We all do it...

We were saddened by the news of the death of our family's matriarch. We found out in Sikkim and came back a couple of days early to be with the family and pay our respects (by nodding our heads and making sad faces because we can't speak the language). Boju, as she was called, lived to the over-ripe age of 98. She had 6 kids (one had passed away), 17 grandkids, and 3 great grandkids.
The two of us were fortunate to have met her and talk to her several times. She seemed like a great woman. She loved to smoke bidis (tobacco rolled in tobacco), and drink whisky according to the family, so I'll go out on a limb and say that she had a pretty good run. Both vices lead to early demises in the US (and everywhere for that matter), so Boju did alright.
We were privy to a "witch-doctor" or chakra as they call it, "talk" to her soul while he was pulsating to the beat of a drum and cymbals. It was wild, man! He was convulsing and jumping around a small shrine as the drum beats increased in intensity. Chanting and moving like a cheerleader (seriously, he had two batons), supposedly he contacted her spirit and acted as a "middle-man" for the 50 people in the room. It was powerful for the family, and they were really into it. I thought it would climax in some crazy revelation, or a ritual sacrifice, but apparently from beyond the grave Boju only wanted her nose-ring and some clothes. Easy enough, right?
The way the death is handled here is so different than back home. It's hard to put into words. Some of it is beautiful and some seems so archaic. It's never, ever, easy.