It is thirty years since Chandrika and I married, and over five since we lost her.

The last 12 months have been significant in that the underlying melancholic note, the listlessness, and the sense of futility of the preceding years have diminished.

The DVT episode of September last and the healing was symbolic of the entire process of re-engaging with life after Chandrika with a newfound ease and improved flow. As can be expected, things are never exactly the same as before – the clot made way over time, parting, clinging to the venous walls, allowing blood to once more flow through, the veins narrower now but without impediment.

To some, the DVT onset itself was a bodily response to the psyche’s choice to give up, to shut down and pull back from an attempt to reconstruct a life ahead. People also read into it a warning sign, a wake-up call of sorts, given that the suddenness and the severity hadn’t severed the lifeline.

I took stock. Three things stood out.

One, that I would like to be around long enough to see off my mother (as if I was the master of the clock or the one with the key!). Second, I must consolidate my limited, scattered assets into something that was more manageable and cashable. And third, I should do what is necessary or sought from me that helps my daughter ease into her adult life and take charge of her own destiny; I know now that the best that I can do is to watch from the sidelines and be available. As before, I had no big goals – to move mountains, make waves, complete my immortality project (ah! – that terrific expression that Ken Wilbur introduced me to) or other such.

My life has taken a benign turn after the scare last year.

Taking a step back in time… In March 2018, I had said this in Kuala Lumpur:

“I would like every Remembrance Day to be a threshold – to invoke the memory of those who lived, and also how they continue to live through us in our daily lives as we attempt to fashion a future.

What does this mean for me? – My wife, Chandrika lived a life of simplicity. She was largehearted and generous, principled and practical, direct and considerate. She was feisty, and had a zest for life. There was seldom a trace of pettiness, a grudge, or violence. She embodied a deep commitment to the health of the earth and its people. She was always up for the good fight, in the service of fairness, equity and justice. My life ahead is an opportunity to add some or all of these admirable qualities. A lot of work, and many thresholds ahead.

I ask myself what can make this possible for me. Four things come to mind:

One, forgiveness. I believe it comes from strength and is not a sign of weakness. It could enable my freedom from captivity to events of the recent past.

Two, letting go of anger. Staying in a perpetual state of anger burns my insides and blinds me. It has now outlived its ability to energise me. I do not wish to live a life laced with bitterness. It is not a compromise with the search for the truth about MH370, but merely an assertion that my pursuit is beyond the personal.

Three, snapping out of the grip of nostalgia. Nostalgia is a soft, sweet slide into a romanticised past, as if the present is not a moment but an eternity. In its sway, the past feels glorious, the present unbearable, and the future unthinkable.

Four, a commitment to the truth. The truth of who I am meant to be.

So, my friends, rather than let the Remembrance day and tribute be about ‘Lest we forget’, this time I would for myself also want it to be about departures, so that it honours life and the living process as much as it honours a life lived.”

I seem to have anticipated and scripted my own movement over time.

The search for MH370 has ‘ended’; there are no new initiatives or fresh ideas to shape a renewed search. Malaysia and the rest of the world seems to have settled into ‘business as usual’ and all questions surrounding MH370’s disappearance have been given a silent burial.

However, I don’t feel the rancour in me anymore about all things MH370 in the way that they used to plague my mind, seize my attention and eat my insides.

“Questions have a way of persisting and even outliving you and me till satisfactorily answered. I go back to pick up the threads of my life in Chennai, secure and with faith that one day we will know.” (From my address in March 2019, Kuala Lumpur)

With this faith, I unburdened myself of self-assigned responsibilities to keep , keep the many unanswered questions regarding the missing MH370 in the public eye and keep track of the multiple scenarios presented by researchers, public enthusiasts, amateur investigators, conspiracy peddlers, etc. I let go of pride and vanity that had crept in amidst all the public exposure that came in engaging with the media. I downed the shutters, in a manner of speaking, after I came back from the Remembrance event in March 2019. I no longer felt like a lonesome dog barking on a street in the dark of night, long after everyone had retired for the night to catch their beauty sleep and get a fresh start in the morning after.

I realise I am not feeling stricken anymore. There is no torment of memory, no nostalgia that tugs at the tethers to a shared past with Chandrika. In the initial months and years after Chandrika left us, I would often be guided and governed in my actions by what she might have preferred, said or done in a particular circumstance. I actively sought it by invoking her being that resided in me. I am not doing so anymore. There were inappreciable departures over the last two years, but are cumulatively significant.

When recuperating after DVT, I had friends visiting me, spending whatever time they could manage – a few minutes before setting off to catch a flight, or longer, sometimes extending into a meal. In these, and the other times when I sought them – in my times of confusion, dilemmas, lows and loneliness – they have been there for me with their banter, frivolity, abundant generosity and space, deep listening, counsel, and the occasional rap on my knuckles. There are stronger bonds today, and I have an ease with greater intimacy. I don’t think time is a healer. Perhaps care, concern, and love is.

Something in the recent months told me that I am on the mend. Something as simple as this: I could look at an OTP on my phone just once and key it in where required – a feat I couldn’t manage in recent years. My brain must have really been hijacked, preoccupied or corrupted after the events of 2014 and now has been freed!

I have resumed reading in the last 3-4 months, after an initial attempt with an audiobook. The book was terrific, but I missed the feel of paper between my fingers. From there on, I devoured books as if I had to make up for lost time. It was a new and joyous experience to be able to read books once again, focus and sustain interest over a length of time. My hunger for books continues unabated. I am once again relishing fiction, a genre I had given up decades ago.

I enrolled in a gym, when I realised that my loss of appetite and indifference to my health had rendered me weak, gaunt and unfit for any strenuous activity. The hour I spend in the gym is a silent challenge, meditative and enjoyable.

I restarted my Carnatic music vocal classes. I had discontinued my lessons decades ago when in college, after my father passed away. I had shut out singing or listening to music these last few years because on the few occasions I sang or listened to music, some stray note invariably caused a lump in my throat and I could not proceed.

For now, I feel like I am in a good place. Not particularly busy. Not feeling very rich. Not despairing at all. Feeling valued as a friend, confidant, father, son, and more generally as a human being. I see myself today as kind, caring, loving, trustworthy, honest and gracious. And occasionally, fun.

Sometime in March 2014, I had said that I am neither particularly favoured nor abandoned, and that my faith in the forces of life remain undiminished. Life is. I feel so.

 

This article originally appeared on my Facebook page.