Life is so fragile, yet we carry this weight of ego, hold on to the idea of “self” so dearly, so seriously. Death, effortlessly comes to remind us of our mortality. Not death of anyone, because we too effortlessly have learnt to scroll pass the number of deaths. Just go past it, like the balance on our account, likes on our social media. For many of us, it is just another figure. But when it happens to someone, who has an impact in our life, it breaks us, it makes us question and reflect on own being.
Such a person was Shyam, a dear classmate from Aston university. That night, when I reached my phone to turn off notifications, I came across a post. My instant reaction was, ” Wow, what a lucky kid!, to be born to these amazing parents”. As I was about to type Congratulations, I could see flood of typing bubbles from fellow well-wishers , but they read condolences. To my horror, when I scrolled the caption, I was shocked. It’s April right? some kind of joke or prank?. It has been days since and I still have a lingering migraine as I type this. Tragic loss. Life is so fragile, and merciless at the same time.
I knew of Shyam as the guy, who used to enter the lecture hall just a minute before the lecturer. I was no different, I was racing with seconds myself, to get inside on time. We shared this “made it!” look. The year was 2010, most of us were still teens at the time, where we were seeking sense of belonging. Soon we all had formed our little clans, many diverse groups. Shyam even at the time, had this sense of inclusiveness. Out of the 120 plus of us, I do not recall half of my classmates but he was unforgettable.
His banters, his wide smile. Times in clinic when I had no clue what I was doing with an ophthalmoscope, just hearing someone in the row, ” Can’t see nothing” was funnily reassuring. My close friends who were in their 30s at the time, used to comment on his hanging low trousers, that how he would be as professional later on. But he was a bright kid, aced his degree. His chill, go with the flow, attitude surely was infectious. I think everyone in the class openly or secretly admired him for the incredible energy he brought in the room. I was no different.
Later to find out, he married Dulari, another sweet human I knew from our year. I was so happy for them. I was one of the four east Asian looking in my year, who could also sing Hindi songs. Rehearsals for Diya, the most awaited annual Hindu Society event, that’s where I met Dulari, where we shared this joyful ambience with Shivs, Indy and friends.
When I think of a classic love story, or a classic loved up couple, Dulari and Shyam come to my mind. I kept encountering this power couple time to time through friends, through Jags, through Reshma. I still giggle at the stories and experiences shared with Jags whilst volunteering in Zambia for Vision Aid Overseas. Testing eyes covered in a bin bag, the adult show they were trying to escape at the count of 1,2,3 and no one stood apart from Shyam. Through Jags, I fell in love with the two even more. I have embraced their shared stories, posts, particularly from their travels.
My heart aches knowing what an incredible human he was, the lives he had touched, he was yet to touch, the incredible father he would have been. The next morning, I lit some incense sticks in his memory, mourned through the virtual funeral, missed Dee in all of this. To have known this free, joyous spirit, I feel honored. I can only imagine the hollow space, this tragedy has left in the lives of his family and loved ones.
My heart goes for my dear friend Dulari, a super woman, who is going to be an amazing mother, parent to the new joy of life. I have so much love, respect and admiration for you, for what you stand, fall and flow for.
Sending love and light your way.
Gaumaya Gurung
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