Becoming slightly incomplete

I have been mulling over this post and fighting in my head about whether I should write it or not. Then I decided that I wanted to. This blog had been started for family to connect through, and a death is as much part of a family's coming together as a celebration like a wedding is.

Sushil and Radha's dad; our Bade Papa passed away recently. It was the first time any of us had seen a death this close and felt its cruel swipe take away something so integral to our existence that we have been left staggering since then, trying to find our ground again.

The physical absence of Bade Papa is striking in the house. The simple, single-storey house in Dehradun with its simple little garden is the place we called home for sometime when my Dad and Chacha moved back from Ranchi to Dehradun in the beginning of the 90s. This is where we bonded as the family that we are today and it is here that we learnt the value of a life that is shared- with equal love and intensity- with parents, uncles, aunts, siblings and cousins. I will not pretend for one minute that living together has been all roses and butterflies; there was and continues to be constant strife and problems but it is nothing compared to the love, security and happiness we get in return.

The physical existence of a person is defined to a large extent by the essence and traits of the person. Bade Papa's presence is etched strongly in our house and will not fade away, I can say with complete confidence.

When we were in school, he would sit down every evening to sharpen our pencils and to rub our erasers clean against the rough surface of the back of a clipboard. We would return from school and eye him warily while eating our lunch because just as he saw we were about to finish, he would walk into the store room and bring out the blankets for our daily afternoon naps that we royally resisted to no avail.

A few years down the line, it was time for us to apply to colleges and that phase of our lives is linked intricately to us calling Bade Papa and asking him to get us innumerable drafts for innumerable applications that we sent off, every which where. Bade Papa worked at State Bank of India and he would get us our paperwork- applications for opening bank accounts, pin numbers for ATM cards, drafts that we would ask him to make and then forget about and so many other such things- at home for us to sign like a bunch of princes and princesses. For many years, none of us knew our accounts numbers or branch names and when there arose a situation that we needed these details, we would call him to find out!

Those years while he worked at the bank have similar stories that are a part of us. Bade Papa was an avid cards-player and his evenings after work were spent at the Doon Club with his "table"- a group of people who always played cards together at the same time and with the same "kitty" (pool). But never was he late in reaching home and by 7:00 p.m. he would be back home to spend the rest of the evening with family. Sunday morning and afternoons were entirely devoted to Badi Mummy and the rest of us. We went to the Dargah where we ate the bhandara and then onwards to the Doon Club for a round of Tambola and the snacks and cold drinks that made Sundays the best day of our childhood time. Even after us kids moved away from Dehradun or stopped going to these Sunday entertainments, Bade Papa and Badi Mummy continued to go, every week.

There are so many other things about him that are permanent and unfading. The fact that while he was working in the bank, he would never answer our calls on his mobile but instead, disconnect our calls and dial back from his office phone. The fact that he would use "cool slangs" like "yo" and "OK dude" without understanding what they meant and always accompanying them with a high-five. The fact that he spent his morning hours moving from one end of the house to the other, driving Badi Mummy mad, cleaning this and cleaning that and therefore never reaching the bank on time.
The place where he would sit with his brothers during the routine round of drinks every evening, the way he would call his wife "Veenu", the way he would smilingly look down, nod his head and say "अच्छा" when somebody would pull his leg or the way he always said "खुश रहो, स्वस्थ रहो, चिरंजीव रहो" every time one of us greeted him. The last was true even when he was in the terminal stages of his cancer and could barely speak.

The death of one of your own takes away a part of you and maybe that is why it is so hard. They say 'memories make a man' and when somebody who is a big part of all your memories is suddenly taken away, it leaves within you a void that will never fade. I had heard earlier that time heals wounds but I realize that the death of a close one is a wound that cannot be healed. The void is here to stay and what the passage of time will do is teach us to live with this void.

Less than a week after Bade Papa's death, we are already beginning to smile and laugh and joke with each-other. The family members are slowly returning to their respective towns and cities and life is resuming to the same routines and same pace.

Only now, we are living it as slightly incomplete people who have lost a part of themselves in losing a father.