Because Life is a Picnic

Notes: 1. 'Chacha' - Father's brother. 2. 'Chachi' - Father's brother's wife.
Both terms can be used by members of various generations for convenience.
3. Indian 'joint families' comprise several members -- usually, grandparents, various parents and their progeny.
The following scenario would have about twenty people in it.

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"Isn't this scary?" Nischal whispered, as the little girls walked through the woods toward the river.

"Scary? This place is beautiful, it was his favourite spot," Bulbul replied.

"Yeah, but ..."

"Look, that's for his sons to decide, okay? And his wife. They don't think it's weird, so you shouldn't."

Nischal didn't say another word, and the girls hurried to catch up with the rest of the family. At the riverbank, Nischal went and stood close to her mother. Her mother put an arm around her and gave her s small squeeze. Then, they watched as the priest gave Pratham Chacha's sons the urn containing his ashes. The young men muttered some prayers over the urn and stepped in to the small boat waiting at the water's edge. The boat was built for just two. The older son held the urn while the younger one rowed. When they reached the middle of the river, the older boy scattered his late father's ashes in to the wind, and they mingled with the water that Pratham Chacha had so loved to swim in. The boys rowed back.

Nischal sought comfort, nuzzling into her mother's white saree. Her mother patted her but didn't speak -- she was murmuring a prayer for Pratham Chacha's soul, under her breath.

"The children must have something to eat now," came Madhuri Chachi's firm voice. Madhuri Chachi was 93, the oldest living member of the family. Nischal looked at her. She suddenly realised something. Madhuri Chachi was 93 -- which meant that Pratham Chacha had been younger than her. And yet, Madhuri Chachi was still alive, and Pratham Chacha wasn't alive any more. It was confusing.

"The children must have something to eat," Madhuri Chachi repeated. "I've packed some rice. Adarsh, go and fetch it from the van. There's a picnic hamper there."

Picnic?

"But Pratham Chacha died yesterday," Nischal whispered to her mother. "Aren't we supposed to be sad? How can we have a picnic?"

Her mother planted a soft kiss on her head before replying. "Pratham Chacha loved these green woods, this river. He would want us to be happy coming here, not sad."

"But you said his sons cremated him in the fire and we brought his ashes here. Everyone was crying. How can we have a picnic?"

Her eldest cousin, Adarsh, had returned with the hamper. Madhuri Chachi had packed a lot more than rice, and the children, running to their favourite spot in these familiar woods, proved that you can, indeed, have a picnic even when you're supposed to be sad. You can have a picnic and you can enjoy it too. "Pratham is listening to the children laugh," Madhuri Chachi informed the rest of the adults.

"What are you thinking about, Nischal?" her father asked.

The family was walking back to the van through the woods. They were at the rather rickety bridge which must've been built for a reason when it had been built. Maybe the river once ran there. Nischal was walking between her parents, a hand in each of theirs. She looked at her father, frowning, trying to word her question. "How did Madhuri Chachi know?" she asked, finally.

"Know what?"

"Know that Pratham Chacha was listening to us laugh. He's dead. How could she know what he is doing?"

"He liked it when all you children laughed," her father tried to explain. "So she thinks that, wherever he is now, he still likes it."

"Where is he now? His ashes are in the river. It's weird. We'll be swimming in the river next time with his ashes there."

"It's almost as if he will be with us."

"But he won't be with us." The child came to a halt and her parents stopped on either side of her. "He can't be with us now, you said he would not come back forever."

"What's the matter?" Madhuri Chachi's voice called from somewhere behind them. They were blocking the way -- other family members were slowing down.

"Nothing, nothing, sorry," Nischal's mother tugged at her hand, but the child did not move.

"Madhuri Chachi," Nischal called out, turning.

"Yes, Nischal dear, what is it?"

"Where is Pratham Chacha now?"

Madhuri Chachi quickened her own pace, tapping her waling cane, striding past a few uncles, aunts and cousins to get to where Nischal had halted.

"Nobody knows for sure, Nischal," she said, as she reached the child. "Nobody really knows what happens when we die. But because Pratham Chacha loved us and we loved him, we can keep him in our memory forever."

"Did you have a Chacha with you, too?" Nischal asked, suddenly.

Madhuri Chachi laughed. She addressed Nischal's mother before answering the child. "Don't blush Mina, it was a natural question. Yes, Nischal, I had a husband. He died before you were born."

"Husband? You were married?"

"Yes, Nischal, I was. Don't try to shush her, Mina, these are natural questions. Come, let's walk and talk." She took the child's hand in one of hers, swung the walking cane in the other, and the family moved on.

