Two months ago, on my father's funeral, a mass of people went so emotional we all felt very connected.
Despite our customs here, my whole family agreed we want a tambura - band to play for our father. He never liked those funeral orchestra. And tambura is our native instrument.
So the band played slowly an old song called "Tank You", which made everyone cry. All the way to his grave they played a beautiful old melody from our folklore.
At the grave, when they were putting his casket down, they slowly sang
"Slowly My Father Left,
He left on the path that meanders,
Some old songs accompanied him,
All the way to the river of Sorrow"
Well I belive there's no river of Sorrows, but boy did that song get me!
When you look at it closely, you see that the funeral is actually for us who stay behind. So the songs are actually for us, too. When they played something that really happened, it was easier to let it be. At least at that moment.
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