Soundarya Anil Kumar - "Sandy": April 13, 1979 - November 22, 2010

Upon the death of my soul friend and muse, Soundarya, I am left to bear the unbearable grief and to ponder the meanings of love, in all its variations, in the many different ways that it comes to us.

There is love of blood and kin, love that we are born into and that descends from us – the love that we feel for our parents, our brothers and sisters, our grandparents, our cousins, followed later by that powerful love which we feel for our children and grandchildren – so strong; the love we feel for our nieces and nephews.

There is the love of romance that we strive for, seek out and when lucky find sublime, other times foolish, and sometimes only deep and bitter heartache.

There is the love that we share with friends – sometimes we slip easily into it, sometimes, we meet and do battle first and in our combat discover respect that leads to friendship. There is the love that we earn with each other by working hard together, sometimes enduring hardship as we do.

There is another kind of love that if a person is lucky, might happen half-a-dozen times in one life. It is that love that you recognize at the very moment you meet a person. I use the word, “recognize” because when you meet that person both you and she feel that you have always known each other, that you have been bound together at the level of the soul for your entire existence.

This can be the love of deep friendship, or of romance, or both.

This is how it was when I met my friend, the late Vincent Craig, whose funeral I took readers to in May. It is how it was with Margie – in fact, this recognition came to me weeks before I met her, when I first heard her name spoken. I loved her the instant her name struck my ears. Before I ever laid eyes upon her or even saw her picture, I wanted to marry her, to make babies with her and to spend my life with her.

I first met Soundarya in August of 2007 at the wedding of my niece, Khena, to Sandy’s cousin, Vivek. At the moment I looked at her I felt a warm feeling of closeness, as though I had always known her, that she had been my friend for all of my life and would always be. I did not ask for this friendship, I did not seek it out. It was just there. I would never have mentioned or even hinted at this to her or to anyone else, but after the wedding feast she asked me if I would walk with her.

As we walked, a bird landed high in a tree above us and Sandy delighted in that bird. She saw baby monkeys, leaping across roofs and jumping onto window sills and was again delighted. When she spotted a kitten in a yard, she squealed with pleasure and made the woman who owned the kitten hand it over her fence so that she could hold it for a time. 

And there has not been a day since when I have not felt the bond that was just naturally there between us.

I feel it now, even though she is gone, but now it manifests itself in the midst of a huge new hole torn into my heart. I will carry this hole for the remainder of my life, for it can never be filled. There are many other holes there.

The number just keeps growing.

I call her "Muse" because when I returned to Alaska following my first trip to India, I began to think about my photographs differently. I had always tried my hardest to make my photographs good, even though most of the time when I shoot I feel that I am creating nothing but junk, yet I never let this feeling stop me but I always work to create a decent picture that might speak to a large audience.

After I met Soundarya, I began to shoot my pictures for an audience of one. My photography became an effort to interpret my world in Alaska to a young woman who had spent her entire life in the equatorial tropics of Southern India. I felt that if I could successfully interpret my world for her, then perhaps I could interpret it for anyone.

Before I went to bed last night, I tried to call her three times to see if I might somehow lend her comfort after the tragic death of her husband, but I failed to reach her. Why didn't I call her ten times, 20? Why did I use Skype?

So I sent her an email, told her about the Iñupiat song, "praying for you," and since I am not much good at praying myself, went to bed with that song in my head, my brain struggling to project the words and message from Arctic Alaska to a grief-stricken soul in tropical India.

This morning, I tried to call her again at her brother's number, but the phone system refused to recognize that number.

Then, at lunch time, I set out to walk from the North Slope Borough to Osaka Restaurant, and was amazed to see this beautiful moon hanging over the ice of the Arctic Ocean, but in my stress, grief and worry, I had forgotten my camera.

I went back and got it, and shot this picture - as an interpretation of my world in Alaska for my grieving muse, Soundarya, in India.

It was very near to this same time, perhaps during this very time, that she decided this world had become too painful to bear, that she was going to join her husband.

So that is what she did.

It is a decision that I strongly disagree with, but there is nothing that I can do about it. I want to, I keep thinking there must be some way I can, but I can't.

