“Do you only wear white?” a woman I’ve met twice asks me.
I pause before replying, “For the moment.”
An elderly gentleman who overheard this gently places his arm around my shoulders, his eyes filled with warmth. “It will take some time,” he whispers.
There was no conscious decision to wear white; it simply unfolded naturally. Two days after my father’s cremation, I opened my suitcase to look at the clothes I had hastily packed for India. Instinctively, I knew I could not wear them. They felt too vibrant, too full of life, when my heart was heavy with grief. I closed my suitcase and asked my sister to buy me a few plain white or cream salwar-kameezs. These simple, unadorned outfits have become my choice, reflecting my quiet, introspective journey.
Why am I wearing white? No logical answer can fully capture the depth of my emotions. I am simply following the whispers of my heart, honoring a grief that words cannot express.
I had lunch with a wise 90-year-old gentleman, a former Princeton professor and a deeply respected friend of my father. During our conversation, I sought his insight. “Why am I wearing white?” I asked. Having lived outside of India for all of my life, where such cultural practices are less prevalent, I was surprised by my deep yearning for white attire during this time. I wondered why this tradition, so deeply rooted in Panjabi customs, felt so profoundly significant to me now.
He said, “It’s sanskar.“
I looked puzzled.
“It is your subconscious mind,” he explained gently. “Grief has a way of numbing your senses, allowing your deeper, subconscious responses to surface. This emotional numbness is a natural part of the process and will gradually ease with time.”
I listened, deeply moved by his words, and accepted his explanation with gratitude. I do believe our consciousness carries the imprints of many eras. My choice to wear white appears to be linked to a memory from an embedded memory intricately woven into the fabric of my being. All I can do is honor this memory with reverence and respect.
It feels as though layers upon layers are being lifted, unveiling an unfamiliar yet profound dimension of existence. In this space, there is no fear. I am deeply aware of the Guru’s presence, gently cradling me. I am cocooned in a warm shawl, enveloped by the soothing sound of the Sabad.
Today marks the 40th day since my father’s passing.