About Missing and Owning : While you have been away, Baba.
When I say I don't miss you, or that I've got used to the void of your absence, I lie,
because I do miss you a lot, too much on some days.
I miss you and me and the certain kind of us we were,
together and apart.
I miss a lot of those small things more than the big, noisy, visible ones,
like the whiff of debate and disagreement arriving ahead of our chats,
many such after the morning newspaper or the evening news ritual;
Or that lull throbbing with hope of hearing your firm, small voice across the phone-line,
as Ma got you on the line to talk, during my daily catch-ups,
imagining the peculiar shuffle of you feet, to rise from your dear armchair,
as you got to the phone,
imagining the peculiar shuffle of you feet, to rise from your dear armchair,
as you got to the phone,
gauging, all the while, the degenerative degree of your health since the last call.
I never did tell anyone though what your weak, feeble voice of errant days did for me.
Or the sound of silence that lurked around and between us
at odd times,
at odd times,
holding us together in a hammock like grace.
I miss the understanding that always followed and rested, said or unsaid.
I miss those special turns and twists our chats would take because of both our kind of probing and telling to each other.
politics, parenting, Ma v/s you, siblings, savings and FDs, or just quietude
I do miss You.
and I also miss me.
I miss the daughter I was,
good, bad and in between, quite often - the kind I naturally could be, in your presence;
the kind I was able to be knowing that we live in the same day, however separated by air-miles;
or knowing that we were under the same sky, and just if you happened to glance up from the terrace each morning,
or if and when you wondered about what I was upto as often as I did about you;
The kind I was able to be in the moments held
in the comfort of your presence—warm or cold,
because God knows there were moments of cold,
just as naturally.
I miss You,
I miss the truth of our knowing of each other,
in mutual belonging, response and presence.
And mostly, I miss the big, bold, soul comforting truth that You are around.
I miss you Baba.
And in this minute pincered with your presence,
as I hear you say 'Bhalo Theko Maa',
I am letting you know, 'Bhalo Acchi Baba'.
(Written on November 4, 2016)
Comments
I can hear him too often and often see him (his eyes full of plea just as I remember seeing him last, leaving him behind in the hospital bed on a day when we almost lost him - a good week before we finally lost him, forever)
When I hear his voice float up to me I get the same vivid feeling that he's blowing in the wind; mellow and strong simultaneously