Exactly a month from now, I get to walk down the stage again. In front of hundreds of people; lecturers and dignitaries, friends and family and fellow students. Just not my dad this time. I actually debated not going at all and just getting my Masters degree in the post, but then I remembered the last time and I realized I must; for Papa. This is how its always going to be like though, isn't it? This constant reminder of our loss, this incomplete picture of the family because the face of it is gone. There's always going to be something missing - someone missing.
I know he would have been proud, though. I wouldn't have been so sure, but he told me so himself. Yes, it's reassuring and I have that for the rest of my life to hold on to but that still doesn't make me miss him any less; more if anything actually.
Over a year and we still haven't managed to completely pull ourselves together. Nobody says anything to anyone and we don't bring it up to one another but there's a constant struggle within everyone to just get by. We are still trying "to make our peace", still trying for acceptance of "God's will and nature's ways" but deep down everyone's just hurting. Aggrieved.
It's ironic; people tell me I'm brave, that I am their hero..ha; if only they knew I haven't been able to muster up the courage to visit the cemetery since last time. The headstone got put up just over a week ago; it has Papa's name, his DOB and DOD on it. "Yaaron ka yaar", he has been condemned to God's will and is now marked by a slab. This is just, somehow, harder to absorb despite knowing he was laying asleep there even before.
First time, I saw the new 2.0 version of the grave, I had to hold myself within my arms to avoid shaking so much. I couldn't stop my tears from swelling forward and ended up bawling a good few times within the 20/30 minutes we were there. The kids were there and Mama and Mum were, too, and yet its the second time I felt so desolate. Disoriented like a ship without its sail. So, maybe next time, I just go by myself. I can't see my mum see me crumble or my little sisters. There's no age limit for being an orphan that's for sure; there is for feeling like one though. I am at the age where my dad's hard work in making me the person I am today is reflected in my actions and his honour is my responsibility now. Crying like an orphan just doesn't cut it. Orphan, yes. Child, no. And so my grieving isn't one to share or expose to anyone - let's just keep it personal; between me and my dad, between me and my God.
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Dada Abu might be coming over for Ramadhan, I wonder what he'd make of this bizarre life we're living here without his son. His son. Wonder how Dada Abu felt when Papa was born; ecstatic I'd imagine. Maybe Dada Abu held him up in the air and said 'welcome to the world' or something of the sort, maybe he thanked Allah miyan and read nawafil. Probably gave the azaan in Papa's ears and showed him off to his friends and people after he'd distributed insane amounts of mithai. Wonder how he felt when Mamu broke the news of his first born's demise to him, thousands of miles away. The first born he brought in the world, fed and raised. Dada Abu says he regrets the last time he didn't come when Papa invited him over. Regret. An 80 year old losing his 50 year old son, he would've swapped places in a heart beat if it was up to him. My loss is probably a fraction in front of Dada Abu and Dadi Maa's.
-sighs-..
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This isn't how I wanted this post to pan out. Huh. I was gonna' write about graduating and fresh starts and adulthood and what not.. I guess I just never stop missing my dad to have room for any of the worldly malarkey we so conveniently entangle ourselves with. All these protocols and technicalities.. Heh. People are more important than protocols and technicalities, than big plans and hollow dreams, than pride and ego. Time is of the essence. Y'know, how they say four things you can never have back; spoken word, sped arrow, past life and a neglected opportunity? ..its true. 'Tis all about seizing the day and stuff. You never know when it's too late...
o.o... Ah.. mad chain of thoughts, there.
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