I SEE YOU
To my brother who passed away at age 25 in
1996
by
Lakshman Bulusu
I.
THE BEGINNING OF THE END
It
was a sunny Tuesday morning on July 2nd
with
the usual rush hour traffic.
Your
day began with a cup of Assam tea and a crispy toast.
You
put on your business casual work attire,
a
black Raymond trouser and a checked Arrow shirt;
but
there was a change of plan that day.
You
had to see father in hospital for fracturing his hand
when
he fell from his bed the night before.
You
prepared filter coffee, our father’s favorite,
thinking
fresh coffee would cheer him up.
You
placed the lower steel decoction container on the countertop,
positioned
the steel mesh separater on top of it,
placed
the top steel container over it,
put
ground coffee powder into it followed by boiling water,
and
let it settle for twenty minutes.
To
finish it all, you added boiled milk and sugar to the decoction
and
mixed it for a frothy coffee.
You
filled the insulated mug with filter coffee
and
started off on your motorbike taking Cantonment Road
hoping
that everything would turn out right for father to return home.
II.
THE MOMENT OF THE END
Twenty
minutes into your ride--halfway--
in
the din and bustle of traffic,
a
white Maruti van collided with you
head on.
You
were thrown to the corner of the road;
your
motorbike tilted sideways
with
its wheels whirring one last time;
your
office backpack lying a couple of feet away from you.
Our
father’s favorite coffee dripped from the mug
as
your heartbeats faded into silence.
No
wails, no groans from anyone,
not
even from the lady who drove the van.
She
got down, saw you unresponsive, got back in, and drove away.
Moments
later, police in a van passing by noticed you
and
took you to the hospital emergency room.
The
doctor in charge there pronounced you dead.
The
police located your school badge,
contacted
the administrator who gave our home address.
They
informed our mother by phone who rushed to the hospital
in
a state of shock and took your body home.
Our
father still waited for your arrival.
III.
MY REMINISCENCES OF YOU
I
still see you through the lens of tears
that
wet my eyes as I remember you.
I
remember the many rides
you
took me on your motorbike without saying ‘no’ even once.
Your
whistle rendered a lilt to the breeze as we rode along.
I
see you in triumph as you made it
through
the interview for a graduate teacher.
You
shine in the highlight as I reflect on our past:
the
jokes we shared at teatime;
the
rules of play you stressed,
no
matter who won or lost;
the
ideas you put forth as we discussed poetry;
the
encouragement you gave
to
turn Sundays into leisure days and take it easy.
The
last smile of yours
twenty-five
years ago as you waved goodbye,
still
floats in my memory.
The
flame of your life continues to glow,
its
warmth comforting my heart;
reminding
me, you are as near to me as you were,
twenty-five
years ago—
your
image apparent as a metaphor.
My
grief of your sudden end no longer stands out.
IV. YOUR END IS NO PRIDE FOR DEATH
You have done your part and made your mark,
as a teacher in a Christian middle school,
fair and good in your profession,
though for a short-and-not-too-short three years.
Your effort rewarded through the words
of the Bishop who later visited our house,
He was good, honest,
and well respected.
And it was God who gave
the wound,
So He Himself would
heal the wound.
To me it seems like the role of death
is like darkness chased by day.
Footprints of many generations outlive it.
Its very identity turns into a dimming light.
Dear brother, from a tombstone,
you rise like a tower in pride
epitomized by your meteoric talent.
And then there is afterlife
that welcomes you into a new world—
who knows what wonders it holds.
A reality that opens gates to the infinite?
I no longer
question, “Where did you go?”
For, ever you
live on—
And I still
see you!
