Corona Daily 372: No Final Goodbye

Yesterday, Shrirang Bhagwat, 60, my mother’s first cousin, died of covid-19. Only two years my senior, we grew up in the same school. Our relations over the years have been closer than the mere DNA connection.

Shrirang was a Chef de Cuisine, a master chef. Besides India, he had extensively worked in places like Kenya, Tanzania and Iraq.  As an adventurous young man, he had won the contract to make a seven-story, three meter high wedding cake for Saddam Hussein’s daughter. Saddam’s military men had surrounded Shrirang’s team while the cake was being made. Saddam had made his ministers taste it before sharing with his own family. Shrirang’s photo with a smiling Saddam was hanging in his living room for many years, until its display became an embarrassment.

He was a regular contributor to Diwali magazine articles, about his incredible experiences abroad. One of his research projects was about coffee from around the world. His dream of writing a book about chhaas (whey) remains unfulfilled.

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One pair of Shrirang’s grandparents, my great-grandparents, managed to raise a large family. Split between Mumbai and California, there are currently 94 descendents (now 93), and their 46 spouses that form a surprisingly close, warm and loving group. We look forward to meeting in person at weddings, anniversaries, family ceremonies, and other specially conceived gatherings. Such large families are India’s social security.

Shrirang was fine at the beginning of this week. Then he had a three day stomach infection, followed by a sudden cardiac arrest yesterday. Stomach infection/diarrhea is one of the coronavirus symptoms, so he had done a test.  

Yesterday, we were all trapped in our respective homes. On hearing about the loss, we would have dropped everything and rushed to south Bombay. Not this time. Instead, we were wondering how to break this news to our older or more vulnerable family members.  Our What’sApp group was silent, not knowing how to grieve or mourn virtually.

Shrirang’s wife Padma is a professional editor. She and I had spent a year going over syntax, punctuation marks and other refinements for my book published in Marathi. In normal course, all hundred of us would have landed at their house. Padma could have rested her head on several supporting shoulders. We would have ceremoniously said goodbye to Shrirang. Some family members would have stayed overnight. Over the next few days, several people would have visited the house to offer condolences. Memories would have been shared, memories that can produce a rare smile on the face of the mourners. Hugging, physical contact, even a simple hand shake are such an essential part of the healing process. Healthy grief needs a community.

Instead, Shrirang’s son Abhishek and three others had to hurriedly take him to be cremated. (In Bombay, four people are allowed). Shrirang’s positive test results came after his cremation. In the evening, Padma and Abhishek had to give swab tests. Now they may be required to quarantine themselves for the next two weeks.

All of a sudden you lose your husband or your father, and have to immediately lock yourself up for two weeks. Your relatives can’t visit you even in masks and gloves to offer condolences.

This unresolved, isolating grief is as terrifying an aspect of the pandemic as the deaths themselves.

Ravi