Zen in life & death ( in the memory of my late father)

Z

 

 

Blogging from A to Z Challenge [April 2015]

 

  

We used to talk a lot

about death

and yet

your physical absence

is so heavy to bear

 

the suddenness with

which you disappeared

person-body-ashes-water-nothing

 

was that the last birthday gift

teaching me

"m-e-t-a-m-o-r-p-h-o-s-i-s"

one more time

 

I was always

your strong girl

in your version of me

I could take on

the world

on my own

 

Maybe I could

because you stood

by me

as a shield

 

Now you are

my arrow and my bow

my aims and my means

 

you were warmth

and now you are light

 

I read this poem

to myself

every night

 

and I know

you are watching

me do it right.

 

 

******************************************

 

A VERSE I READ OFTEN FOR MY DAD

 

 

 

       "Love never disappears for death is a non-event.

I have merely retired to the room next door.

You and I are the same; what we were for each other, we still are.

Speak to me as you always have, do not use a different tone, do not be sad.

Continue to laugh at what made us laugh.

Smile and think of me.

Life means what it has always meant.

The link is not severed.

Why should I be out of your soul if I am out of your sight?

I will wait for you, I am not here, but just on the other side of this path.

You see, all is well.”

- St. Augustine

Yell Silently ( in the memory of my late father)

Y

 

 

Blogging from A to Z Challenge [April 2015]

 

 

Today 

I will just say

don't just listen to

the loud voices

the evident noises

listen to

souls

that mourn alone

and yell silently

 

 



eXit (in the memory of my late father)

X

 

 

Blogging from A to Z Challenge [April 2015]

 

Since that day

you passed away

the world has changed

in a strange way

 

my soul has altered

it seems

with the same eyes

I see different things

 

At a public place

under an EXIT sign

an old man

on a wheel chair

head bent

waiting to be

taken somewhere

 

and all I think

is about

you and me.

 

and the exit

 

that was bound to be

 

please continue

 

to live in me.



Without you (in the memory of my late father)

W

 

Blogging from A to Z Challenge [April 2015]

 

 

The air I breathe is heavy

the colours dull

the food bland

the words meaningless

 

days just endless motions

 

of the hands of a clock

 

I am not myself

 

the world is not the same

 

without you.

 



Vanish (in the memory of my late father)

V

 

 

Blogging from A to Z Challenge [April 2015] 

 

 

 

Only the touch is gone

the fragrance lingers

 

the voice will not be heard

the words etched in memory

 

you are a permanent embroidery

on my being

 

So I know

your body has vanished

 

into the five elements

 

we will never be separated.



Unlearn (in the memory of my late father)

U

 

 

Blogging from A to Z Challenge [April 2015]

 

 

 

I go back to

The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying

Tuesdays with Morrie

The Bhagvad Gita

Rumi, Eliot, Basho

 

to chanting

to  cups of tea

 

to the loneliness of being

to reading, thinking, writing

Repeat

 

Memories like gut-wrenching pain

from an old wound

every word, sound, smell

a trigger for a deluge

 

I am trying to shed

 

attachment 

and struggling to

unlearn

 

a grief soul-deep

 

Tea & Travel ( in the memory of my late father)

T

 

Blogging from A to Z Challenge [April 2015]

 

 

 

 

 

 

I try to remember

all the places

and all the types of tea

 you had with me

 

 

In mud cups,

in fine china

roadside glasses

trains, buses, cars

in the comfort of our home

and across journeys

 

from aluminium kettles

ornate flasks, travel mugs

wherever ,whenever

there was tea

we were always ready :)

 

 of the many gifts Papa

I wish my girl would inherit

 from you and me

 

one of the best would be

our love for travel

and our passion for tea.



Signature (in the memory of my late father)

S

 

Blogging from A to Z Challenge [April 2015]

 

 

 

 

I remember how in school

friends would pity me

because your craggy signatures

were impossible to forge

on a bad class test

 

I remember  how disappointed

you were when I first signed

for my first ever bank account

 

"no style at all !"

 

you had teased me all day long

 

 

 

Thousands of signatures later

yours and mine

I now remember only two

your last one on your cheque book

and my shaky one

in the crematorium record book

 

I hold your pen often

 

and try to feel

 

the last warmth of your fingers

 

on its cold steel

 

I sign my name

 

a hundred times for you.

 



Raison d'etre (in the memory of my late father)

R

 

 

Blogging from A to Z Challenge [April 2015]

 

 

Who was whose

reason to be

who knows

 

You my root

I the tree

 

And now a

dainty little branch

swings and grows

from me

 

The raison d'etre

for your memory

and me.

Q & A (in the memory of my late father)

Q

 

 

Blogging from A to Z Challenge [April 2015]

 

 

 

 Did you think of me one last time?

Was the going away painful?

Am I doing fine without you?

Are you fine now?

Will this emptiness ever go away?

Is there actually a hereafter?

 

Will you always remember me?

Will we ever meet again?

 

The necromancer promises

Me all the answers

I prefer your memories.



Pay it Forward Parenting (in the memory of my late father)

 

 

Today when I am a parent myself, I feel some of my most special lessons in parenting come from my father. These were not written in some kind of a rule book or spoken aloud like quotable quotes but these came to me in actions that were louder than any words.

