Holidays always remind me of things I usually crave for. Like the special plum cake, Christmas cheer, fairy lights outlining the trees by the sidewalks, decked-up dinner parties with friends and family but I miss nothing this year. I received a lot of “I understand what you are going through” texts this year from people but do they really? I guess, you don’t know pain until you crave a conversation with someone who is no longer alive. I am not angry at people, I am just angry at my life. I have always longed for closures, justifications, reasoning whenever I fear that my life is going to part ways with people, things, my relationship with them, anything. I suppose, I don’t need justification anymore. Because how can you possibly justify the grief that makes you feel so incomplete about your life?
Papa passed away during the pandemic on the night of 17th April. That’s almost 8 months ago and if you google it enough, it has been 36 weeks, 251 days, 6004 hours, and 360,248 minutes. Counting days from 17th April has become a daily part of my life. Even when I am too occupied with things, I feel like there’s always a little timer at the back of my mind – counting in days, minutes, and even seconds to always remind me of how many more days do I have to live without dad being by my side. Dad would have grinned at this statement and thrown his classic “what a crazy time to be alive?!” at me, simultaneously asking me to take it off of the blog and not overshare in front of strangers on the internet. I never understood his concept of being apprehensive towards oversharing on the internet. Was he more inclined towards wanting me to talk to real people? Overshare to the world in a real setting? I don’t know what to make do with these questions now and the funny part is, the world has become a lot more stranger to me than I am to people who are actually not familiar with my instincts or know who I am. Do I even have a choice now?
I think it’ll take me an entire lifetime to first come face to face with papa not being around and then realising that he is never going to be around and then acknowledging the pending mourning that I am entitled to and then maybe, someday actually acting upon it and taking a corner to just cry. It’s not that I don’t do that now, I do. Almost everyday. But I always feel the need to forcefully stop myself from breaking down because well.. if I don’t who will?
Whenever I think about papa, I am always reminded about a very picturesque description in my head. How it is 11:30 PM on a friday night and I am on my way to somewhere. I can see the reflection of street lights on my big clear window. I can also see trees planted in a straight line making a neat file by the right hand side of the highway, giving the reflections on my window a very beautiful dark green outline. I take out my phone and do what I always do, what dad always taught me to do – I capture it. That’s how I remember dad. Nothing particular or a distant memory of childhood but just when I feel the happiest. Roads, I am not familiar with or don’t know of with silhouette of passing street lights against the weirdly tall trees. I wonder who even plants those trees?
Expectations are so strange specially when you are being asked to gulp it down your throat. I hate the taste of it. Without dad, I feel I have started scrutinizing situations I am in, equations I am part of, and relationships I have with people. This time, last year, I was very nonchalant about my ideals and actions in life. Now I am a little cautious and almost always on the watch-out. I feel like I am being taped and someone out there is constantly making notes of what I am doing against what I am expected to do according to the set standards. I think, I have become very territorial of my feelings and what actually goes on in mind. And why shouldn’t I be cautious? I haven’t made a single friend this year but lost so many. I guess friends aren’t supposed to make you feel guilty about what others think of you or when you take things as they come. Or do they? The least they could have done was to give a free pass this year. Just one year. Specially this one. Please.
Papa always used to complain about how it’s so easy to forgive and forget when you have to move on from something. That’s probably the easiest thing one can do. Did he mean that you can become indifferent and look away even when you are being constantly pulled to provide a title to a situation? Address things which are completely flawed to begin with? I did provide justifications to a lot of complications in my life this year but now I don’t think I have that in me to even comprehend situations whenever I am confronted with issues. I just run away.
The good thing is I have decided to start writing more and pick up reading on a regular basis. I am not looking forward to anything if I am being honest. I got promoted this year, everyone around me was so happy and proud. I remember someone hugging me while I was hogging on my pesto pasta. I excused myself for a minute to use the washroom. I occupied a cubicle for close to 15 minutes and cried. Nothing I achieve or become will ever feel like happiness anymore without papa picking up his phone on random people and ravaging about my successes or posting a dedicated album on his Facebook or putting up 10 pictures of the same photo on his WhatsApp story. I feel I am not entitled to owning anything anymore and that’s just so unfair. How do you accept life being unfair to you? How do you live with that?
Khushboo 
Khushboo Singh, you are loved. Always.
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