How long does a man live after all?
A thousand days or only one?
One week or a few centuries?
— — Brian Patten
A decade ago I lost my grandfather to cancer. My grandfather was a quirky man. very wise, but quirky all the same. Maybe it is true that all wise men are a bit quirky. A fitness freak, he had been practicing the yoga since before I was born. Yet, he was well endowed in the abdominal area and never seemed to be able to get rid of it. He had this strong faith in this ancient form of exercise and believed everything could be cured with it.
We called him Baa, “father” in Nepali. Baa was not a man of humour, nor was he a man who wore his heart on his sleeves. He kept his emotions to himself and his words were always words of wisdom. Words of advice to his children and to us, his grandchildren. He was a loud man and never lost an opportunity to admonish anyone and everyone if he could; but we all knew Baa was Baa, short tempered and a bit irrational at times, although a good man, without a doubt.
Even after a decade since he passed away I can still remember everything about Baa in vivid detail. His usual spot on the sofa comfortably propped with two pillows, his tea drinking habit after his yoga sessions. How he loved watching the WWE wrestling matches on T.V and called it “kushti” the word for wrestling in Nepali. I remember him consoling my mother and advising her never to loose hope and to stay cool, calm and composed in the hardest of times. To let things go. He was our backbone, a pillar of support.
A few months after my grandfather passed away, one of my aunts brought my young cousin (who was five at the time) to bathe in the tap outside. there was a swarm of ants just below the tap in the bathing area. When his mother proceeded to run the water, the little boy stopped her and said if she let the water run the ants would drown and die, they’d go up to heaven and bite Baa! He most certainly didn’t want that to happen! That is how much he loved him.
Baa was not a perfect man. he had his glitches, his shortcomings, but despite of it all, he was a loving man, a good man. He wasn’t very successful with money but he taught his children the value of everything else that mattered. He taught us to be a good soul like him, a brave person like him.
During his last days my grandfather instructed everyone in the family not to cry over him, that life went on and crying was not a solution. But we couldn’t help it, could we? his death and the aftermath was a terrible experience for all of us, though his words had left us with a little consolation, the grief was unbearable. And as years passed by, the tears dried out and the swollen eyes settled down, I realized the answer to that one question I was pondering over. My grandfather’s life and his “afterlife” gave me an answer to it.
Ten years since the death of him and he is still remembered fondly as a kind man. His offspring imply his wisdom into practice. His grandchildren fear that ants would hurt him in heaven and they remember the warm love radiating from him. maybe that is how long a man lives, as long as we mourn his absence, or celebrate his life after that. He doesn’t live for a day or a thousand, not a week or centuries; maybe just as long as he is remembered.
What my grandfather taught us will remain with us. What he taught us is what we have become and maybe we will pass it on to our children and hopefully they, to their children and he will continue to live as long as his memories and his goodness continues to live in one form or the other, in the generations to come.