My parents had come to the conclusion that we should go for his funeral. Of course we should. He was family. We all wanted to go. My brother, my parents and I. But the problem was mostly on my brother's side - the school said they wouldn't let him and were strict on the fact that even if he did go, he'd miss out on a lot of classes that would be essential for his upcoming exams.
My brother, let's call him Jay, had never been one of the guys who didn't give a thing about his education. He was really into academics and so he really had no choice but to stay back.
Jay was very close to our grandpa and though he wanted to come to the funeral, I felt like he had the easiest burden out of the three of us. He didn't have to see the body and so didn't face the nightmare we did.
But what did I know right? I was just a seven year old with no semblance of an idea of what life really was about. Or so I'd thought.
The flight back to India was an arduous one. It was almost a total of a twenty-four hour journey from the place where we left to our final destination. I'd gotten some sleep on the flight, dozing off at some points as exhaustion overcame my small body.
But my parents hadn't gone an inch of sleep. Especially my mother.
When we were so close to pulling up in front of the house, I felt the atmosphere within the car tense even more. We were going to see him.
I was scared.