When Tragedy Strikes

My aunt and her family were returning to India after two years and she insisted that the entire family be there to receive her. And being the close-knit family that it was, everyone made it a point to be there. Preparations began in the family house. My grandmother monitored the cooking. All her daughter's favourite dishes had to be made. She was coming from Canada after two long years. This time, however, she had also decided to take my grandmother back with her. So in her free time, my grandmother wrote out lists of presents she would bring for the huge family that consisted of her five sons, five daughters-in-law, the other three daughters, her sons-in-law and twenty-four grandchildren.

We were in Assam at that time. And a few days before my aunt was due to arrive, we reached Kerala. We stayed in my uncle's house and the next day we had all decided to drive to Trivandrum, where my grandmother was awaiting all her children and grandchildren. There was a lot of excitement in the air. Everyone was discussing the aunt who was coming from Canada. Someone even excited me by saying I was sure to get a lot of presents from her. So after that I went around asking people if they knew what she would bring for me.

But then, one morning I woke up to the sound of a lot of commotion. Everyone in the household seemed upset. The radio was on and everyone seemed to be waiting for the newspaper. The voice in the old radio mentioned an air crash and soon he was giving names of those presumed dead. Everyone waited eagerly and I heard quite a few sobs when my aunt's name was mentioned along with that of her husband's and children's.

The newspaper came a little later, carrying stories about the Kanishka plane that had crashed over the sea. Search operations were on, but being the shark-infested sea that it was, there were few chances of survival.

Meanwhile, my uncle in Trivandrum was trying to hide the morning paper from my grandmother. Oblivious to the tragedy, she spoke irritably about how late the newspaper was. But after a while, she was also told about what had happened. We drove down to Trivandrum that night. Everyone was upset. Visitors poured in continuously to offer their condolences to my grandmother. The entire family was there, and instead of rejoicing as they had planned, they were mourning.

The news was being watched continuously and with each hour it became more and more clear that there were no survivors. A few bodies had been recovered and relatives could claim them in London, said a newscaster. So it was decided that my father would go and search for the bodies.

During the time he was in London, we waited in Trivandrum. People were constantly coming to see my grandmother, and the servants were constantly making black tea. We kids were often asked to hand out the teacups and then collect them after the guests had left. We kids also managed some good times amidst the gloom. We played games and laughed over jokes till someone came and scolded us for being so loud. But we would continue again after a decent interval, not realizing the seriousness of death. At that time, what seemed awful to most of us was the food. In houses where there has been a death little cooking is done. The food is strictly vegetarian and very simple. For lunch and dinner, we were given kanji (something like porridge. Rice is cooked in water and served with it), one vegetable dish and some pickle. For the fussy few like me, my mother drained the water and gave me the rice instead. I hated it even then. But occasionally, a kind uncle would pack a huge number of us into his car and treat us to some non-veg dishes at a nearby restaurant. This treat was for the kids only.

Meanwhile, my dad was seeing things he would never forget for the rest of his life. First all the relatives were shown pictures of all the bodies that had been found. Often it was just a hand or a leg. In such cases, only the ring that the person had been wearing could be used for identification. And if you did succeed in recognizing your dead relatives, you were allowed to look at the bodies and limbs. My father found his brother-in-law's body and brought it back later. Unfortunately, he didn't find his sister and her kids. This is probably something my grandmother regretted for the rest of her life. Even though she had lost a daughter and two grandchildren, she would have been happier if she had been able to give them a proper funeral.

Throughout the time that Dad was in London, we had no news of him. But one day, we saw him in the news and we were all relieved. By then we also knew that he was returning with one of the bodies and preparations were made for the funeral. That was perhaps the worst journey my father had to take. Wherever he went, he saw grieving relatives. He even saw a man holding onto a doll that he had given his little daughter before she got onto the plane. He hadn't found his daughter or wife, but he had found the doll.

Finally the body arrived back home. We were all waiting eagerly. There was more tension in the air and everyone was weeping. The press photographers hung around uneasily trying to capture shots of the grieving relatives. And when the ambulance arrived, the wailing got louder. Not just family and friends, even outsiders and servants were crying over the tragedy that was so unexpected. My uncles rushed outside to carry the coffin in. Thinking I was very brave, I stayed in front to have a good view of the body. But before the coffin was carried in, my father came and dragged me into a room inside. I only heard loud weeping, but I never got to see the body. I heard later that the body was intact with just two teeth in the front missing.

Even after the funeral people continued to visit my grandmother for a very long time. For forty days after that, we went to church each morning to pray for my aunt and her family.

It was the biggest tragedy the family had seen and soon enough it was time for everybody to return to their old lives. We got back to school, the elders got back to work. We still continued to meet for holidays and had fun during those times. And even though no one forgot my aunt, her husband and their kids, they were never mentioned again. Every household in the family had one framed picture of the family in their drawing rooms. And life continued, as it should.

On returning to Assam, our friends visited us to pay their condolences. They were given an account of all that had happened. I even gave small, exaggerated versions to friends in my class. But eighteen years later, I now realize just how uncertain life can be. And the worst part is, not matter what happens, life has to go on!