I got to spend a lot of time with my brother-in-law Hargobind in the last 4 years of his incarnation on this plain as he transitioned after battling Glioblastoma, a form of brain cancer. He was courageously graceful in facing the inevitability of death. He was a man of few words. We had few conversations from the mundane to life affirming and many quiet reflections. I sometimes have conversations with him now informed by memories. Memories that remind of his departure while also keeping him alive.
Here is me and Hargobind (Hargo) in a conversation that happened in pieces across space and time.
Me: Hargooooo
Hargobind: Yeah
Me: What’s going on?
Hargobind: Not much.
Me: What are you thinking?
Hargobind: Nothing.
Me: Really? You have achieved the state of nothingness?
Hargobind: No.
Me: Are you a spy recording all our conversations?
Hargobind: Smiles.
Me: I know we Punjabees can talk for the world. Who do your work for?
Hargobind: More smiles.
Me: The Israeli spy agency, Mossad? (Hargobind’s mother was of Jewish heritage)
Hargobind: Quiet. (thinking you talk too much Vish)
Me: How is your wife doing?
Hargobind: Good.
Me: Can you say more?
Hargobind: She is beautiful.
Me: Dude!
Hargobind: I better clean up or I will get a hollered at or as you say will get Parshaad.
Me: I will help you clean but feel free to say more.
Hargobind: She is that small plane in the eye of a hurricane that does all the key data recordings while keeping me safe.
Me: Let her know that.
Me: Any words of wisdom for the day?
Hargobind: No.
Me: Come on.
Hargobind: Be kind.
Me: Thanks.
Hargobind: What’s the plan for dinner tonight?
Me: Mexican of course.
Hargobind: Want to listen to some music?
Me: Sure. What are we listening to?
Hargobind: Nuzrat Fateh Ali Khan
Me: Awesome.
Hargobind: Shall we play Connect 4?
Me: Yes.
Me: You beat me.
Hargobind: Play more?
Me: Sure.
Me: You beat me again.
Hargobind: You will get better with time.
Me: Yup
Hargobind: Shall I tell you something?
Me: Sure
Hargobind: I let the home care aid win sometimes.
Me: Why?
Hargobind: So she does not feel bad about losing all the time. Chuckles!
Me: How kind of you Hargs.
Hargobind: I am a little tired now.
Me: How about I read you from one of my favorite author before you take a nap.
Hargobind: Yeah (hesitatingly).
Rachel Naomi Remen is a physician at UCSF. She is a founder of Cancer Help Program at Commonweal Institute and Institute for the Study of Health & Illness. This is a poem she shared at one of her workshops penned by Vivekan Don Flint (a former coordinator at the Institute of Health & Illness) about the mystery of death before he passed away.
Meteor
( A poem about incarnation)
Is it
a simple rock
tumbling down the
slopes of gravity?
A fireball
vaulting through
the midnight sky?
A shiny needle
drawn through
black velvet?
Or none of these
but only a perceptual trick
in which the solution to
a simple math problem –
given velocity, mass
and direction –
is displayed in the sky
in such a way
that even smart people
wonder what it could
possibly mean?
All I know for sure
Is the belief
I hold about it in secret.
That, and the fact
the very last thing
it did in this world
was to turn into light.
Hargobind is fast asleep………………………
Sand Art by Satpal Kaur
You can read more about Hargobind from my last piece a year ago a few days after he transitioned out from this 3D reality of ours.