A Funeral at St Inez

         The gentleman, a retired colonel, at whose funeral I was had left the planet early that morning. At 0300 hours, he went to use the bathroom and slumped as he stepped out. His heart had been beating 72 times per minute, 60 times every hour, 24 hours per day, into 365 days for 101 years. Do the math. He was born in 1916, a leap year that started on a Saturday (Gregorian calendar). At the time, the Julian calendar, which had thirteen extra days, was still in use. We now take for granted just one calendar for the world, though we have our Hindu/Muslim calendars in India which are used mainly for religious, wedding and other chaotic functions.

         He was one of the few persons I’ve met who fought in a World War. Representatives of the Army came to present wreaths.

I tried to figure out just what the world was like in 1916. The British Royal Army Medical Corps carried out the first successful transfusion with blood that had been stored and cooled. Today, that branch of medicine has come a long way, and saved innumerable lives.

         In February that year, Emma Goldman was arrested for lecturing on birth control in the United States. By September, though, the US had its first birth control clinic for ‘planned parenthood’. In March, BMW, Die Bayerischen Motoren Werke, a German automobile company was founded. The Emperor of China, Yuan Shikai, abdicated the throne and China became a Republic once more. In April, the toggle light-switch was invented. It’s so much a part of my life, I couldn’t believe people once lived without it. I can’t believe we once lived without electricity in Palolem, Canacona. (Just as I’m finding it hard to believe parts of India are suffering from drought, the way swimming-pools and golf courses are guzzling water in other parts.)  

         In July 1916, a shark attacked five swimmers along a 130 km stretch of shore; four died, one had a limb amputation. Half a century later, Peter Benchley wrote ‘Jaws’, changing the scope of horror movies. In August, Lord Baden-Powell established the Cub Scouts movement. In September, a circus elephant in the US was hanged for killing her handler. Animal rights’ activists were unknown then. The word ‘activist’ did not exist.

         As I watched the soldiers saluting the body, I recalled the Colonel’s contemporaries, all gone: Giani Zail Singh, Chinmayanda, MS Subbulakshmi, Bismillah Khan, Kanan Devi, Jagjit Singh Aurora. Do the names strike a bell? They should.

         Religious rituals were replaced by a neat and sombre ceremony. Formally attired soldiers walked in step, saluted smartly, laid and then considerately placed aside their wreaths to make way for those following. At 101, he was old enough to be their great-great-great grandfather. Remarkably, he had nil ailments and he took his last breaths whilst he was still on his feet. Even then, it took him some time to ‘go’. A fighter till the end.

         Beyond one of the crematorium walls is an animal shelter. Barks and mews of puppies and kittens reminding us that life is born anew, punctuated the constant rustling of leaves on the tall trees on the opposite side. At the entrance, a poster declared the availability of a trolley named ‘swarg vahan’ (who coins these words?) that someone had donated. If there’s more than one cremation happening, a traffic jam understandably happens on the road outside. Time to encourage people to either walk to funerals, or have a specially-hired shuttle service to and from a convenient place, or discourage people from attending at all.

Bai Goanna whispered: “I’ve witnessed one with a single person accompanying the body.” Happens. At the funeral of one of my relatives, only his widow and one erstwhile colleague were present.

Contrary-wise, some post-death events have been in halls with sound-systems for speeches, banquet-menus, expensive priests on hire, cheques distributed for charity, mementoes given to those present, etc. Large portraits of ‘the beloved’ prominently ‘graced’ the occasion and newspaper advertisements. Occasions to flaunt wealth and network. Methinks: to each their own.

            Here, at the St Inez crematorium, one frail, elderly staff wearing loose shorts, rubber slippers and thick spectacles picked up the logs of wood to place on the platform. I wondered at what age he’d retire and whether a replacement would be easy to get. These days certain vacancies seem hard to fill. Locals don’t want outsiders to get jobs, but they don’t want to do such jobs themselves. Water sells in bottles, air is conditioned, food-shelter-clothing are provided by private players, even pay-toilets and waste-management are commerce-motivated… only the disposal of the dead (irrespective of religion) is solely the government’s responsibility.  

“Goa still doesn’t have an electric crematorium,” someone observed.

“Why?” another asked.

A third replied: “Because there isn’t enough electricity.”

The first commented: “They can put a transformer for the purpose. Look at the number of trees being cut.”

No NGOs or activists seem to be taking an interest in this subject.

Whilst the elderly staff spilt orange liquid fuel to help the flames crackle and consume, the birds flew helter-skelter, as if making way for the spirit leaving the body. Even for non-believers, this thought comes to mind.

The conversation turned from cremations to burial plots and the lack of space for them. In densely populated cities, small drawers become family vaults as each grave houses multiple coffins year after year.

After the funeral, we went with the family to have ice-cream. The Colonel loved ice-cream. So we had some. Light conversation kept immediate grief at bay.

The 101-year-old’s farewell was dignified and, as befitted a professional of an era when honour and gentlemanly conduct was in vogue, sans superfluities. Even in death he led, as officers must, by example.

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