Writing after a long time,
propelled yet again by love and some ounces of tears, maybe. Those unshed tears
that are as essential and intrinsic to
me, as the morning cup of tea. There have been times when I so wished to write something
in the last few months, yet I failed to craft the tears into words. So, I decided
to wait till I can no longer hold it within. And tonight is such a night, where
I must pour some of those tears on this page, to prevent the drizzling from
turning into a downpour. Tonight, I shall share with you the story of a little
girl and her loving father. A short story with a message that transcends life, time and death.
The only thought that has made me
survive since the night my dear husband left, was, I am a mother too. And will have
to live for our child. The only truth that drove me was there is no one to look
after her if I am gone. No one she can call her parent. No one. And I have to
be the good mother. I, for whom the only light that remains amidst all the
darkness, is, his angel.
It was the 30th of
November last year, when I took her to meet him at the hospital. The surprise
worked, and the moment she entered the room, his face lit up. To sunshine, on a
cold windy evening. He looked weak, hardly able to turn to his sides, yet he
tried. Tried to turn to his left, to face his daughter. Smiled and waved his
palm asking her to come and sit close to him. And as I took a chair to prepare
some green tea for him, I saw the two best friends having the warmest chat of
their lives. Together. For the very last time.
She was wearing this olive green
pullover and he looked at her and said, ‘I bought this for you last winter,
remember?’ and smiled again. That grief washing smile. The smile that comes
with the thought that he had once been fit enough to go and shop for his baby.
As we were about to leave, he said
softly, ‘I will come and see you off’ and struggled to sit up. The joy of
having seen his child after so long helped. She held his hand and they walked
slowly to the passage wherefrom he could say bye. I followed, watching them
from behind, walking hand in hand. Till it was time to leave.
And there he was. Standing alone
till his angel got on the car. And waved him bye. He was crying as he waved
back. Tears of a father who was destined never to be able to cuddle his angel
to sleep. Tears of a papa who had a million plans with and for his daughter,
that will never come true. Tears of a father who could not drive her home that
winter night.
And I, saw it all. Heard it all. The
magical union. The smiles. The little fingers. Helping a frail papa sit up and
have his green tea. The jokes they shared. And laughed. The eyes that stared at
her without a blink. The eyes that wanted to take papa home that moment. The gush
of energy that helped him tread his way to the balcony. The inevitable separation.
As the little fingers were set free reluctantly. As the unwilling hand now
moved to wipe off those unleashed tears, and smile.
I, the wife and I, the mother, did
not cry, that evening either. Undecided as I was, for I did not know whom to
cry for. The helpless father who stood there in a blue t-shirt, wiping his
tears, or, the silent, star-crossed man who looked on as his world moved away
from him. In small, unsteady, hesitant steps.
Now that I look back, I wonder
how did I manage to hold back my tears. How did I actually smile and wave back
at him. As if all is fine and he will be home soon. He never came home again.
He will never come home again.
One year down, and I continue to
relive those final moments he chanced to share with her. On 30th
November evening. I continue to make myself believe that we shall meet again. For
where there is so much love, separation must definitely be a matter of time. I continue
to tell myself every living moment that you are still there. Standing beside
her. With her. Wherever she goes. Just that we can no longer see you.
For all the tears you shed that
evening, all the lonely hours you spent crying on that painful iron bed, all
the times you told me, ‘You know what, Guria won’t remember how her papa was,
and that hurts. I will miss seeing my angel grow’, let me tell you just a few
things.
Your angel is a part of you. She
is you, actually. For everything she does reminds us all of no one else but
you. The way she frowns, the way she sleeps, her gait, her smile, her double
chin, the food she loves, her moments before the mirror, even her hug – it is
you. The world looks at her and tells me that you live through her. And as I look
at her, I never let the tears show.
Your angel will never ever forget
her papa. You know now, when she speaks silently to you and asks for your
blessings each time she sits for a test. You know now, when she plays her favorite
song on your phone and proudly says, ‘Mamma, this is papa’s favorite too’. You know
now, when she has come to believe that whenever we need you, you are just a soft,
innocent prayer away.
She needs you. To smile and wave at her the
way you did a year back.
Be there. We love you.
