In faraway land, a ‘dear’ funeral

Col PS Randhawa (retd)

DYING is a costly affair in England,’ said my friend. I could not fathom it till I attended a funeral service. It was my third day on a pleasure trip in England. My friend had taken a week off to show me around. One day, he sought to be excused as he wanted to attend the funeral of an elderly woman in the distant neighbourhood. I offered to accompany him, which he readily agreed to, saying ironically: ‘The crematorium is located in such a beautiful place that one looks forward to going there.’ 

We first went to a nearby gurdwara, where in the langar hall the body was placed in a casket made of the finest wood, with shining brass handles and other metallic fittings on the corners. The granthi, in attendance, recited Gurbani in a litany and loop to make the best of the occasion. I was told that the woman had expired about 10 days back and the date for the funeral had to be fixed keeping in view the availability of close relatives as well as the slot available at the crematorium. Most of the mourners were dressed in black. After Gurbani, and the last look, the lid was placed on the casket. The lid had a brass-mounted nameplate of the deceased and khanda, a symbol of the Sikh faith. 

The body was then taken into the hearse, a modified black Jaguar, and the husband, and close relatives, ambled into the waiting limousine; the rest into their respective cars. Wreathes of white flowers were placed in the hearse and khanda made of white flowers adorned the bonnet. The retinue of mourners reached the crematorium. 

The crematorium was shaped like a church and located inside a beautiful garden-cum-graveyard. The flowers were in full bloom, as if welcoming the ‘dear departed’. The well laidout garden and serenity of the place was to be seen to be believed. As we were walking the last few yards, I spotted a well-dressed Sikh gentleman, wearing a tailcoat, walking ahead of the hearse, holding a long kirpan to his chest. He was directing all the activities. I took him for the eldest son of the deceased, till I was told he was the ‘usherer’ of the funeral company that conducted such services. Later, I found a few offices of such companies outside the graveyard, boasting of the ‘best’ services, costing 2,000-4,000 pounds. 

At the entrance, the programme of the day was displayed on a metallic stand, like the one in a band concert. We reached the hall and sat on benches. Books of psalms were on desks for mourners to read and seek comfort. In our case, the granthi and the usherer took over. In the backdrop of the cross, it appeared to be a perfect blending of Christianity and Sikhism. After ardaas and kirtan sohila, the body was lowered into the recess, as two wooden planks below the casket moved downward. Everybody moved out and started looking towards the chimney. I found another procession waiting for the ‘service’. As the ‘holy smoke’ emerged, everyone got into their cars and I saw the costly wreaths and khanda lying on the ground. 

‘From earth to earth... dust to dust...’, I mused.