The first day of the Tamil Year is about
to end in 30 minutes. The Bengali's call it Pohela Boisakh and the Singhalese
call the day Nava Vasarakh , New Year in any other name brings the same meaning
which is wrought with hope of the mortal world.
Tamilians all over the world would have
started the day with prayer and followed by Thanksgiving meals. But one thing
that would be common is the aspirations for a better year ahead, with lots of
prosperity, health and wealth included.
When many were celebrating
today, my dear friend was grieving for the passing away of his Mum. Aunty was a
Grand Lady, leading the fullest life seeing through her great grandchildren
too. A very unassuming soft spoken lady, was definitely a great loss not only
to my friend and his family but also to people who know this gentle person.
Many who came for her wake reminisced their own story about her and how she had
touched their lives.
Soon this grief would wean,
life would go on, and to many Aunty would be just a distant memory, and
everyone would be back on their mortal pursuits with hope and many with
accompanied action.
Death does bring reflection of
our own existence, but the problem is the staying power of this
reflection seem weak. Hence in many, the reflection does not translate into
lifelong righteousness, instead the obsession towards sublunary pursuits by the
beleaguered mind tends to be overwhelming.
Every beginning has an end, life and death
are the only certainty, everything else that happens in between is purely
incidental. But the ability to convert this incidentality into a
meaningful chapter would be entirely on the hands of the beholder. To live
resolutely with utmost tenacity may seem incomprehensible but with the right
awareness, and it's corresponding attitude thereafter should make it possible.
A NEW YEAR is the time to
reflect, contemplate, and celebrate the life and time we have led with all the
people that have touched our lives, and reciprocally to look ahead to bring
forth the same significance in other people’s life in front of us.
To Aunty Mary I dedicate this
poem to you:
Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep
Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I
do not sleep.
I am the diamond
glint on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you wake in the morning hush,
I am the swift,
uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft starlight at night.
Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there, I
do not sleep.
(Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there, I did not die!)
by Mary Frye
To my Dear Friend, I share your loss.
Ravi Varmman
0111am
15042019
Subang Jaya.
