Aboard the Last Train

Death was a concept that I only encountered in fiction. In movies where, they speak an emotional dialogue before going limp in the hero’s arms. Death remained a foreigner for a long, but it was just a matter of time before I felt it for the first time.

My grandfather (Daddu) joined hands with death just 15 days ago.

And it has been an emotional incident in my life.

We had planned the annual trip with our grandparents, during which my brother, my parents, and both sets of their parents went together to someplace. Daddu was adamant about visiting the newly inaugurated Ram Mandir in Ayodhya this time.

It was a long journey, and my parents were hesitant since Daddu’s health was an irregular subject. One day, he would be sick; the next, he would be energetic and excited about the trip. A week before the trip, he showed excellent health and high spirits, so we were all hopeful as we got on a train to Lucknow.

 

What happened to his last train ride became my first meeting with death. In all the fear and gloom, all I could think about was how Daddu’s life went a full circle before the end.

 

Daddu was born in pre-independent India in 1938. They lived in the Punjab area, which is now Pakistan. When he was 9, India was celebrating Independence, but areas of Punjab were in turmoil as the partition took place.

The train left the station at 10:30 pm, and we were glad we all clamored on time with our luggage. Seeing the bunk beds and the train chugging, Daddu was extremely happy; he even cracked jokes. It is always pleasant before the storm.

It was raining the day Daddu left his home in Pakistan; he and his family moved along muddy fields and hid behind boulders as robbers pillaged the refugees. They dug holes and buried all the valuables they had, and at night, they were too scared to sleep.

The clock had struck midnight 30 minutes ago, but Daddu was still excited. With every station stop, he used to wake up and then realize we were still not there. After that, he ultimately gave up on sleep and decided to tell us stories.

They finally made it to the Indian border refugee camp. Daddu recounted the daal they had made there and how it was the best thing he had ever eaten.

Being a foodie throughout his life, Daddu sadly became a diabetic patient in his early 60s, and his sugar was always high. Yet, the following day, when we were just an hour away from Lucknow, his sugar was very low for the first time, and he refused to wake up.

Daddu slept peacefully in the refugee camp, but his family knew they must keep moving to settle somewhere. With no fortune, they arrived in my birth town, Ambala, where my great-grandpa started a kiryana store. My great uncle, who was interested in science, began making charts and models in a factory related to science.

Science and medicine will give the cause but not the cure. We rushed him from the train to the civil hospital, where his sugar got stable, but they still couldn’t wake him up. We then rushed to a private hospital, and they detected a brain tumor, but they still couldn’t revive him. My parents decided that there was no use in keeping us at the hospital and that it was better that we kids, along with my maternal grandparents and our grandmother, go to Ayodhya.

God is everywhere, yet we look for him in certain places. By His grace, we believe things happen and maybe also a bit of destiny. When he was 12, Daddu nearly got kidnapped by a man on a cycle claiming to be his family friend, but his uncle managed to save him in the nick of time.

To save Daddu was in the hands of God now; Doctors said it was best to go back home. My parents traveled for 12 hours in the ambulance with my Daddu. He kept moving and moaning, yet his eyes remained closed and unaware of his surroundings.

Daddu said that as a teenager, he grew oblivious to the struggles of making a living. He was not interested in studies and spent time lazing around or going to watch movies that’s until his uncle opened his eyes and brought him to work with him, where he realized his skill to draw out all the charts and science diagrams beautifully, and that’s how he saw hope in his life.

 The first night in the hospital was very hopeful. Being near home, Daddu started to breathe without an oxygen mask. We were delighted and optimistic, but the next day, the tables turned, and it was shocking to know how everything could crumble instantly.

The perfect life crumbled when the Indo-Pak War of ’71 took place. The sounds of cannons were chilling; hiding in trenches and seeing the bombs burst in the sky was frightening. Daddu calmed down his children by telling them it was like Diwali Night.

Night time is the scariest and most uncertain, and you know it's serious when your parents go for a night meeting at your uncle's home. It was sad, but within a week, it became clear that the end was near.

Finally, Daddu began a legacy by establishing his own business based on his uncle's legacy. A company where both his sons (my father and uncle) will join and continue moving forward.

On Sunday at 8:43 am, he breathed his last. Whenever on a phone call we asked him to come and visit, he would always reply I will come on Sunday. He didn’t break his promise as his body lay in our home that Sunday.

 

Seeing him lie there as floods and floods of people came over, I went into the stage of denial. I couldn’t believe such an extroverted, jolly person was not getting up to meet everyone.

He told us not to cry when he will be gone, but emotions sometimes betray us.

 

He lived fully and always stayed in the present. So, while undertaking all the cremation ceremonies, I couldn't help but wonder that maybe he never left the train ride. Maybe his spirit boarded the last train from Lucknow and didn’t even need to go to Ram mandir to meet God.

Life is a train station. We are forever on the journey, waiting to board the last train. However, when the ticket arrives, it is one mystery for sure.