Of all the people i have known in my life, the two people i have been closest to were my grandparents. I spent 13 years of my life with my grandfather and my grandma continues to light up my world. Needless to say, i was devastated after my grandfather's death. For 3 whole years, i shuffled between bouts of depression and complete emotionlesness.
Perhaps it was guilt. Guilt of not being there in his final days, anger at being kept away in his final moments, regret of not telling him how much i loved him. We fail at telling people how much we love them and suddenly, it is too late. This should be the motto of humanity. We never appreciate what we have until we lose it.
He was the person who taught me everything. Talking, laughing, singing songs with messed up lyrics, the spelling of 'tuition', the fact that 2+6 and 3+5 both equal 8.... Everything. Living with grandparents made me feel weird around people my age, but i did not care then.
He was extremely friendly, in a way younger than me. I wish i had gotten that from him. He befriended whoever he came across, regardless of age, caste, profession or gender. He had way more friends than me, without internet, without mobile phones.
He was my father's father, but he has been my father too. I remember walking on village roads with him, telling him all about my life and looking at his amused expressions. He used to wake me up at 7 a.m. and play antakshari. It may sound weird, but it was a ritual.
All that went away. Teenage knocked at my door. I started getting annoyed at him for no reason. No matter how much i regret it now, it doesn't matter anymore. Regret and pain are just the siblings of death.
Yes, memories remain. But no matter how much i try to remember how his voice sounded, how wrinkles covered his hands, how he defeated me in morning-jogging-races, my mind fails me. I cannot remember the details. I cannot feel the same way again.
I guess i can call this a turning point in my life.
I lost a father.
Perhaps it was guilt. Guilt of not being there in his final days, anger at being kept away in his final moments, regret of not telling him how much i loved him. We fail at telling people how much we love them and suddenly, it is too late. This should be the motto of humanity. We never appreciate what we have until we lose it.
He was the person who taught me everything. Talking, laughing, singing songs with messed up lyrics, the spelling of 'tuition', the fact that 2+6 and 3+5 both equal 8.... Everything. Living with grandparents made me feel weird around people my age, but i did not care then.
He was extremely friendly, in a way younger than me. I wish i had gotten that from him. He befriended whoever he came across, regardless of age, caste, profession or gender. He had way more friends than me, without internet, without mobile phones.
He was my father's father, but he has been my father too. I remember walking on village roads with him, telling him all about my life and looking at his amused expressions. He used to wake me up at 7 a.m. and play antakshari. It may sound weird, but it was a ritual.
All that went away. Teenage knocked at my door. I started getting annoyed at him for no reason. No matter how much i regret it now, it doesn't matter anymore. Regret and pain are just the siblings of death.
Yes, memories remain. But no matter how much i try to remember how his voice sounded, how wrinkles covered his hands, how he defeated me in morning-jogging-races, my mind fails me. I cannot remember the details. I cannot feel the same way again.
I guess i can call this a turning point in my life.
I lost a father.
