What My Uncle Showed Me

Wednesday morning, 630 am. Received a text from my sister "Uncle passed away, heart attack"

I visited a close relative a week ago, who was terminally ill. Thought this might be him.

Yet sooner I found out it was my mother's brother - maama.

50 years. Heart Attack. With out a warning.

uncle with his wife and younger son.

I came to office. Many things to do. FEAC 2012 is next week. Indonesian embassy is trying hard to reject my visa to attend Tech4Good summit the week after.  ( Embassy has its reasons. Hope fully the trouble will change this year)

Memories of my uncle started clouding my already wrecked nerve system. How ironic life is.

Only just a week ago, I blogged This too will pass. And this week I am tested.

I lived in Ampara until I was 5. My father worked at Ampara Department of Irrigation.

I remember how my uncle helped my parents to raise me. Only photographic memories from Ampara to me is the evening walk I had with my uncle everyday around a lake in Ampara and subsequent visit to a friendly grocery store, where I would sit on the counter and consume toffies to my heart's content.

I would savor all these, yet to return home and complain my mother that my uncle smoked 2 cigarettes.

He never grudged. His love for me was a constant.

Then time passed. My family came to Galle. Uncle also. Yet I started schooling, then to Uni, and jobs. Uncle employed him self in Saudi Arabia, came back and married. Our lives drifted. A normal thing in every family.

First thing stucked me when I heard of his demise was that I should have communicated more with him.

Last time I talked to him was in April, on new year's eve. I felt guilty.

I contemplated on " This too will pass"

Then I understood that we all are here on earth with a hidden expiry date.

We can't predict who will die on which date, yet death is certain.

Brushing my guilt aside, I managed my next 24 hours to complete and/or delegate pending stuff with team. Next day morning I went to Giriulla. 9 km from Giriulla, there lies a calm and sedate village called " Narangoda". It lives to the true spirit of a village in terms of scenery and human qualities.

There were 4 houses on the plot of land where my uncle lived. There were no separating parapet walls. Caring, sharing and warmth trickles down with no borders. Houses around, took care of meals, accommodation etc. The whole village engaged in all aspects of the funeral. I've never seen a ordinary man's funeral with that much of people pouring in. Hundreds of people paid visit, even around 2 am.

For 2 days, I connected dots of my uncle's life through conversations of relatives, neighbors, villagers and his office colleagues. I understood my uncle has died with a reason to connect minds dispersed for no apparent reason than the crazy busyness we scapegoat.

I did my first funeral speech in my life, to a gathering of over 400, with a microphone. Though I rehearsed for several times, half way through tears swelled and I almost cried. With a clenched fist I ended my speech, by which time, I managed to make even villagers cry. I felt awkward, but also released.

Maama...May you attain Nibbana...