Those days I used to be in Kolkata. 1991 summer. Dad had just written to me that he was on his way to Khadki for some office work. He was taking mother along as she would be alone at home otherwise. Sensible. The couple had reared two young men of variable promises and then they needed their own time. Very sensible.
One day a call arrived at my office, I was to meet the caller right away. I did. My Dad was in a poor way at a hospital in Chinchwad and I had to get there the soonest. I took the first available train as that was what I could afford then. One and half days later, I was speeding towards Dehu Road, two elderly gentlemen keeping me company and I generally getting what they were trying to say and unable to.
Dad had passed away.
The Dehu Road hospital was crowded with many of my known uncles and other work friends of my father. I could see that the hospital had made an effort to keep things clean, neat and smart. I was told that they had been waiting for me for nearly two days and it was time to move on to other stuff. Cremation. Other religious processes.
I understood. We commenced the last journey of my father.
We had to come to a crematorium in the city. My uncles were organizing everything and so I was excused from the frantic coordination. There was vehicle provided by the Ordnance Factories that my father was a staff member of. The sheets and flowers arrived from Chinchwad in no time. The day was cool and breezy as I remember it. It was dusk by the time we reached the crematorium. Very quiet place. We did the religious work. We being my brother and me. Then, father was passed into the final abode.
An hour later, we collected the ashes in two pots. One was going to be emptied in the Mula river from a bridge and another was to be emptied in the Ganges. We did what we had to.
We collected a certificate from the crematorium. No one asked for extra cash or anything of the sort. The next day, I and my brother took the bus from Chinchwad to Pimpri-Chinchwad Municipal Corporation to get the actual Death Certificate. We had heard of gory tales from the elders as to how notoriously difficult it was to get such certificates. We heard of unlimited greasing till the actual certificates arrived in our hands.
Nothing of that sort happened.
The crematorium certificate was taken and a sheaf of “True copy” certificates landed in our hands. My only query whether all these would hold good for things such as Pension, Life Insurance and Succession was answered succinctly, in Marathi. I had a bit of a hard time understanding that sentence. The certificates would hold good. By the way, no cash was asked by anyone. At all.
Dehu Road. Pimpri – Chinchwad. Pune. Mula river. My first sighting! Death brought me to a city that went on to love!!
Indraneel Majumdar is a CEO of a hospitality and amusement company, owns a business, chases trivia and enjoys “slice of life” situations. He lives with his family in an apartment overlooking a small and vanishing lake in Whitefield, Bengaluru. He lived and worked in Pune and Mumbai for many years. He has been blogging and doing what he calls “silly updates” in social media for some years now… “to everyone’s dismay”. This column will appear every Thursday.
Pictures: The Sun Studio
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