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How we got grief all wrong

Western psychology tells us we pass through five stages when we grieve. But there’s more to grief than meets the eye

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I find myself asking questions about the shades in which grief visits us. Illustration by C Y Gopinath using AI

I find myself asking questions about the shades in which grief visits us. Illustration by C Y Gopinath using AI

C Y Gopinath I cried for 1 hour and 37 minutes the day my father died, February 8, 1990. That was the exact time it took me that day to drive from Nariman Point, where I worked, to Lokhandwala Complex in Andheri West, where we lived. As soon as my car was out of the parking area of Express Towers, I put the windows up and let the anguish pour out. Tears flowed torrentially all the way. At intersections, I raised my head and howled.

By the time I reached home, my eyes were dry. I was calm and composed, ready to do all the things that an eldest son must in such moments. My mother was beside herself with grief; my brother looked bewildered. But my grieving was over. 

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