I am twenty five. I live alone in a city that is still a stranger to me, with two friends whom I only recently met. I have no children nor a special somebody, not even a pet or a favorite book. I should know impermanence. Given my zeal to try new things I must expect, no crave, impermanence.
And I find that I do. Where I have the freedom to choose what changes.
In less than a year I have learnt the truth of mortality. Of human emotion and human beings. I must be grateful though. The latter I have only been given a cruel peep of but I find I am not equipped, despite my many years and many lives, I am simply not equipped to even acknowledge in peace, the frail hold I have of things dear to me.
I was recently introduced to the side of a man that is so ugly I cannot believe it exists and yet I find I can't hate that gender yet. The men whom I saw growing up have always been too perfect in their imperfections to deserve such hatred.
I have a brother whom I cannot stand and yet can't live without and a father who has encouraged me to believe in this ugly world that there is power in forgiveness and strength in truth. I wouldn't have the courage to be the good I am without knowing they will catch me when I fall and are strong enough to beat the crap out of the people who push me down if the other would only prove being worth the effort. Today though I think about my Velliachan.
Amma told me today that Velliachan had a brain surgery. That he had clots in his brain that bled, moved his brain a few millimeters and if left untreated would have killed him. I cannot believe that Velliachan's life can be threatened. My disbelief comes from the fact that few people are ever, really, truly, as alive as him.
Velliachan has always been my father in a shadow- the one who didn't get the gifts nor bear the brunt of my tantrums. I'm told he petrified me as a child,that I would go nowhere close to him from fear. Of what I can't remember and nobody knows either because when I put myself in the smallest shoes I can remember I only see Velliachan sitting in the drawing room in I-35 telling a joke but with a face that looks like an animated announcement of torture; I think of him outside in the sunlight walking Twiggy, Lara and Buffy- teaching them to pray at lunch and giving up; I think of stories Oppa would tell me of being ridden to school and back on an old Chetak because he couldn't bear the thought of watching her cry through another day of academic torture; I think of Arakonnam where I watched him soak shirt after shirt in the perfume from a bottle he dropped while laughing and cursing at the same time as only he can; I think of A-76, standing on the red carpet of my parents' living room reciting my speech for him to correct and learning the quiz he wrote me for the morning assembly.
I think of an older me and I remember sitting at the dining table with Achan and Velliachan as they taught me why not to smoke- dragging deeper and deeper on a cigarette until I choked and they burst into a laughter that was both apology and mirth. I think of Velliachan as I saw him the day they took Twiggy's body when she died and dumped her, unceremoniously, at the back of that garbage truck- of the words he never said and the tears I never saw; I think of new year parties and Antaksharies and Gazals. I think and think and think and I just can't see him in a hospital bed fighting for life. It doesn't seem real. It doesn't seem possible to me.
The Gods agree for now it seems and I hope it stays that way Velliacha. We have many stories to live yet and I have so much to learn from you. Stay strong. I'll see you soon.
And I find that I do. Where I have the freedom to choose what changes.
In less than a year I have learnt the truth of mortality. Of human emotion and human beings. I must be grateful though. The latter I have only been given a cruel peep of but I find I am not equipped, despite my many years and many lives, I am simply not equipped to even acknowledge in peace, the frail hold I have of things dear to me.
I was recently introduced to the side of a man that is so ugly I cannot believe it exists and yet I find I can't hate that gender yet. The men whom I saw growing up have always been too perfect in their imperfections to deserve such hatred.
I have a brother whom I cannot stand and yet can't live without and a father who has encouraged me to believe in this ugly world that there is power in forgiveness and strength in truth. I wouldn't have the courage to be the good I am without knowing they will catch me when I fall and are strong enough to beat the crap out of the people who push me down if the other would only prove being worth the effort. Today though I think about my Velliachan.
Amma told me today that Velliachan had a brain surgery. That he had clots in his brain that bled, moved his brain a few millimeters and if left untreated would have killed him. I cannot believe that Velliachan's life can be threatened. My disbelief comes from the fact that few people are ever, really, truly, as alive as him.
Velliachan has always been my father in a shadow- the one who didn't get the gifts nor bear the brunt of my tantrums. I'm told he petrified me as a child,that I would go nowhere close to him from fear. Of what I can't remember and nobody knows either because when I put myself in the smallest shoes I can remember I only see Velliachan sitting in the drawing room in I-35 telling a joke but with a face that looks like an animated announcement of torture; I think of him outside in the sunlight walking Twiggy, Lara and Buffy- teaching them to pray at lunch and giving up; I think of stories Oppa would tell me of being ridden to school and back on an old Chetak because he couldn't bear the thought of watching her cry through another day of academic torture; I think of Arakonnam where I watched him soak shirt after shirt in the perfume from a bottle he dropped while laughing and cursing at the same time as only he can; I think of A-76, standing on the red carpet of my parents' living room reciting my speech for him to correct and learning the quiz he wrote me for the morning assembly.
I think of an older me and I remember sitting at the dining table with Achan and Velliachan as they taught me why not to smoke- dragging deeper and deeper on a cigarette until I choked and they burst into a laughter that was both apology and mirth. I think of Velliachan as I saw him the day they took Twiggy's body when she died and dumped her, unceremoniously, at the back of that garbage truck- of the words he never said and the tears I never saw; I think of new year parties and Antaksharies and Gazals. I think and think and think and I just can't see him in a hospital bed fighting for life. It doesn't seem real. It doesn't seem possible to me.
The Gods agree for now it seems and I hope it stays that way Velliacha. We have many stories to live yet and I have so much to learn from you. Stay strong. I'll see you soon.
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