Thinking of my uncle on his birthday

My moment of sadness is today, as I talk to ChatGPT about pigeons. My fingers move from my laptop towards my phone, and I freeze. I was about to text you excitedly about this bewildering and brilliant new technology. But you are not here. You loved technology.

My moment of sadness came yesterday, when a friend pulled out a quirky gadget. I caught myself from making a mental note to buy you one. Because you are not here. You loved gadgets.

My moment of sadness will come tomorrow, when it would have been your birthday. And you will not be here. How we loved you, we love you.

You would have hated this. All the photographs, the publicity. En route to your funeral, I laughed. There were photographers following us on motorbikes. Paparazzi like we were celebrities. It was surreal, absurd.

You, my uncle, who hated having his photo taken. You, who refused to wear suits and dress shoes.

Now there are photographs of you in a suit everywhere.

What is the relevance of my remembrance? What is my loss to whoever reads this? I struggle to answer that. The ability to make our family’s pain more widely known is a part of our privilege. They say you were a public figure. But you weren’t really. You were a private figure. The world of PR and influence is the opposite of who you were.

Brilliant as you were, you never looked for any limelight.

My privilege lets me speak, so what do I say? And you can no longer speak, so what should I say?

Our family is privileged. And you never forgot that. You stood with the oppressed. You noticed the injustices of the everyday. Of domestic workers who were not protected by labour laws. Of prisoners who could not be released for want of a small bail. Of Aragalaya protestors struck with stinging tear gas. You saw people’s hurts and needs, and you didn’t just walk on by. You were quietly busy, trying to fix things, both big and small.

You were, like any other human, imperfect. But you were extravagantly loving. And you did not take your privilege for granted. You would have never wished for your own injustice to be highlighted in this way. You would have noticed an underlying injustice in our family’s tragedy being so greatly amplified, above so many others.

In the sea of sadness and suffering, here is my moment. No more or less important than anyone else’s. I miss you so very much. Every picture of your smiling face feels like a stab in the heart. Saddest birthday, dearest Dinesh Anna. How we miss you.