Smile.

My brother had called me up early that morning with the news and I prayed it was just a dream.

I have known Rajiv and his family from the time I started to remember things. We went to the same school just like my father and his father (Raghunathan sir) had in 1950s. Their family was always happy and laughing, like my mother once said, I think they even laughed in their sleep. Not that they had no problems, somehow they managed to keep smiling and made people smile.

I remember the days when his father, my father and one of their colleagues (Selvam sir) came together for a silent drink in our back yard only to get noisy after sometime. I remember when my father had a stroke in 1991, Rajiv’s family had prayed for him. When he recovered we had taken a procession to the church. I remember the times when our families were not in good terms and Raghunathan sir and Selvam sir still found the way to our backyard. My father still remembers the tiny frock he got for Raghunathan sir's daughter (she is now a mother of three children with the eldest one going to college).

It was a Sunday morning when my brother had called me up and I was not very convinced that someone I had known so well could die; Raghunathan sir was no more. I left for my good old hometown and even as I was reaching their house the place wore a festive look with crackers, music and wait, was it not supposed to be a funeral? It was a funeral and in Tamil Nadu funerals are held this way.

Raghunathan Sir still carried the smile on his face, only he was in a freezer box draped in a white shirt and dark pants. I placed the flowers I had gotten for him and if not for the crowd I would have said "Morning sir" and smiled at him as always.

For the first time in my life I saw Rajiv cry, his sisters and his mother cry. I did not say a word to Rajiv, for I did know what I was supposed to say at a funeral, this was my first. His mother hugged me with her big hands and said "Look at Daddy, can't take the smile of his face, can you? Wake him up, he's been sleeping for long", my eyes were wet, when I walked away after sometime.

My father was crying, Selvam sir was, my mother was, my brothers were, my grandma was and the whole place was. Only Raghunathan sir's seven-year-old granddaughter was running around laughing with my brother's son. They both attend the same school like their grandpas did 50 years before. When my brother and his friends, who are closer to Rajiv than I am, came in with a garland that needed two men to carry it, they were dancing like mad men. When they reached sir they did not move for a very long time, when they did, they were crying and like kids. I had not known if my brother and his friends could cry.

It was time for the procession and I helped pull the cart that carried Sir a distance I would have frowned to cycle. After the rituals were over at the cemetery, it was time to place sir inside the coffin. I held sir in my hands, his body was very cold because of the freezer box but was he dead? I don’t know but in my hands he was so much alive. May he was just sleeping, may be he was even breathing, I wanted to feel his pulse, I wanted to feel his breath and all I did was to help him inside the coffin.

Sir was still smiling when his thick glasses were removed and I was asked to loosen up his shirt. Rajiv and sir's grandsons were crying unconsolably even as the coffin was being closed. I saw sir, I saw them close the coffin and I cried.

My brothers friends were there in Rajiv's house when I went there the next day. After a cup of cofee when I left Rajiv was forcing a smile at me.
May be he will smile in a few days.