Eyes

Eyes

Wednesday 31 March 2021

The miracle of Easter



How long had it been since his last good night of sleep? He’s the worrying kind, the fussing kind. The first born of four, #1. It was many days before things actually went wrong, before the really bad part came. Worriers stress over all the things that could go wrong, long before they actually do. Emotionally high strung. Borderline hysteria. Prone to extreme hyperbole, extreme protection, and extreme caring.

Life happens. Differences arise. They grow, they ebb. As adults, you leave each other alone. Mostly. Not in indifference. Distanced perhaps. Being that each got located in different corners of the world, each battling their own struggles and victories. 

#1 bore the responsibility for the parent folk, while the rest got on with life. He did it with dedication and pride. He did it like no other could. He did it, like no other.  
By the time #4 had arrived, #1 was a train wreck. Tripping over himself from exhaustion. How many nights had it been? Blood shot eyes and 10 years older. But the fort was held. Strong and steadfast. Witnessing the leader of the pack suddenly collapse - talking and joking one moment, unresponsive motionless the next, had ripped him to bits. Lost. Lost, was the summary of the bulk of messages to #4, popping-up in patches of mid-flight Wifi. She was on her way as soon as the news was out. On the next viable flight. She was too late.

#2 is a tricky one. Easily misread. Explosively volatile. A ticking time bomb, at any given time. The pin is pulled. Ready to go off. It’s complicated beneath the hostile exterior. A perfect bluff. Gentle, yet strong. Aggressive, yet affectionate. Evil, yet kind. The 666. A believer. The Bible reader. 
He was there on time to form a formidable team.

#3 is chaotic confusion. Tends not to overrate emotions. Perhaps it’s an aversion. Stacked neatly under the carpet is a nice little heap of complexities of human relationships. It never gets too hot or too cold his side of the world. Storms blow over, differences forgotten, conflicts forgiven. 
Against all chaotic visa confusions, compounded by COVID, he made it, and made it count. 

#4 is the dependable tempest. ‘Jhansi ki Rani’ he often playfully chided (child queen that fought the British). With no army and no cause. She stays on the warpath just in case. Her hidden reserves of energy make for pedantic and exhausting encounters. Caution: bring patience along.

Crises build self-organising teams. An action plan borne out of need and experimentation. #1 had the night shift. Six-footer folded up across two waiting chairs. His bed every night. #2 covered the early morning shift, leveraging his US-India jetlag relieving #1 from the night-shift. #4 took the mid-morning shift, it gave #2 a late breakfast-break before day-care continued. As COVID began to surge in Mumbai, access to the ICU became more and more restrictive - slinking past the guards a skill unto itself. The work must go on – saying the rosary, messages read and played back of memories and moments with children, grandchildren, brother-in-law, sister-in-law, cousins, friends…. interspersed with his fav music collection. All the love from across the world pouring in. He cried at Unchained Melody. Every time. Twitched every time he heard his wife’s voice. #3 had his eye on her, his wife. Her perfect distraction. “Never a harsh word” was how she described him. A political diplomat - the need of the hour. Her comfort and consolation.

There couldn’t have been a better team. It couldn’t have been a tougher time. 
"It doesn’t matter what happens to you" he said. "It’s how you take what happens to you, that matters". Their world flipped and then the whole world flipped, and they held it together. He is proud of #1, #2, #3 and #4. Of that, there is no doubt.

Easter will make it a year. What he started a year ago has grown. He left back 4 satellites, now re-aligned in the same plane of orbit around the sun - his wife and partner of 50 years, and point at which all of them originated. 

A celestial wonder. An Easter miracle. 

Sunday 24 January 2021

The little things.

It’s the little things you end up missing most. Of course you expect to miss the bunny like toothy grin, his impish look, the endearing chatter with his beloved dogs. But you can’t ever know that you will miss that familiar congested cough, signs of him being around. The WhatsApp forwards, the same joke on every chat group. Those nights spent staring at the ceiling girders while the whole house, with the open roof structure, echoed his gorilla snoring - even his snoring was imposing. The house with its open roof structure was among his most favourite places in the world. Where you’d hear his hissing laughter most. He wasn’t terribly merry. A planner, a worrier, a provider. In that house he was the merriest you’d find him. His humblest. 

There was always a list of things to do, things someone else could do for him. Some are born to lead and some are born to follow, he’d say. Despite his impoverished childhood and humble beginnings, he paved his own way to success. He got used to commanding eager followers to fill out his lists. Once worked down, the list would exasperatingly fill itself back up with new things to do. He had Pandoras list, and you just couldn’t tell that you were going to miss them too. The way he rubbed his palms and threw his head back when he laughed, sure. But the lists? Turns out, them too. 

Being a handyman was probably a skill he’d have loved to have, but really didn’t. Mostly he made up for it with a sticking fetish. He stuck everything back together. It was his dearest hobby, the hardened drip tracks of glue formed a kind of art. We're sure Araldite’s shares went up because of his craze for their epoxy resin and hardener mix. It was the only thing he splurged on. He stuck back the soles on 8 year old sneakers, stretching them on for another 2 with yellow Araldite streaks making for a new look. An originally ugly, and now smashed ceramic vase got a complete artistic makeover. My uncle even joked that he could fix broken marriages with his faith in Araldite.

Sometimes he was a good listener, surprisingly. Especially when it really mattered. And he somehow knew when it really mattered. He always surprised me when he listened. An old school authoritarian and a quiet listener. Freely offering sound reason and logical advice. Resist the advice, only to know with time that he was right. The principles he followed were simple. “There is no easy money”, “Hard work has never killed anyone”. “It doesn’t matter what happens to you, it’s how you take what happens to you that matters”. His beliefs were annoyingly repetitive and consistent. “Run with race horses,” he’d say. 

The thing he said least and always lived, was that a family sticks together. Like in a pack, the stronger look out for the weaker. No one gets left back. You never, never give up on anyone in the pack. And he never did. 
It's the little things you miss most, that you can no longer touch and hear. What lives on, strong and everlasting, is the legend we're left with. 

Run with race horses our dear Dada, until we join your herd, your pack again.