"Did you put his ashes in this river?"

"Not in this river. I put his ashes in the holy river Ganga."

"Did you go in a boat?"

"No. Your cousin Adarsh and I stood at the bank of the river and scattered the ashes."

"Adarsh came with you? Did Bulbul also come?"

"No. Bulbul was very small, she couldn't travel that much."

"She couldn't come in the van with her mother?"

"We didn't travel by van, Nischal, it was too far away. We went by train and bus. Just Adarsh and me."

"Nobody else came?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Everyone had work or college or school, Nischal. They couldn't take time off."

"But everyone must have loved your-husband-Chacha like we loved Pratham Chacha. Why didn't they come by train and bus with you to river Ganga?"

They had reached the van. The child was lifted in and her parents pulled her on to a seat between them. Madhuri Chachi went to sit at her usual place next to the driver.

"Why didn't you go to the holy river Ganga?" Nischal asked her father loudly.

"Shhh," her mother admonished.

They heard Madhuri Chachi's chuckle over the sounds of the van starting up. "She will keep shushing her child!" the old woman muttered.

"My teacher says all rivers go to the sea," Nischal persisted. "So this river and holy river Ganga will go to the sea."

"Yes," her mother mumbled.

"So Madhuri Chachi's husband-Chacha and Pratham Chacha will be in the sea."

"Yes," her mother mumbled again.

"Are they scared of swimming in the sea?" the child asked. "The sea has so many waves. The river is nice to swim."

"I don't know," her mother replied.

"Is the sea very far away? Will their ashes have to swim a lot?"

"I don't know. Now be quiet."

Bulbul came up to join the conversation, holding the seat, balancing as the van swerved. "Sit quickly, Bulbul," her aunt Mina said. She put Nischal on to her own lap, and Bulbul squeezed between the two adults.

"I think Pratham Chacha and Mansinh Chacha are having a picnic in the sea together," Bulbul announced to Nischal.

"Madhuri Chachi's husband was Mansinh Chacha?" Nischal clarified.

"Yes. He was tall and had a big moustache," Bulbul said.

"Did you love him?"

"I don't remember. I just remember his big moustache."

"How do you know he is having a picnic with Pratham Chacha in the sea?"

"Because our family loves picnics and they are from our family."

"But the sea is scary. And how will they get food there?"

"They must have packed it. Our family always packs food."

"Can dead people pack food?"

"Bulbul! Nischal! Stop talking nonsense," Nischal's mother scolded.

"But, Mina Chachi, our family always packs food."

"I know, Bulbul, but enough now, okay, dear. And you, too, Nischal. Why don't both of you go to sleep for some time? Lean on me."

"Not sleepy," the girls chorused.

"Then look out of the window. See how nice the scenery is."

The girls were quiet for a few minutes, gazing at the landscape whizzing past. Then, to Mina's relief, they started on a game of 'A, B, C, D', in which they had to name things they spotted beginning with each letter of the alphabet, in turn. Soon, other cousins joined in, shouting out words from their seats either in front of or behind them in the van.

As the journey progressed, Nischal did, indeed, nod off. Bulbul went back to her parents' seat and fell asleep there. Dusk was falling as the family pulled in to their driveway. Nischal's father gathered up his sleeping daughter. Mina picked up her handbag and prepared to disembark, to find Madhuri Chachi climbing out of the van just in front of her.

"Mina," the old lady said, as they walked up the driveway together.

"Yes," she mumbled.

"What made you uncomfortable? The idea of life being a picnic?"

Mina blushed, and though it was too dark for Madhuri Chachi too see her clearly, turned her face away.

"No," Mina whispered. "It wasn't life being a picnic that bothered me. It was death being a picnic.These children talk any nonsense."

"But we do give our dead food for their journey," Madhuri Chachi pointed out, gently. "Why can't it be in a picnic hamper? Mina? Mina? Are you crying?"

They had entered the front door. Nischal's Dad had deposited her on the sofa and was looking out to see where his wife was. "What happened?" he asked.

"I'm not sure if she's laughing or crying," Madhuri Chachi replied.

He caught hold of his wife and lifted her face up. She was giggling uncontrollably. "Madhuri Chachi is talking nonsense, too," she finally managed to whisper. "Packing food for the journey to heaven in a picnic hamper."

"Why not?' her husband asked, hugging her close. "For our family, life is a picnic, isn't it? So why can't it continue that way?"

"Why not, indeed?" his wife responded, still giggling. "Why not?"




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