It is an evening. The sun has set already and the mid east heat is gone. Cool breeze is blowing gently. The contours of shimmering clouds are slowly giving way to embrace darkness. The fake blue turning black sky refuses to show me its display of stars because of the fully lit city.
I am refusing to budge from the balcony. In fact, I am sitting on the chair with both my legs up, embracing them with my hands resting my chin on the knees. It may sound childish but I love to sit that way always. My eyes watch the birds chirping with an urge to go back home. My misty eyes try to capture the reflections of faces that I have come across of which one stands in front ….
I am neither born rich nor pathetically poor but to modest middle-class parents settled in a sleepy town of Tamilnadu who had to take care of the educational and societal needs of the family of six.
My father was an embodiment of love and patience… my first inspiration and the best man I have met so far. Was he a good husband, a good brother, a good friend? I don’t know really but he had only praises to hear wherever he went.
He was an excellent father in all ways; never giving us advice but guiding us with options. He didn’t give us riches to inherit but showed us how to lead a life of determination, love, sincerity, honesty and dedication. His loss was truly irreparable for me. I am searching for just one more man like him in my life? Is it possible?
In this world, nobody can replace anybody as everyone is unique in our own ways. He has etched such a beautiful picture in my heart which I could never explain in words. So who else can replace him in my heart till my death?
Did I say ‘was’ all along? Yes, he is no more. He died 9 years ago due to the spread of gangrene infection in his legs. The 70-year old lion faced death knowingly and I saw it with my own eyes.
I vividly remember the day I landed in Pune with my 3-month old baby only to be shocked to see my handsome father reduced to the size of an emaciated victim. His eye sockets sunken deep, cheeks turned inward, his wheat complexioned skin riddled with wrinkles, his mouth full of ulcers, his bare chest literally displaying the skeletal bones, his rotten feet covered with a blanket……
I am just looking at the serene sky searching for the lost soul. Is the death painful for all? Or is it a deliberate illusion to have fear for death?
Where is he gone? Is he mixed with the breeze I am enjoying or merged in the vast expanse of the sky or become those hanging clouds that I admire every minute?
Yes. The soul has perfectly played its role and vanished from my life. I thank God for giving such wonderful parents. I don’t cry any more.
Of course, he taught us one thing or should I say, we learnt from the way he lived – this world is bound to change always; so never hold opinions on others.
Now, it’s my turn to live, to march on.
My consciousness slowly shifts. I can see my boundless enthusiasm burning inside slowly dimming due to the lack of that friendly, long term unconditional pat. I melt in those thoughts, yearn to dissolve my body at my will and be an invisible part of the cosmos.
But nothing happens….. That restless little bird flies hither and thither. My wish to become that bird to fly high carefree and touch the sky remains a dream….
I hear a voice beaming, “What are you dreaming sitting all alone? What do you see in those stars and sky all the time?”
I postpone my dating with nature, enter into the house and merge with the human bonds.
Close
I am deeply touched, Obscured By Clouds. Your words of consolation, Tagore's beautiful poem are all soothing to hear. And with what beauty he has written....
My song will sit in the pupils of your eyes, and will carry your sight into the heart of things.
I am stirred emotionally....
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My dear Supriya,
I cannot forget that you were the first one to comment on this blog two years ago. I'm glad that you read it one more time.
Yes, Dads are beautiful. Parents can never be replaced.
With love,
Padmaja
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Yes. Given a chance, I still love to sit that way when alone. :)
Certain moments in life could never be contained in words. This is also one such. Certain times I feel that my silence on that topic adds more respect to my feelings as well as others.
I am moved by your narration. Parents can never be replaced. The philosophy remains a philosophy for me at times, when I think that the soul who had given me so much had merged in the cosmos never to be contacted or thanked or share my personal wins & losses. Well, that's life and have to move on.
Thanks for noticing the last sentence which I took great care to explain my present stance.
Mudal Mariyathai is a classic. Sivaji made me cry with his impeccable acting and I remember the sentence you had mentioned. Btw, I doubt Devar Magan was his last film. I'm not sure though.
I've heard of Kallupatti / Karaikudi but never have been there.
You brought an emotional twist to my day today with your comments on one of my blogs that's close to my heart. Thanks a lot once again.
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Beautifully written. Reminded me of my dad too ..
I have always found the following poem by Tagore very healing.. I always imagine my dad singing this to me when I close my eyes and remember him..
This song of mine will wind its music around you, my child, like the fond arms of love.
This song of mine will touch your forehead like a kiss of blessing.
When you are alone it will sit by your side and whisper in your ear, when you are in the crowd it will fence you about with aloofness.
My song will be like a pair of wings to your dreams, it will transport your heart to the verge of the unknown.
It will be like the faithful star overhead when dark night is over your road.
My song will sit in the pupils of your eyes, and will carry your sight into the heart of things.
And when my voice is silent in death, my song will speak in your living heart.
~~ Tagore
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wow. beautiful. You Dad is everywhere, isnt he? Havent read a more beautiful dedication in recent times.
Dads are beautiful people.
Thank You for sharing this.
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ah, a glimpse of a childish Padmaja, sitting with her chin on her knees...what a little girl! (just kidding, Padmaja; we all have a comfy way of sitting...)
But it's an apt way of conditioning the reader's mind to what is to come, about your relationship and love of your father...
and the last line I postpone my dating with nature, enter into the house and merge with the human bonds. is a wondeful way to end conclude the blog. Life goes on.
I was born in a village (Kallupatti!) and my parenst wre from Karaikudi and I left India when I was six and have never been back! So don't ask more!
My mother died when I was twenty-five, about 27 years ago, and for years I cried whenever anyone used the word attha. I called my dad appu and my mom attha. Once I was watching Mudal Mariyathai (I think that was Sivaji's last movie) and when the main character said to someone who had cooked and who shared the food with him, he says: Girl...this food tastes like my attha's cooking - I cried and cried!
Over the years my philosophical-personal 'training' has almost obliterated that pain (for example, if there is re-birth, why hang on to the soul?; and in Buddhist philosphy: all beings have been my motehr in one birth or other; and so have I been to others). By the time my dad died, what - ten years ago? - and I hope this does not sound callous and unfeeling, I did not feel pain but a quiet acceptance of things.
Soemthing akin to that lovely last sentence of yours in this blog:
I postpone my dating with nature, enter into the house and merge with the human bonds.
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You are most welcome, Padmaja Balaji. there is nothing like dead blog, still they keep being read somewhere by someone.. for us, we have moved to other things, that is ok.
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Golden words from you. Thanks for digging up my 'Frozen moments' too a bit.
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You are fortunate in the sense that you got to see your father in the last days. Is it that we have very deep etched memories of good people after they are gone? Not really, what may be happening is - when those precious people were with us, life was so smooth and joyful - that we never counted the time - life just flew in front of us like a bullet train. Now, the memories. These too are precious and beautiful as frozen ice sculptures!
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Thank you friends for visiting my blog and sharing your comments.
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