Dating : Burger

I was a timid boy when I was young, who got angry for reasons unknown. I found my emotions hard to control and even harder to talk about. I found solace in venting out my anger in sudden bursts of violence. Yes, violence. An urge to smash heads and break noses. I would jump on my classmates and fight on trivial issues. I figured out the reason for that, much later in life. I could not stand someone mocking me for a second. It made me a recluse who would avoid any confrontation and limited my social contact from people who made fun of me.

But I had another man in my life. A person of close relation, who was mocked practically most of his life. But there was no protest. Not even a glimpse of dismay at others. People would pity him. As he was not very fond of talking and people were left wondering how he performed his duties as a government servant all these years.

He made a deal with a colleague to sublet his government-provided accommodation for a paltry sum and chose to live on rent. Or it was his cunning colleague who talked him into this ludicrous deal. It wasn’t until several years later, that people found out and pushed him to move his family in the nice government quarters. Away from all the shabby, squalid conditions that encompassed his previous neighbourhood. I could not understand what led to the decline of his mental state or more, his abstract personality. He must have had some friends. But only he knew about them. Never shared.

He was also the most ardently pious man I have known till date. Always up before the crack of dawn every day. He would take a shower, irrespective of the weather, even when he was sick. And would perform his prayers with the rationed two incense sticks per day. Nevermore, never less. Just two. But every day. And this was the case for nearly the decade I watched him, whenever I stayed with his family over the weekend.

The 2000s were a good decade. A lot happened in the country and around the world. Good, bad, ugly. Delhi was slowly gaining pace, out from the shadows of bureaucracy, into a business hub. India had opened up to the world market a decade earlier and now was the time people were reaping its benefits. Some of the population saw prosperity for the first time, in terms of better income and affordability. Now a lot more could afford a better lifestyle, earlier limited to employees of the government or a handful of private companies. They had the same respect. More private companies meant more job options. People were earning and they were earning fast. Gold and real estate prices rose beyond expectations. It was also this time that my brother, son of my relative, also started working to add onto the family income.

Soon they had a television in the house, and later a Video CD player. A music system. This was still the time the family was living in the rented accommodation. Before news broke out of my relative’s higher income and sanctioning of the government accommodation. We were happily surprised that my brother could achieve so much more for his family while studying and working two jobs.

My brother is also revered in the family for his dedication towards his family, and him winning on the challenge to become the actual ‘man of the house’. Something my relative could never become. He was the elder one, but he never rose to the occasion. And people had figured out how to deal with him. He was practically never consulted on major issues. His opinion mattered, but not so much. He was there and invisible.

But as the legend goes, there was a time this man was powerful, more like a terror in the village. A man of his word. He was consulted on issues related to the family, the village and the villages nearby. He was also known for playing several roles in the theatrical stage play ‘Ram-Leela’ every year. And also as the legend says, he was given a drug by someone, that made his mind weak and body weaker. He developed chronic personality disorders. Sometimes not speaking for days. When he returned to his job in the city, he cloaked himself with secrecy regarding his condition. Never sought help or consulted a doctor. Life continued. Things changed. He remained the hermit he had become.

Sometimes at night, he would laugh uncontrollably but hushed, under his blanket. It was a common practice for him. Many would sigh and pity for his case. They left him as he was. Only his own family cared. The society treated him as an anomaly. A person with a condition. I rarely found him talking at weddings. He was silent. Perched in a corner. I would meet him out of respect, touched his feet and that was it. There was no interaction. It never crossed my mind to engage him in a conversation. He would talk though, to some relatives, and they also did it out of sheer due diligence.

Things turned better when my brother married. My sister-in-law, god bless her, was like the ray of sunshine that turned the house into a home. The family grew bigger. There was a visible change. We could see him smile sometimes. There was more conversation. Probably because my sister-in-law was treating him as an equal. I figured sometimes we need to break the fourth wall. We need extrospection, as much as we need introspection. The cycle has to break. And she broke the wheel. But old age caught up and so did health issues. My relative was diabetic and would sometimes steal sweets to pacify his cravings. He would go for dialysis almost every other day and still would sneak in a candy every now and then. Maybe he was not sure how to handle his urges. His family would complain, but he won’t budge. His health deteriorated.

