Difficult Questions

Kids ask the darndest of questions, I have always heard people say. Now, by a miracle of nature I have one of my own. And I am enjoying my fair share of laughter and dread pondering at some of these existential questions. 

“Is Ram dead?”

“Jhop bara Vivaan”, I ordered him to sleep. 

“When did he die? When will you die?”

“Jhop re!”, I replied. I was a little irritated that he didn’t want to sleep even at 10 PM. But he had got me. I had to now think about it. I couldn’t just let go of it. When will I die? Why is he asking me?

“When I am 100”, I quickly followed up. 100 was a distant concept then. It stood alone as the largest number. It will be a few months until it found the company of 90s and 101, etc. 

“When will I die, Baba? I don’t want to die.”

“Vivaan aata jhop bara please”, I pleaded and scolded at the same time. This had gone long enough. I wasn’t supposed to know these answers. That book didn’t talk about any of this. This was  out of syllabus. I needed my money back. 

That night we went to sleep trying to allay each others fears of dying. My understanding of this difficult subject was only slightly more nuanced than his. 

He hasn’t asked a lot about death since then. I may have addressed his fears. Or he must have found me out for the imposter I am. He will know when he grows up, we are mostly winging it. Just that we can’t tell our kids, yet.