I was hardly ten when my paternal grandmother passed away. Even then, I was inconsolable for a few days. I was one of her favourite grandchildren among nearly two dozen of us. Krish Ashok wrote a moving blog post on the death of his father and said when you hit 40, you will slowly see the passing away of your previous generation, as they hit seventy or eighty and that you have to come to terms with it. In fact, if I make a count of people of the older generation in my family who have passed on in a decade, it’s quite alarming. Some have gone before their time, the important among them my father’s younger brother and one of my paternal aunt’s sons. Then life goes on but you miss the affection of that generation, which was special.
Even in the last month, I had received the shocking news of my another aunt’s son collapsing on a city bus. He had diabetes and a cardiac arrest ended his life instantaneously. Another uncle had two heart attacks in a matter of a week and is surviving on a stent. Even in these days of technology-assisted medicine, the illnesses at times are scary. And reading former Chief Minister J. Jayalalithaa’s medical report only causes unease. Even the public figure and a charismatic leader cannot escape multiple ailments although advances in medicine have made survival and extension of lifetime possible for many conditions for which death was inevitable at least two decades ago. You can come back from death’s door thanks to available medical technology today.
Yesterday (March 7, 2017) turned out to be a bad day. I was interacting with a project manager named Siva for quite a few months now on a few projects. In my interactions, he was gentle, simple, and realistic. He accommodated your view and sought a solution. I had a problem for which we both had to wait and he made no bones about it, realizing that it was out of both our hands. After that, my interactions tapered down and conversations on e-mails was happening as usual for any work situation.
I was reaching him for an update by 11 a.m. and he didn’t pick up the call. Usually, project managers report to work around 11 a.m. and leave by 9 p.m. after answering customer e-mails. I thought he was busy and didn’t disturb him through the day.
As I stepped out, I thought of calling him again and placed a call on his mobile around 5-30 p.m. It was busy for a long time. Then I again called in at 5-45 p.m. This time, a stranger answered the phone. Even then I was under the impression that a network problem has caused the call to land in a wrong number. He asked whom was I reaching out. I told him the number belongs to Siva, my friend. He said that the phone belongs to a person named Prakash who has met with an accident. He asked me if I knew Prakash. I was too confused and didn’t realize my friend’s name was Siva Prakash. It didn’t occur to me to check his signature on e-mail from my mobile phone. The person who answered the phone also said there is an elderly person in a dazed state along with Prakash.
I assumed a lot of other things. In fact, not having contacted Siva for a while, I thought he could have left the company and his mobile would have been given to another person. I was alert enough of the emergency and called up his Group Manager, who didn’t answer my call. I sent out a message to her explaining the situation and asked her to alert Prakash’s friends and relatives immediately. In fact, she called me up thirty minutes later on seeing my message. I asked her if Prakash is part of her team. She said Siva’s name is Siva Prakash and promised to check on his number to ascertain the situation.
I was confident that Prakash will survive because I too had survived two two-wheeler accidents with fractures. Around 9-30 p.m., I received an official mail informing me that Siva is no more. I was shocked beyond words. I couldn’t work for more than two hours. The conversations I had with him and his pleasant voice kept ringing in my ears. It felt strange that I will never get to talk to him again. I didn’t want to probe further, as the mail said everyone is in a state of shock. I then closed the day without much work getting done.
Today’s city edition of The Hindu carried a news item about a motorist getting killed in Anakaputhur strangled by a manja thread. It was my friend Siva who had fallen victim to the menace of this dangerous thread still used illegally despite its ban. It was banned precisely for the same reason that consumed Siva’s life. It had taken too many lives before. Callous people who used it for sport or entertainment have left it open on the road and when it fell on Siva, it immediately slit his throat and took his life. Siva was 40, said the report, and has two young daughters. I could least imagine the state of his father who had survived this accident with minor injuries. It is terrible to see a son in his prime dying before your eyes. The family has lost him when it least expected to. Coming to terms with the tragedy is difficult even for me who had known Siva from a distance and have never met him in person. I could only pray for Siva’s family to gain strength to overcome this loss.
In a strange way, I had been involved in a situation where some help was needed but couldn’t accomplish it effectively. It so happened that my alert proved useful as the office came to know of the situation and took necessary action. I can only console myself saying I was totally helpless as Siva died on the spot. If I had called him in the golden hour where he still was alive and helped him survive the accident, I would have felt grateful to God for making such a thing possible. But that was not to be.
Life is so fragile and at times, end can come when it is least expected. Death for Siva was traumatic and coming to terms with the loss even more difficult for people associated in some or the other way with him. For humans who believe in God, prayers can heal and not make this kind of tragedy happen again.
