My Pop

The AA flight 1633 landed in Seattle on Feb 23 2013. I was so elated that my parents had come to spend a few days with me here in Seattle little knowing that my joy was to be short lived.That my pop could not walk his way to the toilet and had to be escorted in a wheel chair was an ominous sign for me,an indicator towards the things to come, that he had come to stay in his Seattle home only for a little bit which he so longed for and then leave forever never to come back again.He had a tremendous will-power which made him sustain the long and arduous journey from New Delhi to Seattle despite his frail health. He bore tremendous pain for the last few months in order to mentally prepare us for the final outcome.

It was on 7th October 2013 that he finally decided it was not worth it anymore. His role in this drama of life having waned as of late he decided to exit the stage for good instead of hanging on the sidelines. He was always used to living life king-size and so could not reconcile to the fact of acting on the fringes.

Nothing changed for the world. The world didn't lose an eminent scientist or a leader or a sportsman so why should they grieve but my worldview would change herefrom. I lost my father. I lost the man who had given up his present to shape my future. I have heard many men claim with a sense of pride "I am a self made man". I proclaim with a higher sense of pride "I am my father'sman". He taught me everything under the sun be it from how to hold a pen (and I used the same hands to collect and immerse his asthis in the holy ganga) or how to lead a balanced life and not get carried away by pangs of sorrow or joy.

Sometimes I would not listen to him and would start arguing or being difficult but that didn't diminish his love for me by even one iota. Even though he taught me everything that you need to lead a disciplined life yet he never micro-managed my life as he was fully confident that his sound rearing could never go wrong.

Coming from a family of minimal means translated into getting a modest education so that he could get into the work force at an early age and start earning for his family. Yet he always made sure that he paid his bills on time, put food on the table and took proper care of all his responsibilities. He dreamed big for his children and was satisfied that his dreams had more or less borne fruit.

I very vividly remember when sometime back I had asked him whether my coming back to India would make him better again as I knew it was my settling in US that had made him miserable in the first place and he flat out rebuked me saying "No, focus on your career. There is nothing for you here. Don't ever say it again." But I will always have to live with the guilt that it was I who was responsible for the untimely death of my father and so should be tried for fratricide.

Even though he did not have any formal training in any of the skills that I am going to mention yet he could put any accomplished cook, mason, carpenter, electrician, architect... to shame. I am not trying to eulogize my father on all accounts now that he is gone. He did have his own limitations. He basked in the glory of his ordinariness even though his mental acumen was extraordinary.

Was I crying for my father or was I crying for myself (since who would love me now or fight with me) I don't know and may never reach such an elevated stage of realization where I can comprehend or claim to comprehend such things.

At least I can draw solace in the fact that his pain and misery came to an end, a solace in the fact that I am a copy (though a poor copy) of my father, a solace that he will continue to live through me, a solace in the fact that he lived his life to the full with almost no desire unfulfilled, a solace in the fact that we will be reunited after sometime. I want to wear his shirts and walk in his shoes so that his memory is not just symbolic but that I smell and feel him giving me the feeling of he being close to me. May be I am acting selfish but that is the way I am though I know he will always be watching me from up above.

At every step of performing oblations for my father I would be reminded unconsciously how this was the same man who had taught me all these things in the opening innings of my life and here I was using the same teachings to bring to a close his final innings on this planet. I was reminded how he would teach me to hold a pitcher of curd/water without spilling the contents and here I was holding his asthi kalash in  my lap very carefully lest it fall down. He had taught me how to tie the knot on my pajamas or shoe laces and I was tying the knot on his asthi kalash. Thanks Pop. What a contrast! RIP Papa RIP