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An artist friend passed away recently and we went to his funeral along with other artists. I’ve been to a lot of funerals before, and most of them are somber affairs. Tears, black clothes, flowers abound, while music about meeting the Maker plays on in the background.
The tears were there. He was well loved and I shed a lot of them myself. Black clothes were there too, except for some of the more flamboyant artists who wore purple as their funeral color. There were a lot of flowers. But the similarities to other funerals stop here.
Music about meeting the Maker was suspiciously absent. One guy sang a cappella about farewells. But that was the only song. After that what we heard were drums. Different kinds. Different beats. Several percussionists lined up along the low retaining wall of the memorial garden, and just started pounding on their drums.
It was a bit surreal for me because I was used to solemn and somber funerals, where the slightest noise is frowned upon by the elders. Yet here they were, making a lot of noise that filled the otherwise quiet morning.
After the initial surprise I found myself tapping my foot to the beat. They played and played and played until the coffin was lowered and covered. I actually found myself smiling, thinking that this sort of a sendoff was just the right kind for an artist, who was a percussionist himself.
All in all it was an almost happy affair. I don’t know why that fact felt right, since I knew I was really really going to miss him. Maybe it’s because we all believed he wouldn’t want us in tears. He was such a happy person.
So I guess that’s right. Weird as it may sound, it was happy funeral for a happy person.
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