In your memory papa…

Another Father’s Day is going to pass but I yet remember the exact moment when my brother started quivering and with shivering lips, after gathering courage disclosed “Papa is no more”. The initial shock was terrible. It brought home the reality. We never know what’s going to happen.

Impulsively, ducked around a corner to avoid this truth. I’d just learned of my father’s death, tongue-tied. What I did know was that our lives would never be same again. For the next few days I had low-grade fever. I had been fighting strange battle. There was moment of quiet. I was sitting in shocked silence when Mom hugged me, tears were now streaming down my face, she threw her arms around me, holding me tight she kept on saying some comforting phrases for giving hope in overwhelming time. Eyes welling up with tears. I couldn’t stop my tears. Laid my head in her lap, breathed deeply and finally embracing her let out a bewildered cry. I collapsed screaming incoherently.

Just like cactus I grew up on the path of life, really so wild. The poisonous pointed thorns inward, constantly sting. Each and every time I lashed out at people, every chance I got. Why? Because not so strong enough to make me forget that pain. When relatives and friends came to know that you are no more they descended upon us in hordes, armed with sympathy and suggestions. I didn’t like. “Keep me out of it”, I always cried. Your so-called family, kept them out of consoling scene. No phone call, no support, no care, no worries. They properly attempted to delete our existence on earth. But we grew. I am strong enough to combat life. Still, I am prison of fear- fear of losing someone, dear one.

Everything has tipped into abstractions after your demise. Today I have been realizing that I want you desperately. I want to do something to stop this, but grief is more complicated, more intense and longer lasting. I think sometimes will never get over it. Even sometimes the feelings over-come. Now, right after you these are legacies: anger, profound grief. To me, your death is simply a part of. In your presence our lives were like can of rainbow colours. But unfortunately right after you everything hurls in a huge globe of black. We can’t get out of it, in search of escape I am. I tried a lot to add infinite colours which I gathered from palette of life but black remained dominant.

We grew up .We didn’t talk to mother that way, not even when she’d managed to lose what was important in her life. Besides her, I never was much for talking, not about what we really think. Today I love my mother more than ever, although I would never have admitted it then. I love her because after you courageously and alone she held herself wire-taut readiness to protect us from every harm. There were wonderful challenges in our life. I have had plenty of setbacks and disappointments. I’d shed my tears privately. Each and every time she picked me up, dusts me off and focused on what’s out in front. She gave me the confidence that I could do whatever I set out to do.

After you I felt so betrayed. I couldn’t stand to hear anything. Each and every day I found myself thinking of you, without the blood slamming around inside my skull. I usually think about the saying you had liked so much. You usually kept on saying to me, as elder kid, that to take cares of things. Well, I do now going to take care of. Whenever watch other at play it remind me of that unforgettable time when we too had done the same things. I yet can smell the fragrance of my childhood in garden, living room…..Yes. I do have early memories of you at all. You are always around us, truly, my nerves always cry to let you back into our life to punish me, nag me for my mischievous acts, but I do know it isn’t possible.

Confronting abusive paternal family who is always there to let me down since your demise in 1995—getting strength from their abusive strikes which are getting worst day by day either in public or before any court of law. You weren’t only my father but also my loving, caring and intimate friend.My mother thinks I’m stronger emotionally. Truly I’m not. She used to say that the stars are the eyes of the dead.That’s why I always talk to you while seeing those sparkling and twinkling stars, shining up on the huge canvas of sky, assuming that up there you are smiling. Whenever I am desperate and broken I share feelings with you, it truly soothes that yet you are around me, you can hear me. It cherishes, I don’t have words to narrate that satisfaction I usually feel after talking to you. Usually I think about how much we have missed over the past eight years and how much more we will miss.

Sometimes I asked quietly to myself ‘what made me think, I could take something you left for us’. So, here is the answer -your profound love and it will never fade away. Even now I get sudden ambushes of terrible sadness and grieving and I do know it will probably for the rest of my life. When one loses somebody, some hidden emotions can sneak up at any time, in any situation. Whenever it happens I head to your memories, to your stuff, to preserved moments in form of photos andwhile seeing I talk to you, sprinting down memory lane. This is where I wished to be alone and to mourn the biggest loss of our life. At stake due to malafide intentions and foul games of the paternal family, their facilitators and counsels that are intentionally filling frivolous applications since I stood for my legal rights. The language used is unreasonable and outrageous-highly objectionable and is based on humiliating statements and scandalous statements. Even in profound depression whenever I pay a look at your portrait it compels me to have a smile- it’s a journey without you but marked by courage, resilience, and hope since I am proud of being your daughter.

After your demise I did cry a lot .I didn’t know what was going on. I do try a lot to keep up a front. Truly, yet I don’t have enough courage to step into the DHA’s cemetery. Standing outside I just stare the graves, where you and grandparents are sleeping till the trumpet of Israfil should awaken you all.

Since your death values have shifted. Now the life is not as simple as it was in your presence.I deadly want to press back space key button but to re-shift my past but discovered working position out of order.

I sought solace in books, my paints and canvas. I decided good intentions-never enough. I became fiercely protective of our happiness. Happiness became my yard-stick of success. I spent lot of time thinking about what I wanted to be when I grew up. Finally I became journalist. Because, ultimately ’the truth’ is a mission, sorry yours mission because you usually kept on saying that one day I would be your ‘Parwaz’.