Let me start by saying thank you to everyone for being here today - both in person and in virtual presence - to commemorate Kumaran, who we fondly called Thamby (meaning little brother in Tamil). As you all know, we were only able to finalise the details for this funeral less than 48 hours ago and yet here you all are.
The overwhelming level of support we’ve received from you all has absolutely blown me away and I’ll forever be grateful to each and every one of you. It’s also a testament to the amazing young man Kumaran was, how many lives he touched at such a young age, and how special he really was to so many of us.
Kumaran was born in 1994, just before I turned 4. At kindy, we had a daily activity called show n' tell where we went around the room and shared a topic of interest. I was so excited at the idea of being a big sister that for over a month leading up the long-awaited day of Thamby’s arrival, I would repeatedly show my class his image from mum’s ultrasound - every single day until the teacher wrote to my parents asking them to give me something else to talk about.
I loved my baby brother before he was even born and he has since held a special place in my heart. As you would’ve seen in the photos, he was THE most adorable baby and when I was pregnant, I was really hoping Aran would be just as cute - thankfully the odds were in my favour and Aran ended up with the same twinkling eyes and that beaming smile that everyone remembers Thamby for.
Growing up, we were really close. We both loved getting out and about so we’d always be out rollerblading, bike riding, picking fruit and making up games in our backyard or just playing basketball till dusk with the kids next door. No matter how engrossed he was in his games though, even at the tender age of 4, he’d always stop to go and have a long chat to our elderly neighbours as soon as they came outside.
He would always be the first to initiate a conversation and with Thamby, it was never just small talk, he’d always make an effort to really connect with people and through his gentle and warm nature, had a way of putting everyone at ease. I have no doubt that everyone who knew him would have experienced that undeniable charm emanating from him.
Although he was 4 years younger than me, he was truly a role model and an inspiration to me as we were growing up. He was just absolutely extraordinary in every way - he was incredibly gifted and excelled in everything he did - whether it be academic, artistic or athletic. From the age of 5, he’d come home with a certificate, medal or trophy every term.
Despite all these constant successes, rewards and recognition though, he always remained humble and mirrored the same altruistic nature our parents possessed which all in all, made him the perfect human being.
He was one of those kids that were naturally smart - I’d have to put in months and months of hard work to get anywhere near as close to the scores he’d get without even trying. So when he did apply himself and commit to achieving a goal, he’d always exceed new heights or break a new record. He brought our family and our wider community so much pride and respect.
When we were in our teens, our parents were pretty strict so we’d always cover up for each other - although he pretty much got away with anything. In saying that though, he had this childlike innocence about him which he maintained until his last day.
He was only 12 when I was diagnosed with cancer and I remember mum always visiting the temple and making all sorts of offerings in hope that I would recover. At a time when he could’ve stayed back to play basketball or hang out with his friends, he would accompany mum to the temple and recite all the prayers she asked him to recite without any complaints or hesitation. We only joined CanTeen around three years later so throughout my entire cancer journey AND a challenging 18 months we spent living in Sydney before relocating back to Melbourne again, it was Thamby that constantly remained by closest confidant - he was my rock and truly the most amazing brother.
His larger than life personality would always shine through and he would always be one of the first to crack a joke or pull a stunt, either intentionally or often by mistake, which would have everyone in stitches. I’ll never forget the time he split his pants on the dance floor and flashed his bright rainbow undies to everyone at our wedding.
More recently Thamby became a proud uncle to my son Aran. I still remember the way he yelled and swore in excitement when I video called him to tell him I was pregnant. Although there were huge gaps between the times they spent together, Aran would instantly go to Thamby and they’d hang out as though they’d always been around each other. I’ve been hurting every day over the past year knowing that Aran is going to grow up without his grandparents from our side around - trying to now accept that he’ll also have to grow up without his mama has been breaking my heart into a million pieces over and over again.
At around this time last year, Thamby and I stood together as a united front at our beloved mum’s funeral. We vowed to look after eachother, see out her dreams and make her proud. Thamby was the only one who could truly relate to the pain, heartache and nightmares we’ve endured over the past year so we’d often be up till late texting and sharing old photos and videos.
Thamby, I’m so sorry I let myself get so stretched over the past months rather than focussing more on helping you heal. I wish I’d been more of a friend to you rather than trying so desperately hard to fill Amma’s shoes since she was taken away from us. Although I’m shattered that I’m fighting the internal part of this battle alone now, that I’ve got nobody to reminisce over our childhood with and laugh over stories of times that only you and I knew about, I am in some ways glad you no longer have to suffer in pain and are resting in a better place with Amma now. I know how much you loved her - “bigger than Godzilla” as you’d say when you were a kid - I’ll try to take solace in knowing that you’re now together in heaven.
Although you’ve left a massive void in my heart and life that can never be filled, although I can’t help but focus on how much potential you had and how many more lives you could’ve touched, helped and saved as a doctor, although I’m going to continue missing mum, dad and now you- every moment of every day, a part of me is relieved that you can now Rest In Peace. I love you guys more than you’ll ever know and more than anyone could ever imagine.
Finally, I wanted to share a poem I found that serves as a reminder to focus on the life of a loved one, rather than the fact that they’re no longer with us - to bring your attention back to the all the times we’ve spent with Kumaran, as that’s what he would’ve wanted us to do...
He is Gone by David Harkins
You can shed tears that he is gone,
Or you can smile because he lived,
You can close your eyes and pray that he will come back,
Or you can open your eyes and see all that he has left.
Your heart can be empty because you can’t see him
Or you can be full of the love that you shared,
You can turn your back on tomorrow and live yesterday,
Or you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday.
You can remember him and only that he is gone
Or you can cherish his memory and let it live on,
You can cry and close your mind be empty and turn your back,
Or you can do what he would want: smile, open your eyes, love, and go on ♡
