Dear Appa (that’s what I call him),
I think you will never read this though I really want you to. But again as usual, its me who won’t let you know about this…so its entirely my fault.
I always wanted you to know what you meant for me. But, blame it on my generation’s belief that its uncool to admit our respect to your generation. Or maybe its just me!
I can’t remember my childhood with you…other than our voices recorded on the old cassettes – of me crying in my crib and you asking your wife (my Amma) to pick me up (and of course her teasing you on your vain efforts to stop me from crying)….and some other bits of memory, which I owe to the pictures with you holding me (and I was aways crying) … Was I always like this? Always fighting back.
I now understand you (now that I am old enough to think about a family), you were nervous and inexperienced. More importantly, you always felt I am more secure at Amma’s hands. You took pleasure at my happiness in Amma’s hands and forgo your happiness of holding me.
My memory shifts to almost half a decade down, when you prepared those burnt bitter gourds and rice for me, while Amma was away for work. Those days should have been real hard for you. I can understand you now, for I am there in the same crossroads where you ought to decide between family and work…between your happiness and food for our hungry stomachs…between your rest and my small fancies for toys and vacations…between your leisure and my demands…you always sacrificed.
Your sacrifices knew no limits and so was your hardwork which made me worth what I am right now. The abode, our home, which you literally built out of your hand, along with those construction workers, always made me feel safe. Its those days that I learned my first lessons of management and entrepreneurship. Even today, when I sit in that house, I can smell your sweat and sense your breath, and always feel secure.
I remember how we used to travel for long on your scooter (should admit that i was scared when you increase the speed), and my looking at your biceps (numerous times) and listening to your story of the accident which broke your biceps into two. Dad you are my Hero, then and now!
I blame it on my stupid childhood when I refused to heed your advice. Had I known that you would eventually give up your hope, and recline to silence, praying for my well being… Well, i dont know, but may be i would have listened and not repent now.
And then it all happened, i failed you one after the other, my board exams bought in big ‘andas’ (synonym for eggs or Zero’s)…you kept your silence; i wasted a year after entrance, you kept your silence; and jumping at the opportunity to study (away from you), then you said no. I should have realised that it was a stronger no than ever, but i failed. I sailed away, and today, 7 years down the line, i am here, sitting in my cabin and thinking what have i acheived when i am so away from you…unless distance is an acheivement.
Now here i am, still searching for what i want and what i should, unsure of what lays ahead and and what i will be, but sure off one truth, that i love and respect you … and will always rush to you when i am pushed down by my fate…but we shall never talk our mind out, nor shall you read this…. Your sound is all i need to fight back, with all i have, against all odds, to survive! And hence, i shall always come back to the home you made, to see you and to seek your blessings, silently.
this letter is not yet finished, for it can never be finished,
i can’t write anymore for my eyes are filled with tears..
i need a bong or a bottle or anything that can spin my head,
to finish what’s unwritten and to remember what can never be forgotten..
this will last forever, through me or through some other guy,
who doesnt have the courage, to tell his father what he has to say..
so is the truth of this world, where man can speak,
But he never really speaks out.
Posted with WordPress for BlackBerry.