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Death of My Brother.

Death is always painful, but the end of a sibling is the worst type of cut and wreaks havoc on the body and the psyche. When I heard of the demise of my elder brother, I felt a sharp pain as if someone had severed one of my limbs. I stood transfixed, struggling to withstand the cruel stroke of fate.

My brother and I grew up together for the last seventy years. We had an agreement; I would go first to create all the necessary arrangements for our comfort in heaven and send a message to him. He has revoked the contract and left for his heavenly abode earlier than me. I will surely pick up a quarrel and settle the score once I meet him, provided I find myself accommodated in the same area.

I have known him all my life since he is a couple of years elder to me. In all these years, we played and fought using boxing, wrestling, kickboxing, scratching, and every possible method of the fight. At first sight of any injury, the other would declare a unilateral ceasefire and apply the balm to the wound.

We never went up to our parents to resolve our disputes. My father, busy with his office work, had no time to spare for us, and my mother found it difficult to take sides in our complaints as she loved both of us equally. Watching the way she tormented herself, we decided once and for all never to seek her intervention and judgment. My mother also had many tasks to look after the younger ones, and we decided not to trouble her no matter what. Our parents thought and proclaimed we were the finest behaving brothers. We let this charade pass with a smile.

While going to school and college, we went holding hands mainly to convey a message to all the bullies we were a team, and in case of any conflict, they had to contend with not one but two. An inch taller and better built, my brother stood like a bulwark for me against the toughies in the school. Together we conveyed the Garimella brothers were not to be messed with.

Our playful fights extended to the cricket pitch as well. A fast bowler, he reveled at the sound whenever he sent my middle stump cartwheeling, and I repaid by teasing him with my guile and bowling him round his legs.

After college, we pursued different careers but kept in touch always. Fortunately, my brother spent most of his time in Pune, and during my long tenure at Bombay, I could go on weekends to do the rounds of Pune. I remember in the sixties, when the dam at Khadkavasla burst and the floodwaters ravaged Pune, I rushed to ascertain his safety.

We had shared interests in games and sports and could discuss matters like Cricket without any disputes. In literature, we differed as he had an excellent fancy for Telugu and Telugu poetry. Since I was deficient in Telugu, I focused on English.

Apart from my wife, he was my greatest fan, admirer, and critic. He always read every piece I wrote and appreciated it. When needed, he used a scalpel to tear it into pieces. His constructive criticism helped me immensely to grow as a writer.

The ladies also hit off well and left us in peace to enjoy our evenings without any let or hindrance. We spent many an evening enjoying each other’s company, a bottle of whiskey and snacks stuffed with spices and love.

I am missing him and sustaining myself with the hope I will get to see him soon.

R.I.P. GV Raghunadha Rao I.D.A.S.

 

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RAMARAO Garimella

A retired Commander of the Indian Navy and a Master Mariner for 18 years. A writer with several articles and short stories published in Indian newspapers and magazines. A writer with more than 700 blogs (400 in Sulekha, 150 in fanstory.com and 150 in wikinut.com). I have seven books published, including one children's book for American children. I am the first Indian to publish a children's book for American children published in the USA. The second is due shortly. For details please visit my website www.gvramarao.com.
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bakshink
bakshink
1 year ago

The loss of anyone who even was known to you or acquainted to you bring sadness to you which is based on the value of relationship you have had with him/her but how can one fathom the immensity of the loss of a dear one, who is born out of the same womb that gave birth to you? The loss of a parent is no less if such losses can be categorized. Same way, the loss of a spouse or even a pet- they all have their own quantum of grief they give to the physical being which can feel long as it exists. It is difficult to say, whether the memory of all this can be carried to the world beyond or not but long as we live here, we after grieving over, start finding solace in the good moments we have spent with those, who have left this world before us, but we can’t find a replacement for them, nor do we seek one. It’s only the memory of the times spent with them that sustains us.

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