When quite young Arya, my son, developed a frightening curiosity about death after watching a movie involving a dead dinosaur. During the movie it struck Arya that death was a place from where one could not return, and the absoluteness of the situation disturbed him. It frightened him, perhaps, because over and again, over weeks, he questioned my husband and me about the meaning of death. Why do people die? What happens to them after death? Where do they go? My husband and I tried our best to give him gentle answers. It is not something you need to consider yet, we said. It comes at old age. It is really far off. In our desperation, we even lied. It is rare, we said, shying away from his insistence. However, despite our best efforts, we could not dissuade his focus. And finally, one night our son woke up in the middle of the night and in a matter-of-fact tone asked us if he could, one day, simply die while sleeping. Alarmed, my husband and I decided to come up with an answer that would calm and satisfy our then four year old son. We decided to go the rebirth route and explained to him that death was a phase when the soul left one body—the body often being either old or diseased—to enter a young and healthy one. We told him the soul was energy and as such never died, it was immortal and like a hermit crab (he loved, and continues to love, animals and so animal analogies work well with him) shifted bodies when it needed to. Finally, we told him something I have always taken solace in. Wetold him I believed he was my mother, i.e. his grandmother, come back to me as my son. My mother’s soul left its old body to enter my son’s new body so I could miss her a little less.“I can sense her presence in you,” I told him.

Ever since then Arya has tried hard to fulfil his motherly duties towards me as faithfully as he can.  If I ever tell him I miss my mother, he is quick to chide and remind me he is my mother and it is ridiculous tobe missing her when he is around. He does acknowledge, however, that in the form that he now exists, i.e. a little boy, he obviously cannot do half the things he could do for me then. For instance, he cannot give up the television remote to cater to my tantrums, or cook for me just because I am tired. It is all too bad and I had better learn to live with it.A few months back an interesting twist came to the dinner table when it suddenly struck my son that he was growing older.“Mamma,” said he, “I am growing up.”“Yup,” said I, severely eyeing his plate until he took another helping of greens.“Soon I will fall in love,” quoth he.

The soul inside me raised its eyebrows but the body kept calm.  “Hopefully,” I said.

“And then I will have to marry.”(Internal eyebrows climbing higher) “I don’t know what equations your generations will come up with,” said I, or something to that effect.

“When I marry,” continued the son, completely ignoring my eyes which were still glaring at his scantily populated plate, “my wife will want a baby.”

“I don’t know what equations your generation will come up with…” or something to that effect.“You married when you were twenty eight (the details this boy will remember!), so I have 21 years left to marry.  In 21 years, you will be 56 years old. Dadu is 72 years old, but he is still alive.  So, when I marry, you will not yet be dead.”

(Internal eyebrows really at its peak!) “Hopefully not!”“But if my wife wants a baby, you have to die.”I had lost some of my appetite by now.“But you will be much too young to die … (pondering heavily over my unfortunate propensity to stay alive)…perhaps a vehicle could hit you?”“I don’t want to be hit by a vehicle!”“You could fall ill? Not with a cold or something, but very ill.”“I don’t want to fall ill!”“Should I push you off a cliff?”

“You are very kind, but no, thank you, Mr Psychopath.  Can we cut this conversation, please?”“But my wife will need a baby and I only want you for my baby.  I want your soul to live forever with me.”“All right,” said I, “here is the deal. You marry when you are 60 and have a baby by 80. I promise to be dead by then.”“Awww,” said my wise son. “But that is so far away.”Sigh.  The convoluted ways in which love and death forever entwine and cross paths with us.