person the best way you can without acting like you need to help him gain passage into heaven. Suffice it to say, I feel I would have been better off not going to India - just mourning his death from Kuala Lumpur, in a way that I feel acceptable, instead of going along with what others think I should do at such a time. Alas, that didn't happen.

My grandfather passing away is a bittersweet moment - it's sad but probably for the best. I can't say I'll miss him, but I will say may he Rest in Peace.