The Tribute

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There are places you do not belong to. Places that are physical. Places that are moments in time. Yet you find yourself in them, wondering what your purpose is, and where you’d find this purpose.

I feel like that right now, that I do not belong here, but I must not turn around. There are throngs of people around me, each in black, carrying flowers, weeping. Some sing tributes. I know the lyrics as well as any of them, but I do not join in. I hear ocean waves crashing on boulders in my ears – which is strange as we are far away from the ocean. The headstone lies right in front of me and I read each letter, left to right, observing the font, the color, the texture, each curve of each C, each line that makes the I and the Ls. But I refuse to believe it – this is someone else, a namesake, a doppelganger, an impostor.

Just last month, I’d sung one of his songs to entertain my friends; at the time I did not know that today it would turn into a song of mourning.

There’s a tap on my right shoulder. I turn around to see a man, dry-eyed like me, my dazed expression mirrored on his face. He says nothing, but I nod, and let him stand by my side, and we both turn to look at the headstone. I trace the letters with my eyes again.

“Isn’t it strange,” the man says, “when they say ‘loved one’ they only mean family or friends? Sometimes, strangers are loved ones too.”

“Except he wasn’t a stranger, was he? I know what you mean though. We all lost a loved one.”

“His wife and children…” he began, but trailed off.

“I caught a glimpse of them before they opened the service to the public. The wife refuses to believe it was a suicide, I hear.”

“He seemed so happy…”

Yes. Yes, he did. Maybe he felt like he was in one of those places – a gap in space and time where he felt he didn’t belong. When you’re going through the worst, you decide to put up the most cheerful front.

“The last song he sang the night it happened was a song about death,” I said to the man. He nodded, pursing his lips, a vein twitching in his neck, as though he too was on the verge of breaking down, like the rest of the crowd.

A long time ago, I had attended one of his concerts with a friend. I wanted to tell that friend how much those songs meant to me. But he had stopped me, saying he couldn’t hear me above the music. The subject was left for another day, a day that never came around, and I never got to gather my answer.

“You know what I hate about this?” the man said,”They’re going to romanticize this. Romanticize his death.”

He’s right. The press and the public love a tortured rockstar. It’s one of those tropes, sadly.

“It isn’t fair. Not to him, not to his memory. Not to people who admire him,” I said in response.

I think again about the song I’d sang last month, a song I’d spent a lot of my younger days singing. That too is a song about death. There is undercurrent of death in all his songs. Was it in front of us all along? Could someone have helped? Was the warmth, the friendliness, all a facade and nothing more?

The hours pass by, and soon, just a handful of people, the man who’d been talking to me, and I stay back. I’m still trying to collect my thoughts, collect all the ways in which his songs affected me, affected my life. It’s haunting, how certain things permeate our being, how the sudden departure of those we did not really know drains us so emotionally. But in the end, my reasons can be summed up in one line.

I take out an old notebook from my coat pocket. I’d written the lyrics of one of his songs in it over a decade ago, and pressed a wildflower between those pages. I take the now-withered flower and place it near the headstone, a lonely ghost of a flower among all the other bright ones.

“Thank you for showing me how to live. And goodbye.” I cannot bring myself to say his name, but no tears of mine wet the headstone.


Image Source: Shutterstock

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14 thoughts on “The Tribute

    • Sid Balachandran May 31, 2017 / 12:03 PM

      Sometimes it is not necessary for us to know the person very well for us to feel those emotions of sorrow or being emotionally drained. The connect with the person is important too, isn’t it? So in this case, the songs/music.

      Liked by 1 person

    • Sreesha Divakaran June 7, 2017 / 1:56 PM

      Yes. It’s a subject I thought of writing about as non-fiction, but then felt sometimes fiction conveys certain things better.

      Like

  1. Shailaja V May 31, 2017 / 12:18 PM

    There! I knew you had it in you 🙂

    As for the post itself, sigh, it’s a tricky slope to walk- that space between grief and despair. Should you grieve the loss when you don’t feel it? No. That would be tough. That would be wrong to yourself.Dishonest even.

    I also like how you’ve captured that essence of grieving a public figure even if we don’t know them personally. It’s as if we do, since we get glimpses into their lives through their art. Maybe something there strikes a chord with the pain we feel. Maybe.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Sreesha Divakaran June 7, 2017 / 1:58 PM

      Some/most public figures touch our lives without them even realizing it. Of course, their passing affects us, but in general, some don’t view it as “real grief”. Sad really – if it’s felt, it’s real.

      Oh, about the writer’s block, I’m still struggling with it 😦 Just trying hard to put something out there.

      Like

  2. Mithila Menezes May 31, 2017 / 4:30 PM

    The soundtrack for this post should be Eminem’s ‘When I’m Gone’. I’ve always wondered what song they’d play for his funeral, and which song lyrics are they going to use for the newspaper headlines. And this song is the one that seems so apt.

    It’s weird to see that someone else’s pain and sadness could actually be converted into a tribute, just with a change in context, timing and the person using the very same words.

    Another masterpiece, Sreesha ❤

    Liked by 1 person

    • Sreesha Divakaran June 7, 2017 / 2:01 PM

      Oh yes, it is quite suitable for this post, M, thank you 🙂 Another song I had in mind for this post was Led Zep’s In My Time Of Dying.

      Indeed, sometimes we sing/write about things that are hidden so deep within us…

      Thank you, dear! 🙂

      Like

  3. Vidya Sury June 6, 2017 / 6:04 PM

    I get what you wrote. I am fascinated how we mourn those we do not know personally, yet they’ve had a larger influence on us than those we meet often and interact with. I love the “pressed wildflower” touch. Hugs!

    Liked by 1 person

    • Sreesha Divakaran June 7, 2017 / 2:03 PM

      It struck me first last year, when Alan Rickman passed away. I thought I should write something on the subject, but it just didn’t come to me, until now.

      Glad you liked it 🙂 Hugs!

      Liked by 1 person

  4. shanayatales June 7, 2017 / 6:05 AM

    Many of us, at one point or another, have idolized public figures. And seeing them go through difficult phases does leave its impact on us too, but it’s something we hardly ever talk about/discuss. You have captured it well.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Sreesha Divakaran June 7, 2017 / 2:04 PM

      I think we don’t talk about it because people around us wouldn’t take us seriously or mock us – even though we know the extent of the impact.
      Thanks for reading, Shantala! 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

  5. Soumya (@soumyaprasad) June 8, 2017 / 10:21 AM

    After the talk we had that day, this seems to be like a tribute to Kurt Cobain 🙂

    And when it comes to writing about feelings, no one can beat you my love. Every word is so well places and every emotion highlighted. Yes, I’m back to being that fan girl now. Not that I ever stopped :d

    Liked by 1 person

    • Sreesha Divakaran June 14, 2017 / 9:54 AM

      Hehe, I had a feeling you’d think so. But nah, this isn’t for him (although, yes, he did cross my mind while writing it).

      Like

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