The Eulogy

It will not be wholly inappropriate to say that Ravi was suffering from depression, mild may be, but depression all the same. In fact it would be unrealistic to expect otherwise. Over last five years he had survived many serious illnesses of the family members. Thanks to his and the family’s good fortune, his superwoman wife Deb handled the situations, including her own encounter with death, with amazing grace, competence and courage. Therefore, he did not do much to help. If the truth were to be told, he did hardly anything. Yet, the strain of keeping a brave face in dire circumstances was getting to him. As if this was not enough, the financial meltdown of the fall of 2008 reduced the worth of their businesses to zero and brought the retirement savings to such a miniscule level that he contemplated what the disgraced financiers have done for centuries: end his now worthless life. He did make an attempt, a feeble one he readily admits, and all it brought him was more humiliation. To come to the point there were enough reasons to lead a stronger man than Ravi to an analyst’s couch. Unfortunately, the psychoanalysis is not cheap and Ravi struggled with his emotions on his own almost as well as any one in his situation would have.

So it did not surprise Deb that he started mumbling incoherently about what he would like to be said in the celebration of his life after his timely death when he was lying in the hospital hooked up to an array of fancy machines, his neck in a brace – he called it noose – and head lower than the body. How did he get to be in the hospital? Did he jump off a cliff? Fair questions; and please accept my apologies for not being straight up with you. I have this bad habit of skipping over vital parts of the story; always had it and my English teachers at school could never get a straight tale out of me. Any way, Ravi was in hospital because, as Deb tells it, he did a reverse somersault, landed on his head on a steep slope, bounced off and finally landed on all fours. He did that with his eyes closed without any warning to Deb. Actually, he did that without knowing he was doing it. He had never done a somersault, not even as a child. So this reverse variety was a miracle of sorts.

It is hard to explain how Ravi managed such a skillful act of gymnastics but not what led to it. Deb and Ravi were celebrating the wedding anniversary, fortieth if you really want to know. It was a bright hot day, first warm day of the spring after a long cold winter. They had carried the cool box loaded with a variety of buns, cold meats, cheeses and tomatoes on the vine to their favourite picnic spot. Champaign was chilled just right as were the flutes. They spread a soft rug on the flat ground about five feet from the steep slope with marvelous views of snow-capped mountains. Deb pointed out that the slope became shear cliff after ten feet and threw a pebble that splashed in the creek far below but not so far that they could not hear the melodious singing of the fast flowing water. The happy couple enjoyed the celebratory lunch, toasted to their good health and deep love and sipped the bubbly luxuriating in the nature at its best and the company of their dearest one without adding much to the sounds of nature.

The direct sun started to bother Deb and she suggested that they move to the shady spot a few feet away. Ravi emptied his glass, carefully balanced it on the grass and got up just as Deb began to pull the rug. No sooner was Ravi on his feet he felt wobbly and in need for support. He saw a tree a few feet away and intended to move towards it. Poor Ravi, most of his good intentions come to nothing and this one did not either. Next thing he knew he was laying flat on his stomach with his face inches away from the cliff. He heard the screams of panic stricken Deb and looked up. She saw him raising his body on his limbs and offered a rolled up towel to grab. But he preferred to crawl up on all fours rather than stand up on the steep slope and in no time at all was walking towards her on the flat ground as if nothing had happened. He appeared normal but for shallow scratches on top of his bald head and on the knees. Every thing was shallow about Ravi, even the scratches after such a heavy fall in dense scrub. But Deb was not deceived. She made him drink most of the water bottle and lie down. She felt his pulse. It was irregular. She put her ear to his heart. It did not sound right. That was enough warning for a concerned wife with medical training. They packed up and headed for the emergency ward. The staff promptly attached him to a variety of flashing machines and put the noose around his neck. He lay there, Deb holding his hand, waiting for the doctor to come and examine him.

With his head fixed to stare at the grainy white tiles of the ceiling, his mind wandered. First he observed that he had already sent his daily letter to the Editor of the national newspaper. Then he thought of some silly puns for the ‘smile if you please’ column. He asked Deb, “Why do I find the song ‘I am sixteen going on seventeen so moving’? Deb knew that he did not expect an answer and did not provide any. He continued, “Because I am sixty feeling like seventy.” “Not funny” said Deb.

After the brush off, he should have got used to it by now but had not, Ravi was reminded of the case of the celebrity who fell on a ski hill, went to the hotel feeling fine and died a couple of days later of internal injuries. This possibility led him to think of a similar fate for himself. He imagined what the memorial service for him would look like and what would be said in it. He hadn’t done much for the family, having been an absentee father most of the years when the children were growing up. He had written numerous technical papers of doubtful merit and overall his professional achievements were negligible. He was too busy making a living to do any volunteer work and too insecure to donate any money which he later lost on his ill-conceived ventures any way. When the family was struggling through a series of crises, he was largely a spectator and did nothing to support Deb and other members of the family although he had no qualms demanding their full attention when he suffered even a minor cold. Ravi mumbled about leaving instructions that these facts should be acknowledged in the eulogy which must be honest in word and spirit; nothing cooked up to make him appear what he is not. One positive thing that could be mentioned about him would be that he intended to do good deeds when he had time and money to spare. But even a remote acquaintance could not say so with a straight face: every one knew that Ravi made sure he had neither.

Deb heard this melancholic monologue and was upset. But her husband was a tough nut and not about to waste a tear at the thought of the wasted life he had led. Fortunately for Ravi, the curtain parted just as Deb opened her mouth to tell him to put a stop to his silly chatter. A young but competent looking doctor stepped in, greeted them and looked at the pointers on the dials. After examining every inch of patient’s upper body, he prescribed X-Rays and CT scan and prescribed complete rest and instructed others to make sure the patient was not disturbed. The visit ended Ravi’s morbid thoughts and he concentrated on how he could make a story out of this experience. But not for long. Doctor’s advice had hit its mark and loud snoring of my dear friend was causing acute embarrassment to Deb and much annoyance to the patients in nearby rooms.

The tests showed no damage to Ravi’s numbskull and he was released from the ward at midnight. He had already forgotten the mumblings about the memorial service and Deb knew the futility of reminding him of it. I am afraid that when he has run out of proverbial nine lives, much though I love my childhood friend, there will be no reason for the eulogy, if there is any, to be any different than what he postulated that evening.

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