A Botoking
With the recent demise of Lt. Horangse Sangtam and the 9 IRB Jawans, I feel the tone of the state at this moment is somber and rather grave. Eventually, death comes a calling to each one of us. This is no secret to all of us. Why is it then we find death so hard to comprehend or fathom? Or for that matter, why is it so hard to accept the death of a loved one? Why are we seldom ready for it when it comes? What is it about death that makes us rather uncomfortable? Have we made a mistake in putting it up on a pedestal, high above our reach?
My mind naturally wanders back to the days when my Father was still alive. You see – I too, am among the many who has experienced what it feels like to lose a loved one. It is a feeling which mere words would seem too empty to express. Yet, time has healed my wounds and enabled me to move on with my life. Isn’t this the beauty of our lives? Somehow, from nowhere are we able to garner the strength to live our lives out inspite of everything that may come our way.
I remember my father’s hands. His hands were rough and extremely strong. He could gently prune a fruit tree or wrestle with a stubborn animal. He could draw and saw a square with quick accuracy. But what I remember most is the special warmth from those hands as he would take me by the shoulder and discuss any issue with me. A man whose origins were most humble, my father struggled hard early in life and made up his mind to succeed in life. In no man have I seen such consistency of determination as I had seen in my father. As I sat beside him, he would point out the stars to me and remind me that God can be seen in anything as long as one’s mind is open. He taught me the value of the prudence of the tongue and the sharpness of the mind which have been most invaluable in my great big journey called life. He taught me the importance of retrospection and introspection – that eloquence of the silent moments that can bring about much learning than anything else. His words and actions will echo in me for my whole life.
Each one of us carries an essence of what has been taught from the life of a lost one. Some among us may have lost a father, a mother, a brother or a sister. This does not mean the end of everything. It only means the end of life as we know it to be. The situation changes but we have to tarry on…….for who really knows what tomorrow may have in store for us. The winds of change keep on blowing and let us know that we are as but the dust in the wind.
I leave you with these words – “And in the end, it’s not the years in your life that count. It’s the life in your years.”
A.Lincoln
