Poetry

The Rest is Silence

by INNI KAUR

 

Twilight descends

My mind drifts

Tears of gratitude flow

But

There is no joy.

 

A deep sadness fills me as I reflect on the tragedy in Mumbai.

I was in that exciting city when the horrific events unfolded. I could have been at the Taj or at the Oberoi Hotel for dinner that dreadful night. But something within me was making me very uncomfortable. I was anxious to leave the city.

I decided to go and stay at my sister's apartment, which is on the beach at Juhu. To the others, it made no sense. My sister was out of town. What would I do there? Yet, I insisted and left for her apartment at 9.15 pm that very evening. I reached her place at 10.30 pm and promptly went to bed. An hour or so later, I heard my bedroom door open, but decided to ignore the intrusion and slept through the night. 

I woke up refreshed and with a sensation of "being well." The apprehension that I was feeling had disappeared. Then the phone calls started to come in from loved ones, and I learnt of what had happened and what was still happening in the city.

I turned on the television and watched the events.  A strange frame of mind set in. I was witnessing the events from a distance. I did not seem to be affected by them, horrific as they were.

That evening, I left for the airport while the city was still under siege. The airport was under a blanket of security, yet functioning in a surprisingly orderly manner. At no point did I feel insecure or fearful. In fact, I felt very protected and safe. Strange was this feeling. 

The grueling sixteen-and-a-half hour flight landed on time at JFK International Airport, New York. The television sets at Immigration were beaming images of Mumbai still under siege. 

"Welcome back," said the immigration officer.

"It's good to be back," I replied.

I watched the clouds dance and twirl as I traveled home. 

My husband of 33 years sensed my need for silence and did not say much. My daughters were home for the Thanksgiving holiday. Their strained faces and saddened eyes greeted me.

Their cousin, my niece, had successfully escaped from the Taj Hotel and was safe at home. Grateful as they were at their cousin's return, their anguish and despair continued.

Mumbai is a second home to them. Their city was under attack. They had been through this once before, during 9/11.

The siege ended. 

The children left. 

And then I experienced the "what if" phase. 

What if I had been caught in this tragedy? Imagining the pain that my husband and daughters would experience was unbearable for me. 

I went deeper into silence. 

Tears rolled at the thought of them being in so much pain.

Is this moh (attachment)?

Or is it compassion?

 

In 1999, I had written:

 

Death creep not silently

Come not like a thief -

Come like a bridegroom

With all the pomp and show.

 

Father, dress me in red robes

For I am the bride.

Cover my hands with henna

Let the procession roll.

 

Shed not tears, my father

For I am going home.

Distribute sweets and flowers

For I am going home.

 

I have been blessed with an incredible life. If I were to close my eyes this very minute, there would be no regrets, only an intense gratitude.

Gratitude, for this unworthy vessel has been blessed with so much.

The need for silence continues.

The hustle and bustle of life can wait ...

 

December 5, 2008 

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