What happens after your father dies?
You rummage your brain
and others’
picking out memories
patching his mosaic life
like a page on Wikipedia.
You weave a web of his life events
from papers strewn in his room.
The scoutmaster’s recommendation
with his never-ending list of badges;
his discharge book from the Air Force-
a crisp narrative of
the two wars he’s been,
the medals he received;
an exemplary paratroop trainer
with seva medals…
You discover pieces of him
in the oddest places.
A piece of paper with instructions
on how to waive the land tax (he was an airman),
a manuscript of a humorous book,
gramophone discs in the iron almarah…
Jim Reeves, Louis Armstrong,
Western orchestra and Hymns to God the Father
shoulder to shoulder
stuffed amongst his clothes
that still smells of him…
You find his handwritten passport,
visas stamped in Greece, Germany, England…
A Grecian urn, the Acropolis, and Goddess Athena
his exploits exhibited in the family showcase.
His transit as a refugee
in the gulf war
plodding his way back home
through unknown deserts
the third on his list - this time just a witness…
You search for his roots lying muddled in history…
The maternal grandpa who edited
the English daily in Burma,
amidst tomes in the attic
penning the notes for his
next flight of evangelism.
(I can catch a glimpse of him
in my father, in the thin folios, tucked in every book,
words, its meaning and pronunciation overflowing.)
The paternal grandfather
A priest on a mission in Ceylon
(maybe he had in his blood - to pray incessantly).
You think of his later life
quiet in his room among books,
Vivekanada, Sree Rama Krishna Paramahamsa,
Edmund Burke, Somerset Maugham and others,
all conversing while he did yoga;
his tête-à-tête with God
at dawn and dusk
which he never forgoes
even if a priest comes to visit.
His car,
shining, glimmering in the sun,
his visits to the naval base
in the crisp blue shirt
tip-top head to toe
like a serving member
in the armed forces still.
“I eat everything, doctor,
I was a soldier,” he boasts.
The last few months
play out -
like a movie.
“Why is this happening? Why do I feel so weak?”
He asks.
“Just the effects of aging, Appa”
I reply
with my fingers crossed,
holding back my tears.
