29th May 2015- it was a usual day at office. Somewhere around early afternoon my sister called up to ask if I can reach home earlier today because papa seemed unwell. Back then, I couldn’t understand what “seemed unwell” literally meant because he was already bed-ridden since 3 years now. Nevertheless, I wrapped up my work day as fast as I could to leave for home. An hour later, she called back again to say that he was no more!!
I could hear my mother’s wailing sound in the background, but I felt too stunned even to cry. THE ONLY MAN who dominated most part of my life was suddenly gone. THE ONLY MAN whose warm hug made me feel safe was no where to be found now. THE ONLY MAN who stood by me through thick and thin had vanished. It was as if someone had ripped me apart and the center point of my life was snatched. Having lost complete sense of what, where and how I am, a sense of immense guilt and chills ran down my spine.
Rest of the 30 minutes of driving back home felt like 30 years. Somehow they passed in my intermittent yelling and shrieking and screaming and what not! As I approached closer to the destination, my feet began to froze and heart was beating faster. It felt like I was approaching the end of this world.
As I stepped into the house, I was still hoping in my heart that- maybe all of this isn’t true, maybe all of this is just a bad dream, maybe papa would still blush up with a smile as he always did whenever I came home. But alas! that wasn’t meant to be true. Instead, he laid there on the floor with a lamp lit by his side. His once-chubby cheeks drooping loosely, nose stuffed with cotton balls, face turned stiff and swollen, his hands freed from all injections and drips that he was forced into.
Unbelievable as it was, I rushed into him, hugged him tightly and broke down like never before. I turned to my mother and my sister and three of us cried mercilessly for hours. Since the cremation could only happen in the morning, we sat besides him all through that tremendously long and fateful night.
As a doting daughter, I grew up thinking of papa as a pillar of my strength. The epitome of a “man.” As the night passed by, it was painful to think that his death might not mean anything to anyone else in the outside world, but he was my hero.
The next morning preparations for cremation began. Along each ritual, I began to ponder if there is any truth in all those miraculous stories of people coming alive from their deathbed. Unfortunately, like my other hopes- this was dying too.
We reached the cremation ground and it fell upon me to light the funeral pyre. While papa settled on a pile of woods, the priest asked to me pour some honey in his mouth as a ritual. Tears started rolling my cheeks, remembering our usual mornings with him when he would insist on me making lukewarm honey water for him because mom would make it too sweet. While I poured honey into his wide-opened mouth, I still had the last hope that he would open his eyes, hold my hand and say it out loud- you know i don’t like it that sweet! Needless to say- nothing of that sort happened.
Instead I was handed a small flare. I walked round the pyre with it five times, bid him goodbye then touched the bamboo stick to the kindling. I stood there in silence and suddenly, his skull exploded with a big bang. The priests around me prayed loudly for the peace of his soul. It was heartbreaking to see the body of the man I loved deeply disintegrating before my eyes, and I was completely helpless.
…. and there I bid goodbye to THE ONLY MAN I have ever loved!
This award-winning content was originally presented in Toastmasters International Club as a speech, a recording of which can be found here.