After I got the call, I spent some time just walking, trying to stay away from the roads, because I did not want anybody to stop and pick me up. I bought a coffee from Thelma at Aarigaa. It was hot when I began to drink it, but soon turned cold.

I just walked and walked. Sometimes I shouted. Sometimes I screamed. 

At one point, I noticed this other person walking. 

Right now, I want to do but one thing - to go home, to hug my children and grandchildren, to tell them how much I love them, to scritch the cats behind their ears. I want to hold my wife close to my heart, for a very, very, very, long time.

Thanksgiving in Barrow is a unique and beautiful thing and I had planned to stay through, to cover it, blog it, and then after I returned to Wasilla to have a late Thanksgiving dinner and late birthday party for Lisa, my youngest, who just turned 25. Now, I just want to go home to be with my family, so I guess that is what I will do.

As for my soul friend Soundarya, I want to reach backward in time, to call 20 times, 30 times, 40 times... to reach through our cell phones, wrap my arms around her and say, "Hang on! Hang on! You can get through this. You will always feel the pain but still you can get through it and you will laugh, you will smile, you may not believe it but another young man will come along for you and you will love and be loved and will live a life that is good and fulfilling."

I can't do that. She is gone. That is that.

So I will go on and I will laugh and I will smile and I will love and be loved and will live a life that is good and fulfilling, but not a day will pass that I do not feel this horrible loss that I suffered today. This blog will not dwell upon this loss or upon my lost Soundarya, but will move on, as life always moves on.

And Sujitha - Ganesh - you must get through this, too. You must! You must! And your beautiful parents! Vivek, Khena, Vijay, Vidya, Kavitha... Murthy, Vasanthi... on and on this list can go... Barathi, Brindha... on and on

Please note: I have disabled comments for this post*. I know I have many readers with big hearts who will wish to offer words of comfort and condolence and I appreciate that, but I do not wish to read any words of consolation. And if you wonder how I could write this in this situation - this is how I deal with grief. I write. And I take pictures. This is how I get through it.

It is now nearing 3:00 am. I must go to bed. How do I do that?

Thank God that I am not in a hotel but am with the Ahmaogak family. They understand grief, they know love and they give love. They have given it to me in abundance.

Soundarya!

*Thanks to a couple of comments left elsewhere, I have realized that it was unfair of me to close comments here. I just felt that I could not bear the pain of reading those comments, but this was wrong. If anyone reads this and is moved by compassion to say something about Soundarya, I must open the door for them to do so. So I am now, nearly 36 hours after the original posting, opening this up to comments. I realize that multitudes of readers have already passed through and that there would have been some among them who would have commented but who now never will, but for any late comers, or returning visitors, the board is now open.

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Little Alan offers the blessing on Sharene's birthday; sad news from India

Yesterday was Shareen's birthday, so her brother-in-law, Alan Snow, served up a dinner of both chicken and steak fajitas. When the time came, many gathered around the table in Savik's house. Sharene's son, little Alan, named after his late father, sat on her lap and offered the blessing.

It was a good, sincere, short blessing, as little Alan knows how to get right down to the point - to thank the Lord for the food, ask his blessings on it, say "amen" and then get right down to eating.

Those familiar with Savik's table as it has appeared here before will undoubtedly have noticed that one face normally present there was missing. That would be the kindly face of Myrna, Savik's wife. Shortly before I arrived, she was admitted to the hospital here in Barrow and then a few days ago was medivacced to Anchorage.

Myrna and Savik's daughter, Ginger, took this excellent picture of her parents just over one month ago on Savik's birthday. This copy hangs on Roy's wall, right next door, where I am staying.

Those who know Myrna know that she has long been a church-going woman of faith and prayer. Now, I am certain, many pray for her.

Thankfully, she has improved significantly and might return home tomorrow.

I am not certain what birthday this was for Sharene, although I have known her for many more years than two, but two was the symbolic number of candles placed on her cake.

After the candles were blown out, little Alan became fascinated with the design on the side of the cake. His fascination proved catching.

In the evening, I took a walk along the seashore. The ice ivu piled up on the beach glowed in the light from Barrow.

