Frodo, Pi and I

By A. Kathirasen

THERE is a scene in Yann Martel's book (and the movie) Life of Pi where the tiger and Pi depart after
spending 227 days lost at sea on a boat.

The tiger strides into the safety of a clump of trees upon hitting a beach, without turning to look at
its erstwhile companion who had kept it alive by helping to feed it. Pi, however, yearns for the
departing tiger to cast one last glance at him, to acknowledge their "friendship".

Pi describes his heartbreak at the indifference of the tiger, which he calls by the human name of
Richard Parker, thus: "That pain is like an axe that chops at my heart." Pi says he cannot understand
how the tiger could -- after spending so much time with him alone, and after helping each other
survive -- simply "abandon me so unceremoniously, without any sort of goodbye, without looking
back even once".

Pi may have just given up and died if not for the presence of the intimidating tiger, for he had to
remain constantly alert so as not to become tiger food. This state of alertness saved him.

He laments: "That bungled goodbye hurts me to this day. I wish so much that I'd had one last look at
him in the lifeboat, that I'd provoked him a little, so that I was on his mind. I wish I had said to him
then -- yes, I know, to a tiger, but still -- I wish I had said, 'Richard Parker, it's over. We have survived.
Can you believe it? I owe you more gratitude than I can express. I couldn't have done it without you.
I would like to say it formally: Richard Parker, thank you. Thank you for saving my life. And now go
where you must.

"You have known the confined freedom of a zoo most of your life; now you will know the free
confinement of a jungle. I wish you all the best with it. Watch out for Man. He is not your friend. But
I hope you will remember me as a friend. I will never forget you, that is certain. You will always be
with me, in my heart. What is that hiss? Ah, our boat has touched sand. So farewell, Richard Parker,
farewell. God be with you'."

Pi never got a chance to say goodbye but two other travellers, however, did. In the Lord of the Rings,
Frodo Baggins and Samwise Gamgee get to say goodbye properly, after an adventure in Middle-
Earth that lasts about six months.

Theirs is a lachrymose parting, but, still, there is heartbreak.

My son had a lump in his throat, and felt both plaintive and pensive when he came to the end of
J.R.R. Tolkien's Lord of the Rings trilogy, years ago. So did I. But I guess that parting was painful to us
because we had become, imperceptibly, part of the Fellowship of the Ring. These were friends
whose adventures we had shared, whom we would not meet again once we closed the book.

When Frodo departs for the Undying Lands where the Valar live, his fellow hobbits cry. In the movie,
as Frodo boards the ship that is to take him -- together with Gandalf, Bilbo and the Elves -- to the
Undying Lands, he smiles. How do I describe that smile? It has a touch of wistfulness, poignancy and
sadness. And do I spy a hint of hope there as well?

There are a multitude of ways in which we can interpret the parting scenes. Why, for instance,
doesn't the tiger look back? What really happens to Frodo in the end? As readers and humans co-
existing in society, we can construct our own meanings and interpretations of any parting.

But what is goodbye, then? In the 16th century, people sent off a departing guest with the words
"God be with ye". With use, it became contracted into "godbwye" and later "goodbye". Good
replaced god, the dictionaries say, probably because of the prevalent usage of the greetings "good
day" and "good night". So, there is God in goodbye.

There are times in our lives when, like Pi and Frodo, we have to say goodbye or God be with you -- to
people, the homes that we live in or the companies that we work for.

If you've had a rough relationship, the parting is easy. But if your relationship with them has been
smooth, parting becomes rather difficult. And if you are in love, "parting is such sweet sorrow that I
shall say goodnight till it be morrow", as Shakespeare so beautifully puts it.

And so, as I write this, I ask myself: what should I do? How do I say goodbye to the newspaper that
has been a huge part of my life for a full 33 years? How do I depart from my home, the New Straits
Times, a paper so rich in history? How do I say goodbye to the many lovely friends I work with and
with whom I have shared so much? Friends who have endured my foibles and frolics, my fatuity and
philosophy.

And, dear reader, how do I say goodbye to you -- you who have been so supportive of me? You who
have -- through your letters and phone calls, and by continuing to read my column all these years --
overlooked my idiocies and idiosyncrasies and embraced me as a friend?

I cannot, like the tiger, just slink away. And I cannot, like Pi, regret not having said a proper goodbye.
But, like Pi, I can say this to the NST, my wonderful colleagues and you, gentle reader: "We have
survived. I owe you more gratitude than I can express. I couldn't have done it without you. So,
farewell... God be with you."

And, like Frodo, I would like to hug all of you, and smile that smile.

"Well, here at last, dear friends, on the shores of the Sea comes the end of our fellowship in Middle-
earth. Go in peace! I will not say: do not weep; for not all tears are an evil." -- Gandalf.