In 2004 I received bone chilling news. That my dad had terminal cancer. He had been a healthy 78 and I had thought till then that he was immortal. Only 5 months prior I had taken home a tennis racket because he had expressed a desire to resume playing. Till the day before his diagnosis he had walked 6 km. But they say there is just no logic to cancer and it is true. I remember rushing back home to Chennai from Toronto my bag full of books on alternative treatments and my heart filled with the hope that I would bring him back from his precarious perch in front of death's precipitous abyss. Alas that did not happen. He passed just over 2 months later. His condition deteriorated rapidly. However, what remains etched in my memory is the power of the hug. My dad loved his children like few others would. We were his cherished treasures. We always had his unconditional, love, affection and support. We hugged easily and into my adulthood I spent many hours, during trips to India, nestled in between mom and dad on their bed cocooned by their warmth and held together by the sense of security they gave us. However, when I arrived in India this time I found my dad somewhat withdrawn. He was delighted to have me back but with each day he sensed he was losing his grip on life and consciously began to go within himself. I still remember the night he chose to make his bed on the floor of his study. I found him lying there on his stomach, just his shorts on, a light sheen of sweat on his body, notwithstanding the fan that whirled above us. He still looked young and athletic at his age, no apparent visible sign of his terminal condition. Lying there, he appeared so vulnerable and alone in his physical suffering, amplified by the emotional pain of being parted from his beloved wife and children. Even though death mercifully ends misery we do not welcome the suffering that precedes it. Somewhat paradoxical and absurd, when you think about it. Truth is, unless we are sages, the mind suffers emotional pain. I had to ease his. I lay down beside him and put my hand over his body in a safe cocoon. I then sensed the rhythm of his breathing change to take him into a deep sleep. I made a silent pact to hug him through his suffering and stayed by his side for the next 40 days till he breathed his last at the hospital. I hugged him as much as I could. I believe he passed on, comforted and eased.
Two years later, my close friend and I were returning from Thailand via Frankfurt. There in front of us was a small entourage. In the middle of it was the familiar face of a woman in a white saree. I exclaimed with recognition, "Amma!". As we neared her she held out her hands and gripped us to her in a tight embrace for a few seconds each. She whispered loving words in our ear. In that cold no frills airport that firm hug from a stranger should have felt out of place, but it did not. We felt reassured of our boundlessness, somehow. She looked deep into our eyes and it felt quite natural. There was a spontaneity to it that had broken down our self consciousness. It felt like the hug from a child. It was a beautiful moment. We had not waited for hours in a long line to be held by this famous "hugging saint".
I am convinced of the power of the hug. In that act we make ourselves completely vulnerable and egoless because there are no guarantees of reciprocity and yet it's power is such that even the most prickly person with no self love will respond to it's unconditional quality. It's a non ego state where the separateness between us is temporarily abandoned and we focus on our oneness and commonality.
I heard an aging senior speak on the radio about how she took up dancing because she liked to be held. That's what prompted this post.
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