The Orientals Don’t Know How To Live

The Occidentals Don’t Know How To Die.

Caveat: I know, I know!! It is not politically correct to say such things. Stereo-typical generalizations do not apply to all and care must be taken to judge people for how they are as individuals. I am deliberately using this broad stroke to simply make a point about life and death. It is based on some observations of life around me.

The scene: A small village in an ‘under-developed’ area of rural India.  Aparna, an old woman, of about 75, shrivelled and bent with age, who walked with a stick for support, lived here in a small hut. It had two partitions to make three tiny living spaces. She lived with the widow of her older son, a younger son (who was not educated or skilled to be consistently employable), and her two grandchildren. Sometimes her third grand-daughter would visit with her little brood of three children. Then the hut could get pretty crowded and the neighbours helped in these situations by taking in the son and kids for the night.

     They were poor and struggled to make ends meet. Aparna could not do much of late - no longer able to lift pots of water or stand in queues at the shops, but still she went about trying to help the family by making up the traditional medicines and cures for most minor illnesses, rounding up the herbs and getting them prepared. She was a living reference manual of local traditional medicines for people that did not care for or those that could not afford expensive medical care that was not even available nearby. She also saved the family money by haggling over prices at the local grocery stores, by bartering things she scrounged or that someone gave her in return for her advice.

     While she was well-liked by most, some did not like her much, having been at the receiving end of her bossiness and sharp tongue on occasions - particularly her daughter-in-law who had to deal with her more often.

     Aparna died today. She had complained of a deep pain in her abdomen and chest. She was not able to get up from the floor where she slept, even with the help of her son.  Her body collapsed when she tried to stand up. The son laid her out on the bed back again. She had started to say she knew her end was coming and called everyone around. There had been a few such false alarms in the past and everyone had the drill down pat.

     They called out to the kids, word was sent out to the daughter-in-law who had gone to the store early to get something.  She rushed back. The elders amongst the neighbours came in. Aparna wanted to have bath and so the old woman from next door gave her a ‘sponge’ bath with a warm wet towel, clothed her in her special sari and applied holy ash to her forehead. There were a few sealed pots of “Ganga-jal” (water from the river Ganges) kept before the pictures of deities on the wall.

    Here’s the idea - many Hindus would like to die and be cast into the river Ganga and leave this earth with the water of Ganga in them. The symbolism is that as the river merges into the ocean, so, hopefully, will our soul merge with the ‘Great Soul’. But if one cannot go to the river, you bring the river to them. Most households have such little sealed copper pots of water of the Ganges kept aside for just such an occasion.  Aparna’s family had to break and unseal a few pots during some of the false alarms she had had, but they had a reserve of these. Aparna had weathered the daughter-in-law making some snide remarks about crying wolf, waste of holy water and that how the evil do not die easily.  A pot with ‘Ganga-jal’ was broken open and the little grandson, the son and others in order of preferred hierarchy each sprinkled some in Aparna’s mouth as her breaths became more strained. A neighbour started to sing her favourite hymns, Aparna started to say her own prayers, someone put on religious chants on the old CD player.

     Suddenly the house started to have a crowded, almost festive atmosphere. Friends and neighbours came in quietly, stood around and helped out where possible.

     All of Aparna’s grandchildren gathered around so she could see them, the son held her hand. Aparna started to bless everyone. She said her vision was fading and the son and kids came closer to her so she could see them. She expressed a desire to be born to her favourite granddaughter in her next life. The grandchildren and her son tearfully bid her bye and thanked Aparna for giving them life, love and support. Some close friends remembered specific acts of kindness or memories of Aparna. No one was sure if Aparna could actually hear them, but she seemed to calm down, the tears stopped and she seemed to ease into peace.

     It was a couple of hours before Aparna breathed her last – in her own son’s house, with her remaining son, grandchildren, family and friends surrounding her, seeing her, supporting her, shedding a few tears, sad to see her go, while acknowledging and celebrating her life and her contributions. It is what we call a “Royal death” in India. Who can wish for more in our exit from this life?

     Such scenes are repeated millions of times, are quite common and typical of life and death among the even the poorest peoples in the Orient. It is called a ‘Royal Death’ because it is one of the preferred ways even Kings wished to die, if they did not die honourably in battle, leading their troops. An old king or queen could and would have the means and often try to arrange it so that family and friends bid them farewell from this earth in much the same way as Aparna’s did.

Keep in mind, that despite our best efforts, it is not given to all of us to have such a royal death, even if we were royalty. It is our destiny, our fate that determines what the circumstances of our death actually are. It is after the fact that we acclaim the privilege some have had of a ‘Royal Death’ and attribute it to their karma.

     Now, I look all around me, here in the western culture, I see people living a good life. They are hard-working, honest, and enterprising. They work with energy, dreams, organisation and what they call “joie-de-vivre” – I think it translates to the joy of being alive. Yes, it is the way to live. That is something not all Orientals have quite mastered.

     But one part of living is the art of preparing for its end, the dying. Living and dying are inseparable - you cannot have one without the other. If something is living, it is dying. If something is dying, it is living.

     In the area of dying, broadly, I see the Occidental way. Looking around me, here in Alex, with this town of many elderly people, something stands out. The oldies are gracious, too proud to ask for more help than they need, but it seems many families have lost the art of dying as part of living. At some point, near the very end of one’s life when it is just fine to depend upon others, the young are too ‘respectful’ of the oldies’ ‘independence’ to simply say, “hey, come live with me, mum/dad.” The old are too proud to express any such wishes or secret desires to appear to put pressure on the kids or make them feel guilty.

     When we were kids, no matter how ill-behaved we were, our parents never threw us out of the house, there never was a doubt about our place in the family and our sense of belonging. We might argue and not get along great, but you had your place in the family.  When it came to power struggles, the parents simply overruled you.

     Just as surely as the parents took care of the children, in their old age, the children took care of their parents without question. No, not all got along well with an old cranky, nosy, bossy parent who had been through life and seemed to still want to control it. Many do not listen to and ignore the parents’ advice or suggestions – they do not know or understand the modern world it seems. But, even then, the old man or woman had a place in the house and an unquestioned right to be there. Some of the oldies adjusted and adapted to the new power equations and did pretty well by letting go of their ego and pride. They got to see their grandchildren play, study and come to them for pampering sometimes when the parents were cross with them. For most, their memories of growing up and childhood always had a grandparent or two living with them, even if in a sick bed in some corner of the house. Mostly the memories were fond or became fonder as the kids themselves grew older.

     That is surely the way to spend one’s last days if there is nothing more spectacular to do.

The Orientals and Occidentals can learn a bit from each other...

     Though I am afraid to say, these days, it seems many in the Orient are learning the western ways of dying along with their perceived ideas about the western ways of living.


Copyright  (c) Kannan Narayanamurthy 2012

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