Saturday, April 07, 2007

There are times when I feel sorry for my parents. Having to deal with me isn't easy on the best of days. And today just wasn't the best of days. Nothing happened of course. Nothing that was dramatic or eventful. Or even memorable. It was just one more day in a long line of days filled with mind games and power games and people fucking around with my life and my head. So I cracked in the morning.
Woke up at 7, sat to work. Waking up early is a bad idea, working all morning is a worse one. By the time it was noon, the house was pretty near flooded. Dad wasn't at home. Ma was, and she tried, poor thing. Tried laughter, tried stories, tried comfort, questions and closeness.
And I kept crying. Like some kind of brain-dead zombie.
It hurts to think about it now because it was so unfair on Ma. So bloody unfair.
But when do we ever think about parents anyway. Not we, I.
And then Baba came home.

We talked. I don't need to tell him things. He always knows, exactly what I'm doing, when I'm doing it. He doesn't know who or where, but that's because he doesn't want to know. And there are certain bits of my life that he knows for sure, but he won't say anything because he's letting me out on trust.
So I did the crying, he did the talking.

And he told me about the time I was in kindergarten. He would go to drop me off every morning. And every morning I would howl. And the teachers would tell my parents that I just sat in class and kept staring out of the window. So every day, my Dad would drop me off, and stand outside the window of my class.
I have no memory of this. I don't know how many months this continued. But I watched his eyes as he told me today, and I know that if he remembers it, it must have hurt him more than he cares to forget.

And today he offered me the sun, the moon and the stars if only i'd stop hurting. And I promised him I'd stop. So this is one promise I have to keep. Because I love him. And because for twenty three years whenever I've been hurt he's picked me up, defended me, protected me and fought for me. And when I was lonely he was there for me. So I owe this one to him.

Baba, I love you. I promise you I'll be ok. I won't let it hurt anymore.

8 Comments:

Blogger Ricercar said...

beautiful story about him waiting outside your window ...

i wonder why some of us find it easier to hurt and harder to stop than others ... i have felt that about myself at times. but ofcourse, every bodies story is different and thats what makes it so hard to compare or generalise, isnt it?

3:19 AM  
Blogger samuraijack said...

I like the fact that you think that brain dead zombies cry, made me smile early in the morning, warm post. :) take care.

7:25 AM  
Blogger Suki said...

Yanni's "Forgotten Yesterdays" and a post like this. Put them together. Anyone would cry. Even me.

10:26 AM  
Blogger Suki said...

Here. This for you. http://scribblyscrabblysuki.blogspot.com/2007/04/dealing-with-us.html

10:52 AM  
Blogger Lost Poet said...

I was listening to Karunesh's Punjab...dunno if u have heard it...but it talks of a father daughter relationship too..with the daughter going away...

I really dont know what to say...cept that u have a very special parent there...any parent whoi understands the lot of us is a gift.

Girl, you almost made me cry again.

11:04 AM  
Blogger Lost Poet said...

Here is something that was inspired by this post.

http://nocturnalpoiesis.blogspot.com/2007/04/tribute.html

11:05 PM  
Blogger M (tread softly upon) said...

And that is the most wonderful thing about parents :)
Beautiful post. And here's to your family and hope you can come out stronger.

6:56 PM  
Blogger Ouroboros said...

i read this out to my mother. she thinks you'll beat rowling at kidlit one day.

10:53 PM  

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