Five Steps

[Naina]

Five Steps

Denial“...What? You can’t be serious. No.” I shot up from my comfortable position on my bed, concentrating on my laptop, flicking through new posts by my friends. One after another, they confirmed it.My classmate Rahul was dead.It seemed like a dream, a nightmare.I had known Rahul since we were both in sixth grade. In tenth grade, we went to Beijing together, spending a week there, a week of conferences, late night partying, Coca Cola and fun. He was there when my head started spinning and when my friend Aku was stressed out. He was there for all of us, always.That one line sums up who he was.Rahul was the most calm and composed classmate I ever had. In eleventh, we were all stressed and stretched beyond our limits by an enormous courseload. Most students failed, a normal circumstance given the high curriculum bar and our school’s policy of strict marking to enforce self-study.What they didn’t realise was the emotional scarring it gave all the students who couldn’t handle the syllabus.When a classmate failed, Rahul was the first to comfort him and drag him back to class, where no one blamed him for failing. After all, most of us had too.Rahul had opted for the most challenging subject combination available to a student. He was our school band’s bassist and furthermore, he was pursuing extra studies for college admissions, a common phenomenon in Indian schools. Many students fail balancing the extra studies and schoolwork. Predictably, Rahul too failed.The difference was how he took it.I swear that he broke out a metaphorical case of beer.I never knew him to have a day’s stress.And now I was being asked to believe that this fine specimen of a young adult had died of a heart attack. He was the only classmate I’d ever lost. In an instant, I was taken back to the day I woke up to find my grandfather dead, my uncle dead.It wasn’t just hard to believe. It was impossible. For all of us.Even today, 72 hours later, I kept thinking I’d see Rahul log on and post “April fools, dudes! Did you really think a little thing like death would get in my way?”AngerSoon though, most of us had, to some degree, realised that Rahul wasn’t coming back. That he was really gone. Frustration and fury took over then.“Rahul, stop this. Come back. You *****. Don’t do this to us.”Our band’s guitarist wished nothing more than to hear Rahul curse at him one more time. He blamed himself for not picking up Rahul’s calls, for being too busy to answer his texts. The anger we bore Rahul, bore God, became anger at ourselves. It only made it worse for his parents that both were doctors, and had been unable to help their elder son.“These words won’t leave my mind: ‘After the exams, we’ll go to Dharamsala again and have fun.’” Anger at the lost opportunity. Anger at life for denying friends the chance to spend time with him. For forcing us to live on borrowed time.I couldn’t remember the last thing I’d said to him. Probably, “Have you studied for the exam? Lend me your notes?”It’s harder than anything, to know you left it all unsaid. To know that you didn’t say thank you, you’re a great friend, glad to know you.Bargaining“A million tears won’t bring him back.” But I wish they would. Because they’ve all been wept by now.When you’re so upset, it seems like you’d cut your heart out just to hear his gravelly voice one more time, to see him lumber down the corridor one more time, to duck as he threw a lunch box at you, just one more time. That’s how I saw him last.Bargaining didn’t last long for most of us. Because of our tradition of cremation, many friends went to see their brother one last time. When you’re staring at the glassy eyes that once shone with laughter, the empty face that always held a smile, it’s hard to believe that somehow, we can bring him back if we make this sacrifice or that.We still tried. The number of candles that were lit, the number of condolences that were posted that night must have crossed a hundred. It seemed that with so many people regretting the loss so deeply, the skies themselves would split open to return him in a clap of thunder. It seemed that he’d return because Death himself wouldn’t dare separate him and the rest of us.I’ve never seen my friends so religious as when they begged God for one more day for our friend.DepressionBecause so many of us had known him, known what a fantastic person he was. It was depressing to realise that such a vibrant, healthy, happy guy could be taken. I’ve heard a sophomore wonder if he’ll survive his schooling, having been friends with the other student in our school who had died before graduating.You know something’s terribly, horribly wrong when a child is forced to enter the real world before he even turns sixteen. When he’s forced to acknowledge the possibility of death for himself, not somewhere in the distant, blissfully ignorant future, but in the here and now.I’ve never seen such swollen eyes, nor heard such sobs as I did attending Rahul’s final rites. It was almost a moment of pride, to see my classmates, mature enough to know there was no shame in shedding tears for a fallen comrade in the battle of life.The worst victim was Vishesh, Rahul’s little brother. He’s just 15, Rahul was just 18.A few weeks ago, I remember my best friend making some insult about him, annoyed by his attitude in the school band (he was a vocalist, my friend a pianist).Today, I haven’t seen a single person who didn’t stand up for him. And I haven’t seen a person so heartbroken as Vishesh was on that terrible day. He’d lost his elder half. Life must have come to a stop for him and breathing a burden.The broken, unanswered, silent cries of a teenager for his brother are a harsh moment to witness, especially in one so proud and strong. The cries of the bereft child are the cries of a lonely wolf at night, with no one to answer him as he howls in solitude.AcceptanceI’ve never seen anyone as strong as Vishesh. Even today, he was there to support his parents, moving like a pendulum from mother to father, embracing a classmate who delivered a tearful elegy. Grief made everyone more eloquent in eulogising than I’ve ever heard them in English class. “I’m sure he’s looking down at us and going, 'Hey, guys, I’m chilling with John Lennon and Jimmy Sullivan and Zeppelin and whatnot.'”The thing is, life moves on. You have to accept it or you’ll go mad. You have to take it in and forget about it. But you can’t. “It” was someone you cared about. “It” was more than just a name, like he was to so many others, people who still mourned a person they had never known. People who shared the simple bond of a common school, of common friends.I’ve never been so proud of my classmates as I was when we all instinctively, involuntarily, came together to offer support to the family. I’ve never been so proud to be in this school. Because it’s not just a school. It’s a thousand-member fraternity. And Rahul is a charter member for life, because the roster’s written in our hearts with a quill called friendship. We’re sorry we didn’t get to know him for longer but we’re glad we knew him at all.Today, we learnt something. We learnt that we have to stop and take a moment to appreciate each other, lest we “entertain an angel unawares”. Today, we learnt just how much Rahul meant to each of us, whether we knew him or not. Today, we learnt how to come together, brought together in grief but bound together in friendship.Tomorrow, our band will perform So Far Away, Avenged Sevenfold, Rahul’s favourite song. Tomorrow, I’ll give Vishesh the little guitar I made out of beads. Tomorrow, we’ll give in our contributions for a commemorative piece in the school newspaper. Tomorrow, my friend will deliver the proposal for our annual Rockfest, BreakOut. It’s our tribute to a self-taught bassist who never went through formal training yet wowed us with his passion and gifts.R.I.P Rahul. Rock in Paradise.

Edited September 30, 2012 by Naina