Funerals and Marriages

ECHOSTREAM
01 September, 2011

I’ve stopped going to marriages and funerals. Any demonstration of grief or joy unnerves me. Solemnity withers me and dark elegance leaves no one moved. It’s not that I’ve forgotten kindness or to wish people happiness if they can find it. I could help the bereaved furtively after the mourners have eaten and left. I have become truly unsociable.

I can’t fathom why anyone would like to be comforted except by people they love selfishly. You only need hugs and kisses from people from whom you can get your morsel of flesh. I cannot be comforted, except by the woman I love illicitly.

I often wonder about the efficacy of marriages and funerals. Could it be because others are as worried, as I was during my own wedding feast, that my friends would not show up for some mystifying reason? As regards funerals, I know that if the house of the dead cannot keep a demonic hold on me, my absence will not make any difference. But I don’t want to be censored for not attending marriages or funerals. I wish people would not invite me to weddings or bring news of an old acquaintance’s death. If I could I wouldn’t attend even my own funeral.

I remember the day I returned home, and without even seeing my father I went to my aunt’s house when I heard my cousin had died during my long absence. I tried to match my aunt’s grief by trying to show some tears in my eyes but ended up sniffing like a dog. After that, my cousin’s sister, my other lovely cousin, in whose body I first sang a liquid tune, gave me pineapple to eat and we smiled at each other. I used to dip my hands into her blooming breasts, a pair of frightened pigeons. But later, my dead cousin appeared in my dreams to play and protect me again as he did during our childhood. He took a long time to go away and I had to spit three times to be sure that he doesn’t haunt me.

I remember this film about slum-dwellers in Bombay and how after the tears and the burning they would bring out their bottles of orange liquor and get drunk and have a real ball. That’s one funeral I would like to attend.


Robin S Ngangom is a bilingual poet and translator. He is the author of three collections of poetry.