When I was a child, I was asked a question that I never forgot, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”. Without giving any real thought to it, I readily replied, ‘Papa.’
More than a decade later, I often think about my answer. And, as I grow older, I get clarity on my answer.
Papa was not like anybody I knew. He never once told us how to live. He lived and let us watch him do it. For instance, every year he would organize langar for a local village. Through that, I learnt that the best way to find yourself is to lose yourself in the service of others.
He appeared very tough on the outside. Being very outspoken, he came off as intimidating to people that didn’t know him. On the inside, he was warm as a blanket. He had silly names for everyone. To be around him was to laugh out loud. To know him was to love him.
Even though my siblings and I were miles away in a boarding school. He rarely made a month without visiting us. Neither did he miss any school events, despite his motion sickness and the long drive to the mountains.
From late-night ice-creams to long road trips, watching comedies together and laughing our hearts out, I look fondly upon the best moments of my life.
He was a child at heart. Like, a kid in the candy store. I think it was because he was robbed of his childhood. He was only 13 when his father passed away by murder. Although we never used that word to describe it. A few years later, his mother suddenly passed away. So, he had been through much tragedy in his life.
Following his parents’ death, he took many responsibilities very early on in his life. Life wasn’t easy on him. Rarely ever complaining about it.
Growing up, I never saw him cry. Until one day, when I was leaving for the airport to Canada. He hugged me so tight and cried. That was our last hug.
A few months later, on the phone, mom was nervous to tell me the news: “Dad’s tumour has returned,” she said. “You all need to come to India asap.”
That was the beginning of an end.
The undefeated man I always knew was no longer there. The tumour had taken over him. Looking at the man in the wheelchair, I understood that papa was gone. Furthermore, he had lost the ability to speak and eat. Watching him go through that, shattered me, daily.
Regardless, I would sit beside his wheelchair every day and talk to him. I would fill him in with daily happenings. He listened quietly.
Looking at his eyes, during those days, I could see the pain in them. His eyes said that his mouth no longer could. The silence was deafening.
Precisely 22 days later-on September 05, 2017, he passed away. That day, a part of my heart died with him. Looking back, I wish I had captured all our moments in a lot of pictures and videos. For now, I am thankful that you were my father. I would pick you over and over again.
Miss you, papa.
Happy Father’s Day. I love you.
P.S.
Here’s to all the amazing fathers and father figures. You complete us. We are indebted to you. Today. Tomorrow. Always.
xx
Yachna
Leave a Reply