Seeing the invisible

In my early school years I had to walk three miles to school in the morning and return every day. There were no school buses. The big river in between was pretty wild during the monsoon and we crossed her in a large wooden boat. We lived in the valleys of Waynad, northern part of the western Ghat, south of India. In the summer the old river would get dry. As the water gets shallow, we would be able to walk across it. It was fun and we would play in the water whenever we could as we crossed the river.

Once I was returning from school by myself. While crossing the river in the afternoon lighting, I saw a dead body of a man by the side of the bushes in the sand bed. It was my first time seeing a dead body. The old and weather-beaten face made a deep impression on me. The open mouth with wet sand in it had imprinted deep in my memory. It changed my perspective to life I think. I was curious but later days afraid for some period to cross the river by myself. Like any other irrational fear, it faded away eventually.

My closest friend Joseph and I used to walk to school every morning. We would talk about anything under the sky and usually our conversation would be about the radio programs we both were listening to. (Ha! radio programs!) It rained profusely in June and July, the usual relentless down pour in that part of the planet. I still don’t know the reason for a new school year to start during the heavy monsoon season of Kerala, south of India. It is perfect for the north Indian schools as they have summer there in June. Anyway, we all had to walk in rain with heavy umbrellas drumming with the downpour. Kids had to sit in the classroom with wet cloths sometimes.

That day I was a bit late for our usual boat because the village barber came to our home in the morning, unusual I would say, to give me a haircut. My father insisted to get a cut before I leave. By the time I arrived running, our usual boat had set off the shore. So I had to wait for the next round. The boat was full of kids including Joseph who was waving at me through the thin veil of rain. Though the river was full, it was calm for such a heavy monsoon. The downpour on the water plain created a surface of grey and white rain-texture.

Then it happened. The boat sank. There was nothing visible over the water for a while, as the boat went under. Then one by one, I could see the panicky faces and heads in the water coming up. I could hear the screaming and shouting. Total chaos followed then on and after all the rescue efforts, two kids were still missing and one of them was my friend Joseph!

When the news was confirmed, certain emptiness descended upon me for the first time in my life. I felt the heartbreak and an intense sense of loss. That day a shift happened to my young mind. I had crossed over to the other shore and was able to feel and see the things others don’t see or notice. My subtle and sensitive side started to be comfortable with my loneliness and solitude and the wandering in the vastness of paddy fields often became an enjoyable thing to do. I realized that we come here alone and we have to leave this life alone too. That was a shocking realization for a young mind but comforting, in a strange way. Once in a while, I still see Joseph waving at me with a wet smile from the other shore. My dad still would say, 'barbar Appu saved your life that day'. The mysteries of destiny in life!

When a young person encounters the death of a close friend, a paradigm shift happens in his mind. Seed of a lingering sadness is being planted, which stays as a melancholic backdrop and the grief along with it brings in a subtle dispassion. The overwhelming exposure to an intense emotion can make a young mind to peek into the invisible world, sometimes. This may be an escape route. But the occasional visions of an invisible world can change a person for life.

_____________________________________

On his deathbed artist Edgar Degas;

"Damn…and just when I was starting to get the hang of it!”