The dialysis became a daily affair. Sometimes the family had to scout for hours finding a clinic with the dialysis machine if his regular one was not available. The whole exercise became futile. Sometimes we wondered if he purposefully wanted to go early, while he still held his government job. There is a provision to nominate a member of a family for a job, usually the eldest son or daughter if a government servant passes away. But it was a far-fetched idea. We still loved him and didn’t want him to go. But things were not looking too promising. And one day we got the news that he was admitted to a speciality hospital. The charade looked rehearsed. People would talk about his good deeds while waiting in the lounge. There were other families. Some holding onto hope, some sat there in despair, waiting for the unfortunate to happen. It would look normal to some, but utterly devastating to the other. We would forget the delicate thread between life and death and would focus on the aftermath here. It looked surreal, family members planning the after death scenarios. Close relatives were given a heads up to plan their journeys, so they would reach for the final goodbye.

One close relative was my mother. My relative was my maternal uncle. A saintly man too quaint for this world. Leading a silent, emotionless life for close to three decades. I had memories of him doing nothing in particular. I only remember his grey shirt and trousers. Sitting and smoking country-made cigarettes. I still don’t know if he had any other vice. Except for smoking and sweets, he had no other game. He was the quintessential spectator for all of us. The actual ‘third person’. My maternal grandfather died when my mother was a toddler. My uncle was the father figure. Losing him would mean parting away from a piece of herself. He was the hand above her head. His personality was not important, his status was. He was the statue we would go and pray to. Him going away was a symbolic defeat for most of us.

It was then. Sitting inside the Apollo hospital in New Delhi. I realized we are all part of an intricate system. We need each other to keep each other functional. Our brain is made up of three parts. One of the most complex ones in the animal kingdom. At the core- we are primal. Outside that, we are emotional and beyond that, we are our scheming selves. My uncle had only the middle part. He wasn’t primal nor scheming, but emotional. Who knows he used to cry at things that hurt him? He rarely showed emotion. Would not join in conversations and was a recluse at the onset. I started to remember things that I must have said to him or may have heard others about him. All I remember was vague references to saints. He was the saint inside a society. Performing his duties. But everybody still had a problem with him. They wanted him to behave normally. I don’t know what normal is. And neither did he. He was good and it was all that mattered.

On that ill-fated day I saw him last, he was connected with wires, tubes and machines. I found him talking. Yes, talking to my mother. He was asking for something. My mother asked me to come with her. He gestured to stop, we came back. He collected all his strength and asked to eat a ‘Burger’. At any given time in my life, this would have sounded absurd. My uncle! Asking for a Burger! But it was one of his last wishes. I am told people make requests at their end. A set of final things to see, feel, hear, taste before their departure. But a ‘Burger’!

It crushed me to some extent. Not then, but sometime later. It crushes me every time I recollect his last memories. Why a burger? What was so special about a burger? Was it a trigger for a happy memory? Or maybe just a wish. Then it looked like a task. As more urgent things were important at that moment. There were people outside who were waiting for commands to be executed. The journey to cremation, the cremation, informing relatives. It was jolting and jarring. A pillar to many- a big tree had fallen. But his last wish was important. We went around trying to find a burger, but it was too late. He was gone. A man with so much to say, so much to do before going had gone without doing it.

We brought his body home, so people could pay their last respects before cremation. My father finally found the burger. Hindus place things people liked when they are alive, on their funeral pyre, as a token of goodwill. Much like the ancient rituals predating modern religions. We took the burger to the cremation ground and placed it on his body along with other things. A new shawl, some other items and the burger. I overheard stories about others who asked for similar items. It sounded alright at the end. The goodbye felt complete but understated.

The burger haunts me till date. Not because of the request, but because my uncle had suppressed even basic and menial things like these for his last time. He just wanted to go alone. That was understood. But what prompted this behaviour still evades me. He will always be remembered as an outsider. He will always be the last one to come to mind. But to me, he would be the hero of another story untold. I would like to imagine him as the opposite of what he was like. To laugh and live like the gentleman he was. I now reimagine him as the strongman of his yesteryears. Fate played on his fortune. But he still died with dignity and a much-respected man, way above many. Never spoken ill of anyone, never coveted another man’s possession. Never stood against anybody. A true hero. The burger is his sigil. A symbol of defiance. He is the man who tested time and kept his desires at bay. Except for sweets of course. That was the guilty pleasure. The only thing that made him human, like many others. Apart from that. He was a saint still.

Kuldeep Kumar Sharma

Istanbul

7 May 2020