Miss u Badshah dada....

Its amazing how we forget about people who mean the most to us.. We love them, cherish them, claim that we cant live without them.. And then one fine day, they go and die on us.. You want to cry, want to feel the pain, want the loss to sink in.. But that doesn't seem to be happening, so you block the impact..

23rd June, 1993... Said goodbye to dad, was leaving for school when the phone rang... Seeing no one around, I picked up the fone... Cudnt make out the tearful gibberish on the other side but had this ominous feeling in the pit of my stomach... Made out the words 'Badshah' and 'maara gache (has died in Bengali)'... Knew then that it could not be good news.. I changed my uniform and packed my suitcase, while Ma-Baba spoke on the fone.. I knew school had to wait..

On the way to Ranchi, Ma kept crying, Baba was unusually silent, Duke slept the whole time.. So there was just me with a lot of unanswered questions.. I wanted to know what had happened, but wasnt considered old enough to know all the details.. So I waited

The atmosphere at Ranchi was chilling.. I had never seen so many people collectively cry.. Men, women, relatives, friends, acquaintances, everyone gathered around each other, trying to console each other... My eyes were only searching one person.. Badshah dada

Somehow in my childish head, I was in denial.. I knew in my head that he had died but I had this lil hope that it was all a big mistake.. I mean I had spoken to him a few days back when he had promised to come to Jamshedpur soon... He never broke his promises, he was almost Rajput-like about it... So it was impossible that he had died on me..

And then, I saw him.. Covered in white cloth, wearing his favorite purple t-shirt.. His body had bloated due to the water in which he had been lying in for god-knows-how-many hours.. He looked so calm, so at ease.. My chattering, always busy, hustling-bustling brother was not even flinching when people were falling all over him, sobbing...

He loved Amma (my paternal grand-mother) so much that he would wake up from the deepest slumbers at one beckoning from her... Today he was oblivious to the her heart-wrenching sobs.. His mother, my sisters, everyone called out his name but he refused to answer.. I did not know what to do

I wanted everyone to just shut up.. He hated tears, always tried to make people happy... He was a light sleeper, hated too much noise when he slept.. I wanted to yell at everyone, but the sight of his t-shirt had me spell-bound.. He loved his purple t-shirt so much that I had once said that when he dies, we would cremate his t-shirt with him, or else he mite come back for it from the other world.. He seemed to be smirking at me in that t-shirt, saying that he has done the needful

He hated getting wet.. It did not fit.. How could the life of the house, the apple of his parents' eyes, the much-adored brother of his sisters kill himself?? How could he jump into a well and not give one thought to the people he was leaving behind?? What could have troubled his 16 yr old mind so much that this was the only escape he could find?? My mind was exploding with questions but my eyes refused to shed a tear. I just wanted answers..

The true colors of grief were visible only after he got carried away on a truck for cremation. It did not take minutes for the pseudo-mourners to start speculating about why he had killed himself... The word 'Suicide' was being relished and repeated without a single thought being given to the grieving family.. "I heard he flunked his boards", "Some girl jilted him", "I think he was caught in some drugs problem"...1000 ppl, 1000 explanations, forget empathy, there was not even enough pity.

"He was calling up some Jamshedpur number for hrs before he committed suicide", said this well-wisher to my mother. Hearing this, my mother's tears knew no bounds cos the number cited was ours. A million if-only's crossed her mind and if looks could kill, I would have been arrested for the murder of the well-wisher.

The next few days passed in a flurry with the usual rituals.... Every day, at precisely 5:30 in the evening, I would stare at the gate, expecting Badshah dada to kick the gate open, walk in, in his uniform, pretending to be surprised to see me although I have told him a million times already... I wanted him to come, so bad that it physically hurt... I wanted to wail, loud and long but even at age 9, my precocious nature made me console others which effectively suppressed any pain that I felt

We passed the cremation ground on our way to Jamshedpur... Here, Duke informed in a very worldly-wise tone that that is where they had put Badshah dad in a rocket and sent him to the stars.. I guess this comment is what inspired

Twinkle, twinkle, little star
Badshah, I know you are there
Up above the world so high
Like a diamond in the sky

Indrajit Mitra
Born: 12th February, 1977
Died: 23rd June, 1993

I wil always miss you, Badshah dada... Wish so much that you were here..