"It was 3.30 pm on March 25, 2020. My sister and I were by my mother’s side until her last breath. The blood pressure dropped drastically followed by the sugar levels and she went into an unconscious state. Our neighbour, a doctor, came to check her pulse, and soon he declared her dead," recounts Hema Babu. Fighting death for several painful months, Hema’s mother passed away a day after the nation-wide lockdown was imposed.
Solitary affair
Grief is the inevitable companion of death, but this pandemic is altering the normal course of mourning. Families are recalibrating the process of expressing grief and loss to accommodate a new absence. Just like in the case of Hema and her sister Pushpa, whose family is scattered around the globe. They had to plan for the funeral with the help of a few neighbours.
"Amma was an Alzheimer’s patient. She’s been undergoing intense treatments since last October. Although we anticipated the turn of events, it turned out to be a rude shock because of the timing. We had to video-call her, sons-in-law, grandchildren, and close family members to show her body and it was heart-wrenching. I’m glad that I asked my sister, who lives in Singapore, in February to come down and help me take care of Amma, or it would’ve been too painful to handle this situation," shares Hema.
Besides being in a lockdown, the challenge of procuring their mother’s death certificate and permission for cremation from the Corporation left them with little to no time to grieve. On March 26, at 9 am, along with 10-12 family members and friends, the sisters performed the final rites at the cremation ground.
"We couldn’t follow any of our traditional customs. What was worse was that we couldn’t wash out the ashes on the beach and had to do it at Kolathur lake near our home. Even the 13th and 15th-day rituals couldn’t be performed as there were no priests who agreed to come and do it for us at home. It’s been just the two of us, all alone at home, since her death. We’ve still not come out of it. My sister is also stuck here because her flights have been cancelled," shares Hema, sorrow choking her.
Unsaid goodbyes
Miles away, in Atlanta, in the US, Jennifer Joseph’s world crumbled, upon hearing the death of her father on April 2. Unable to fly down to say a final goodbye, Jennifer is distraught without the closure that she deserved. "I’m still in denial and trying to grapple with the sudden loss. My 60-year-old father was hale and healthy. Nobody could believe that he suffered a heart attack. I’m the only child and my diabetic mother was left to handle things along with the help of her two siblings and a couple of friends. All my relatives live in different parts of the globe. For a people-loving person, this was not how we wanted the funeral to be," shares Jennifer, over a call, still trying to comprehend her loss. With no public transportation, and travel curtailed, burial rituals are being dramatically altered too.
The funeral, held at Jennifer’s home in Chennai, was performed by a priest from their church, who volunteered to chant the prayers through a Zoom call. "Around 20 family members were a part of the call, weeping in the disappointment of not being able to be present. My mother was on a video- call until his body was buried. Well, what can be worse? I was supposed to do the final rites. I still have that moment in my mind," shares 33-year-old Jennifer, who lives alone and is now seeking help through online grief-counselling sessions.
"I moved to Atlanta six years ago because of financial commitments. Being a daddy’s girl, he never wanted me to stay alone and I often used to feel homesick but had to put up with everything only for my family. The fact that I couldn’t see his face for one last time will hurt and haunt me till my death. Ours is a close-knit family — just dad, myself and mom. I’m concerned about mom’s health. I’m desperately waiting to get back to India and bring her here with me," she says.
Unannounced grief
Given how many aspects of life are changing without a warning, the death of a loved one in an unprecedented virus-induced lockdown can be an incapacitating experience. On April 23, around 7 pm, Bengaluru-based Sasha Chandran was on a WhatsApp call with her mother.
Little did she expect her mother to pause the call and get back to her saying that her paternal grandmother passed away. "One minute we were sharing recipes and suddenly my mother comes with this news. I didn’t react for an hour. I have a three-year-old boy. We stay 10 km away from my mother’s house. It was already night and we couldn’t go there immediately because of lockdown restrictions. I got anxious and suffered from palpitations the whole night because of the news. The next morning, I went to the funeral with my father-in-law," says Sasha.
Her grandmother suffered a cardiac arrest. She had three sons and one daughter. Except for Sasha’s father, two of her sons who lived abroad couldn’t make it, but her daughter, who stayed within the city, managed to reach in time. "My father was video-calling his siblings and they were mourning (virtually). Nobody has ever done this. It felt painful in a different way. Imagine seeing your mother’s body on a phone screen? Many of our relatives were stopped by police and we had to give a copy of the death certificate to the 10 of them who attended the funeral. My brother and cousin had to buy garlands and a few ritual items. They too were stopped for enquiry. They did not believe until my brother showed them the death certificate. Because of a few people exploiting the rules, we had to bear the brunt," shares Sasha.
Burial woes
Besides the chal l enges of bereavement, arranging for a funeral has become an expensive affair for the lesser-privileged families in these turbulent times. Manikandan R and his family had to pool in `1,500 for the funeral so that they could pay their final respects to his father.
"My eatery has been shut for the past two months. I have no business and I’m the only earning person. Appa died of cancer on May 1. We did not have the money to treat him either. The least we could do is perform the last rites so that his soul rests in peace. I borrowed money from some relatives. We arranged for an ambulance through a friend. He was cremated and we washed away the ashes in a nearby lake. For people like us, even a funeral is a far-fetched dream,"says Manikandan, his face wrinkled with pain and dejection.
A few days later, Pon Murugan, Manikandan’s neighbour, lost his 20-year-old son, Jagan P, in an accident on May 13. Jagan was driving a two-wheeler without a helmet; he was hit by a tempo and died of blood loss. Murugan and his wife had to do the proverbial run from pillar to post to complete the formalities at the police station and cremate the body the next day.
“The accident happened around 1 pm at a spot about 3 km from our area, which was already a containment zone. Nobody offered to call an ambulance or help the poor boy. He was left abandoned on the road for almost an hour. A neighbour of ours happened to pass by that stretch and broke the news to us over a call. He took the boy to the nearest hospital where he was declared dead within a few minutes. My husband and I informed the police in our area and rushed to the hospital in their jeeps. I was not sad when I saw the body but furious and disappointed. We could’ve saved his life if we admitted him in time,” says a dejected Muthurani, Pon Murugan’s wife. Muthurani works as a maid and Murugan owns a small tea stall. Both of them haven’t been going to work for the past two months.
“Apart from the money we spent on his education, we managed to save a few thousands. We arranged a funeral and bid him goodbye in the presence of his close friends. My husband and I donated a small portion of the money to our friends, who were struggling like us, for their children’s education. We toiled and saved money for him but when he is no more then let this money at least help those who need it. I don’t know how I’m going to overcome his loss,” says Muthurani.
Just like COVID-19, there is no cure for grief, but there are ways to process it. For Hema, Jennifer, Sasha, Manikandan and Muthurani, the lack of closure, and the feeling of guilt and regret might delay the process, but time will perhaps heal their hearts.