Death, the end of existence as we know it, remains the dark muse of countless streams of science, philosophy, medicine, commerce and art. The concept of grief over death has been much debated, and, as bereavement scholars have explained, it is, in its original sense, ‘a Western social construct’, denoting an individualised experience.
In some eastern cultures, there are no linguistic equivalents to the word ‘grief’, such as in Japan, as the emotions experienced in this state are expected to be channelled through a collective ethos — that of society. There are words pertaining to religious traditions over death — for mourning — but these don’t necessarily overlap with grief.
Yet we all cry when loved ones die. We feel pain. There is a universal sense that something transcending the limits of verbal articulation, has occurred.
According to Attachment Theory, attachment and, conversely, the grief over bereavement, is biological and universal and underlies and overrides all cultural responses. One can argue that grief inspires deeply instinctual responses.
Also, just as in Western thought, where death is seen as finality and life is viewed as what’s concrete and subjective, in Hinduism, it’s life that has an illusionary quality, reincarnation being a constant process till salvation is attained, thus, concretising the intervals between lives. In Hinduism, death is thus seen a contemplative goal, further removing individualisation of the grieving process. It is viewed accordingly.
We see that individual grief, predicated on larger societal narratives in our country, for better or worse, wends its way and distils itself through layers of society, its manageability aided in numbers. It’s when these narratives at different levels are in disharmony that grief becomes problematic.
What if the individual’s feelings, belief and thoughts over how grieving should occur, are out of sync with the family’s or society’s mores and ritualisations? They are labelled aberrant, disrespectful, dissident or perhaps, even sinful.
In some cultures, emotional circumspection is expected at funerals whereas in others, the wailing lament of loved ones is demanded. In Hindu homes, on the day of death, in the chaos and cutting pain, people are allowed to pay their respects. Society triumphs overpersonal discretion and people who have, in actuality, spent little time with the bereaved are inevitably allowed entry, to maintain form and ceremony.
I live in a culture where customs surrounding birth and death remain age-old and inflexible. The bereaved loved ones are, after all, those who have earned this space and time the most. In Western modernity personal expression and choice over grieving, enjoy relative freedom from stringent social reprobation. There is also isolation and the disadvantages of Western modality.
What’s the right path? I believe we have a right to decide how we grieve. As a daughter of the soil, I instinctively wish to share the burden of my grief. However, as a product of global modernity in the midst of which I live, I want to choose the company I keep and the manner and form of my expression.
Death, as a psychosocial concept, is being reworked in the collective subconscious of young India. Yet I fear, until further introspection and discourse occur, there are many hurts to be incurred on the days of existential reckoning that are inevitable in all our lives — some from the grief over how we grieve.