After I departed the seashore and stepped back onto the road, a snowmachine pulled up alongside me and stopped. It was Jimmy, and he wanted to know if I needed a ride and where I was going. I told him I was just walking, going no place in particular except eventually back to Roy's, which was in the opposite direction.

He said he was going no place in particular, but was just riding around.

So I jumped on the back of the snowmachine and went no place in particular with him.

It felt good and it made me want to have a snowmachine, right here in Barrow, and to be able to climb on anytime and just go where I want to go.

A lot of people have snowmachines in Wasilla and snowmachine about Wasilla.

It isn't the same, my friends - it just isn't the same.

I slept in wonderfully late this morning, Sunday - for the second day in a row. I did not get up until after 10:00 AM. I tried to check my email via Sharene's wireless on my iPhone, but for some reason the iPhone had purged itself of the password and I could not log on.

I could have logged on with this laptop, but it has been giving me so much trouble that I did not want to fool with it. So I set out on foot to Pepe's for breakfast, reasoning that I could wait that long to check my email.

After my Saturday sleep in I had also gone to Pepe's for a late breakfast and I had greatly enjoyed it. Everything tasted so delicious, from the ham and eggs-over-easy, hash browns , the wheat toast with raspberry jam and, of course, the coffee, which I savored in slow sips.

Joe the Water Man was there to wait on me and to say witty things. Fran heard my voice from the other side of the partition and called out to say "hi."

So I wanted a complete repeat of all that pleasant wonderfulness today.

I sat down, pulled out my iPhone, logged on and about a dozen emails poured into my phone. One caught my eye before any of the others. It was from my friend Kavitha in India, a cousin to Soundarya, and was titled, "a very sad news." I suddenly got a feeling like someone had kicked me hard in the gut.

I opened it up and read. Then Joe came by to take my order, but I could not make the words. I could do little but stammer. Anil, Soundarya's husband, had been killed in a car crash early in the morning. Then I found another email from my nephew, Vijay, informing me of the same thing.

Eventually, I did place my order, but I have little recollection of eating it, or of how it tasted.

I stayed in Pepe's until after noon. Then Vivek called me from Minnesota and we talked for awhile. This was one time that he felt bad to be in the US rather than India. He and Soundarya were born five days apart and are as close as cousins get.

I left and began to walk back toward Roy's house. 

As I walked, I looked at these wires - one small part of the link that binds everyone in today's world together. This car came by. 

I felt helpless, unable to do anything. Given my present circumstance - no visa, little money - India might as well be on Jupiter. I cannot get there. I cannot lend comfort. I can do nothing to help out.

Still, I hope that Soundarya and all of her family - which is also an extension of my family - knows.

She knows. They know.

I still wish I could be there.

I needed more time to walk and think, so I headed toward the ocean. I walked down a street which I thought to be empty of traffic. The weather was extremely warm for this time of year, but it was a bit windy, so I had pulled the hood of my parka over my hat.

My parka hood muffled the noise enough to cause me to not hear a pickup approaching from behind until it was very nearly upon me. I stepped to my left, turning to look as I did, and saw that I was stepping right into the path of the truck.

It was okay, though, because the driver had spotted me and was approaching cautiously.

It was Roy Nageak. He told me that he was going to try drive out to Point Barrow to check out the ice conditions there and wandered if I wanted to come along? I did. I hopped in and off we went.

The snow was drifting, though, and we had to stop well short of the Point. We did make it past NARL, however.

Roy also gave me some interesting and good news, which I plan to make a report on later.

Remembering:

Anil on his wedding day.

Soundarya, on her wedding day.

Anil and Soundarya, at the threshold.

Folks - you know how us humans tend to get all wrapped up in us vs them? In our differences of religion, race, ethnicity, country of birth? These things need not separate us. We can love right through these differences.

Forgive me if I do not post tomorrow - Monday. I am almost a day behind schedule, anyway. I am tired of wrestling with this malfunctioning computer. I need to think. And I need to find a way to contact someone.

I plan to post Tuesday - hopefully with a summation of the Elders Youth conference.