Ruth Sequeira

As the sun set, Luke and I attended mass at the village graveyard. The renovation work for the cemetery had just been completed. I looked around, the walls were chalky white, the pathways tiled, the bushes trimmed, the graves outlined with flowers; the cemetery looked beautiful. The mass we were attending was organised in order to bless the newly ‘upgraded’ cemetery. There was a representative from almost every family of Saligao, which is my village. It felt odd to see so many people in this place, a place which is usually deserted. The young, the old, women and even children were present. Each person standing beside the grave of a long lost family member; if not physically together than at least they were one in spirit.
Throughout the service, I was distracted. The entire community was present at the graveyard; it’s not something you see very often. I barely listened to what the parish priest spoke of in his homily, but one line got me thinking. He said, “Today we stand here by the graves of our loved ones, never knowing when we will take their places in these graves, with our own respective loved ones standing where we stand today.” I looked at all the people around me, most were friends of mine, while I had interacted or come in contact with the others at some point or the other. That’s how it is in a small village, you know everyone, either by where they smoked, which house they lived in, how many cows they have, the school their son is studying in, the flowers that grow in their garden and even to what fish they can afford to eat. I knew most of the people here, if not by name then by their profession or what car they drive, or which field they own. There are no secrets in this village, here; secrets make for entertaining stories to be told on dull evenings.
I remembered an old phrase that is generally put up at the entrance of most Goan cemeteries – Aiz maka, fale tuka; which means, today it is me, tomorrow it could be you. Will all these people be gone someday? If I were to return 50 years hence, would everyone present here still be here? Will the majority be gone? These people have come in my life in some way or the other; will they no longer be part of my life? What about me? Will I be alive?
The sermon was over, the service continued. At some point, a few volunteers came about with trays, accepting money offerings from the people. This money would go for the expenses incurred to do up the cemetery. The tray was soon filled with notes and coins. This was when; my ever churning mind started thinking again. We’re all contributing to this cemetery, some in hundreds, some in just a few rupees, while some cannot give at all. There are rich people here, very rich; they own acres of land and many grams of gold. While there are some who own land, that is just enough for their family members to sleep in. I realised that, no matter which end of the spectrum we fall in, we are ultimately given the same amount of space in the graveyard- 8x4 feet.
By the end of the service, I had concluded, that, if we’re all heading down here and we are all given the same amount of land and share the same space and we’re expected to rest in peace. Why can’t we achieve something similar while we’re alive?