I did actually draw this. It was never in my plan to write one more post in here. But would a picture, a slice of life be complete without the most important missing piece in my puzzle? This is it. Every line is crafted with meaning.
Sometimes, our entire life, our entire personal ideology and whatever strength or direction hinges on one particular day. To me, it the 25th of November.
It would be a completion of 5 years of my Father’s death. When a Father dies, it is worse enough. But it is quite chaotic when you don’t know what you feel about him. Maybe it is why I have never been able to, nor will I ever be able to talk about to him to anyone. Anyone at all.
He was a young man when he died, just 39. He must have been 45 tomorrow. The first reaction the moment i heard he died was relief, just for a second. And the next moment, a heavy breakdown but no tears. But I still regret, repent that one single fleeting moment of relief I felt. After 5 long years I try to make peace with him, and not trying to distance myself from it as I have been doing. I wish he had been alive, and I could get to know him, what he was and still is. I only cried when he was cremated and my sister pointed at the smoke, whispering “that is father now”.
He was a man no one could really grasp, understand his ideas. He was too ‘complicated’ if I have to use people’s terms. But he was the kind of genius that the world rarely sees. There is not a single person I have met that matches the sheer brilliance of my Father. He was many things. He was the laziest man I’ve ever known, he spent all day in his room, watching movies on Blu-ray. He managed business on phone calls. And yet he was the richest man in the city. When I was a kid, he always talked business in rupees like 1 rupee, 50 rupees. Only after growing up I realised he meant it in crores and lakhs. He handled several businesses and played a background political influence.
Yet, he was the most compassionate man in his blood thir family.
He has two sisters and a brother, the four powerful pillars in the city. He was the youngest and on the way to be the most powerful and richest among the four. What happens next? He is done for, killed. Thus a family goes down in history as the most power hungry, greedy and cruel. He was the jewel of his family, the man everyone loved.
He was loved, by everyone who wasn’t close to him. He was a blessing to them, a genius, a powerful friend, a fun friend, a great movie - companion and drinking partner, drowned in cynical sarcasm and dark humour. Such a man was on his way to glory.
But I fucking hated him with all my heart. Because we paid the price for everything he was. Maybe it could be because I saw how much my mother suffered for his ‘complexity’ and insecurities. This man the entire city loved had so much insecurities and instability in his personal life that he was absolute torture. Bless my Mother, no one else could have handled that man. But as every man’s doom comes, so did his. We left him, truly helpless. He let no one help him, fear consumed him, guilt consumed him. And there wasn’t much to be done.
As the tales go, his friends lived in the family home and we moved to a far away city and he descended into a pit of drinking and drugs. And there went all the money, down the drain. But it didn’t make any difference, as I was never exposed to any life with excess money. I grew up at my grandmother’s, lower middle class, knowing the value of each rupee. A sense of independence kicked in and maybe that is why I felt the need to earn and fend for myself, even at college.
He had many dreams for me. He wanted me to be an astronaut at NASA, then an archeologist, a Lawyer and one day a farmer. It changed day to day. He was proud at how much I reflected his genius, his artistic skills, his painting skills and the fact that I scored district first in my 10th board. He never showed it.
He was a very flawed, very loved brilliant man who pushed himself to doom, destroying his life, his family. Then he told me how much he never wanted a family, never kids because he didn’t feel the responsibility. He told me how much he never wanted to marry, never to fall in love. But then, it happened. Sometimes I wish it hadn’t happened. But I’m glad it did. I’m here.
He had made me watch Inception one night. And some nights forced me to watch scary horror. He is the reason I can’t watch horror even today. That man could spend hours with friends but not more than hours with his family because we knew him too well and he didn’t want to end up hurting us.
He was the cruelest man too, to his family. To Mom, to me. There is no forgiveness for that, but here I’m, fully forgiving him. He was not a good man, not a honest man, not a man with virtue. He was vicious in business but was compassionate, he was ambitious, he was murderous.
He wanted me to be powerful. To be unbeatable, unreachable. He wanted me to be Claire Underwood to a Francis J Underwood. Maybe because he had kept repeating that, I ended up watching House of Cards. I was shocked to see that Claire and Francis Underwood is the only thing I saw on screen that I was jealous of and made me feel ‘I want what they have’. So he did understand me better that I gave him credit for. He knew I wanted power, and was just as vicious, ambitious and murderous as him. But with a little more of empathy and compassion.
His sky was so dark and he didn’t grasp a single shining star. I wish I hadn’t given up on him at all. I wish I had did my best to save him from himself. November 25th, the reminder that I failed at saving the one man I was supposed to save. It was my responsibility and I failed. There is no forgiveness for this. I will remember November 25 for all life as the day I failed, as the one day the pain of which is unparalleled.
But I’m not going to spend another year attending grievance calls from his friends, from the extended family listening to one more word of what a compassionate genius he was or how much he helped them and sit all day crying and wishing he was alive so I could know him better. This year, I’m going to be switching the phone off for the day and go out with friends or something.
He is the missing puzzle that fits perfectly. He is why I’m the way I’m. Someone too difficult, too complex, unbearable, strong, reckless, never giving up, extremely cynical. Just like him. So very unfortunately.
And yet, I begin a new phase of life, leaving him behind. Five years is too less of a time to move on from death, but it is me. It either ten seconds or an entire lifetime.
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