Everyday Musings > Goodbye

Read a cartoon strip in which Snoopy said 'Why can't we get all the people together in the world that we really like and then just stay together? … I hate good-byes. I know what I need. I need more hellos.'

Mother left for Bangalore last evening. At the airport, I hugged her tight and watched her become a speck among strolleys and hand baggage and smiled when she messaged, 'Boarded. Nice kind gentle person sitting in the seat next to me'.I woke today and it was a quiet house without her rushing about making juice, boiling eggs, piling my multi-grain toast with peanut butter and talking to the sparrows perched on my plants. Quiet, but not sad.

Goodbye means 'God Be With You'. When did we start relating it to being something so sad and avoidable? Having moved much, Andhra, Delhi, Mumbai, Calcutta, Bangalore, Mumbai, I have said a lot of Goodbyes. Written a lot of notes. Shared a lot of hugs but shed very few tears for I never felt like I would never see them again. It always seemed like I was going to make new friends, and the old would be there as well.

A friend of mine hates dropping people off at railway stations and airports; says it's too painful. I love going though, and watching. Especially departures at railway stations. You see last minute rushes of advice from parents, 'be good', 'study well', 'eat well', 'call us when you reach'; acts of love for a spouse or friend where a bottle of water is squeezed in through the window, words said to the fellow passengers 'he/she's traveling alone', food wrapped and handed over, bags secured with chains and the few steps walked with the train as it departs.

Goodbyes perhaps make us aware of the fact that everyone's going to leave sooner or later, and that being alone is a reality. Osho, though, always reveled in it. Even when he died, he instructed it to be celebrated happily, cherishing his memory rather than shedding tears on the fact that he left. He says, 'if you see that the moment has come to depart … you say good-bye with great gratitude for all that the other has been to you, for all the joys and all the pleasures and all the beautiful moments that you have shared with the other.'

I got to work today and realized I'd missed a goodbye. To Jammie, my cheerful cubicle mate, as fond of food and black tea and music as I was. Maybe more. Every day, for the past six months, I would walk in, say 'Good Morning Jammie', and he would play songs. He had treasures in his 2nd drawer – first flush Darjeeling tea in triangular gauze, McVities, fat free khakra, sugar cubes, and a kettle. At 11 or sometimes at 4, he'd turn around and say 'Kavity, tea?' I'd say yes and he'd heat water in the kettle, I'd place tea bags in our mugs, and we'd watch the color rise in satisfaction that it would be just perfect. He's gone now. To Dubai. I'll miss our tea ceremony, his endless music and the generous helpings of laughs and conversations. But I know I'll remember him with joy.

He left a goodbye note for me, short, sweet and unlike any goodbye note I've ever received. It was joyful. 'Dear Kavity, 2nd drawer and kettle all yours!'