Tales of White Kurta

Some things catch your attention and affection more than others, usually things don't make a strong relationship with me (it is not another topic that even people don't , i will leave it for another day and time). Kurtas have always caught my attention, all photographic memories of my maternal grandfather, had him attired in a white cotton Kurta, fairly oversize with  a crisp Churidaar. I never saw him in any other attire at all, the moment could be a wedding or a funeral, morning or evening, winter or summer, the attire didn't change. I never asked him Why? Life was too good then , too innocent and too much in joy.

One rainy morning of July 1994, he suffered a paralytic attack, a brain hemorrhage. When I met him a few months before his attack, he was his usual self , heavy Loud Voice, A toasted blend of Punjabi, Urdu and English, his one room flat was full of books, some that he wrote and some he loved. He was a newspaper freak,  he used to read all papers, English , Urdu and Hindi. he used to say , newspapers are University Degrees in Four aanas (25 Paisa). He had 2 Master Degrees, One in Political Science and other in English. Despite Loss of stature after partition, he didn't change much.

When I saw him next, he was on a Hospital Bed, Still , no movements except eyes , he blinked to acknowledge me . he spent Next 9 days waiting for his death. I used to sleep next to him with a piece of bandage connecting his hand and mine , just in case he moved in the night. I left for Delhi in night at 9 PM, he blinked again seeing me go, for the last time.

At 4 am, he breathed his last, I drove back to complete his last rites. Human Body treats itself with so much importance and relevance and One moment of death makes it a very a different object. As per Hindu Rituals, he was brought home, laid on the ground, while the "Arthi"was prepared. He was bathed and attired again in his favourite clothes , White clothes. There is a relevance of the colour white, all life you can colour your clothes as much but eventually The one colour you will rest with is White, the colour of the cotton Pods. The white colour is a symbolic gesture to tell that all colours will vanish in end.

In His last journey while I walked ahead of his Body, I realized that your weight counts so much, strangers wanted to carry you. That tells me that I may not be cared and carried today, One day I sure will be , hopefully my weight will be light enough to not cause pain . The Life is such that no matter how big or small you may be but no one can carry themselves to the end point, the funeral bed.

The cremation ground was washed, wooden strands placed strategically , the body turned to ash in a few hours . The Ghee and the raw sugar did its work. He was collected in a steel vessel minus his miniature being Called Saligram. In Hinduism you are cremated so that nothing remains of you when you disappear. You are Gone when you are Gone. No Tombstone, no feed for Insects, no place or space.Just gone ......

White Kurta is a reflection of the ultimate attire , the attire of life and death , thats why it is my favourite piece of clothing.

In last 15 months, I have scrubbed my conscience, let it be naked and expressed , just  truth , the truth that I couldn't possibly tell anyone . I have bared the last thread of me ....

Sometimes who you truly are, is not, accepted in society. I am possibly a man in White Kurta in this heavily coloured world.
I don't wish to be remembered after I am gone, my ashes will best Serve a tree or plant...

ChiraGh-e-tur jalao baRa andhera hai.
Zara naqab uthao baRa andhera hai.

Mujhe Khud apni nigahon pe aitmad nahien;
Mere kareeb na aao baRa andhera hai.

Vo jin ke hote hai Khurshid aasteenon mein;
Unhein kahien se bulao baRa andhera hai.

Abhi to subh ke maathe ka rang kala hai;
Abhi fareb na khao, baRa andhera hai.