•  About three and a half decades ago in a quaint little town you were a diaper dad by choice. I understood parenthood as being better than the highly popularised motherhood.

• I always saw you helping mummy around the house, especially with my tasks- tiffin, getting the school dress in order, homework. My first lessons in gender-neutral parenting and partnership.

• Unlike a lot other homes, me and mummy would watch a cricket match and you would make us tea. So the first person who broke down gender stereotypes within the family for me was you.

• In teenage years, periods or sanitary napkins weren’t a taboo, I could talk to mummy or I could talk to you. It made me so much at ease with my body and my sexuality.

• Unlike a lot of parents, contrary to public opinion and even your own preference for the Sciences you supported me when I opted for Humanities right after school. There was no pressure to be someone I was not.

• You kept struggling with your own patriarchal upbringing to accept my male friends, boyfriend, my independent lifestyle choices, but you never held them against me even when some of them went horribly wrong. You allowed me my mistakes and their lessons.

• You always told me no matter what you were proud of me and that you would always love me. This realisation is such a huge part of my self-worth.

• You always believed and displayed so much of confidence in my abilities that I could push my boundaries every single time. You gave me all my strength.

Trying to raise my child with self-belief, gender-sensitivity, an independent mind and a strong voice, just like what my father did for me.


This post is an entry for father’s day contest by kreativemommy



Open Letter to Papa (in the memory of my late father)

O

 

Blogging from A to Z Challenge [April 2015]

 

 

 

 

Dear Papa

Almost 45 days ago you ceased to physically exist in this world. A couple of days after that while I was sorting your drawers I found the few letters I had written to you over the years and the cards and messages your grandchild had sent you neatly arranged in a folder labelled :special mail.

So today I am writing another one for that folder because I know this longest-distance relationship that we have now will not stop you from reading this. There is still so much to be said.

As you were aging and your ailments were taking their toll on your health and memories, we often talked about death and the hereafter. I do not know many parents who do that but I know it was another of your valuable life-lessons for me. We were both learning to come to terms with the inevitable.

You were preparing me to face the known miseries of the world without the comfort of having you there and I was letting you slip gradually into the unknown hereafter.

No tribute can rightly summarise what I want to say to you now. But if physical existence is some kind of a chance at learning life I say Papa you always were and will be my spine and my voice.

Despite my personal shortcomings I am proud that you have shaped me into a strong and independent mind and a compassionate and sensitive soul. Ever since I first held a crayon or read a word you have done everything to unlock my creativity and imagination and so it is alright I guess if by genetics I also happen to pick up some of your annoying habits and traits. J

Almost every day there are times when I shatter to a million pieces, when I feel like a rootless tree which will not endure the next storm, when I call out for you over and over again. But I know you are always watching over me and my little one. I have lost a parent but I have gained a guardian angel.

Keep sending me and her your love and life lessons. I promise I will keep growing in your memory.

PS: I remember you had once told me – no real learning is ever without pain.

Love

P

Never Again (in the memory of my late father)

N

Blogging from A to Z Challenge [April 2015]

Never again

will I run my fingers in your hair

Never again

will we sit together and talk

over a cup of tea


Never again

will I hear my name

in your voice

never again will

I feel like a little girl



and as I write this

Never again

I hope

we will meet

in a new dimension.


Mourning - My Way (in the memory of my late father)

M

 

Blogging from A to Z [April 2015]

 

 

 

 

Among a thousand other

learned behaviours

is also mourning

 

the ceremonial tears

the loud cries

of non-acceptance of loss

 

but we both knew

from the start

I am a non-conformist

 

the tears didn't come

when they all waited

the loud wailing

was missing

 

I smiled

because I was

remembering him

 

I have cried

and held his photo

for hours

and then made myself

his favourite tea

 

Now I know

he wanted me to mourn

as he wanted

me to live

always

- my way.



Letting Go (in the memory of my late father)

L

 

 

Blogging from A to Z Challenge [April 2015]

 

 

Every passing moment

is an act of letting go

yet the human heart

is made of absorbent clay and so

 

it holds back

a moment, a fragrance

a look or a word

though

 

even in the pain

of saying final adieu

and letting a loved one go

 

we are rehearsing

our own going

in the incessant

cosmic flow.

 



Keepsakes (in the memory of my late father)

K

 

Blogging from A to Z Challenge [April 2015]

 

 

Your watch on my wrist

like your pulse beating

next to mine

 

the old dog-eared diaries

still preserving

some warmth

of your fingertips

 

this chair in my house

where you would

always sit

for your evening tea

 

that something

that wells up

every now and then

and wets my soul

 

all precious keepsakes !



Jottings for the Journey(in the memory fo my late father)

J

 

Blogging from A to Z Challenge [April 2015]

 

 



 

 

You taught me how to walk

and get up

every time I fall

 

You taught me

strength

and how my gender had

nothing to do with it

at all

 

You allowed me

my mistakes

and face my fears

 

you taught me to

look for life lessons

and never be shy of

memories & tears

 

and somewhere along

some day

in your mysterious way

 

you had led me on

to this realisation

 

the journey is

always the destination !

Idiosyncrasies (in the memory of my late father)

 I

 

Blogging from A to Z [April 2015]

 

Out of the thousands of things

a child knows a parent by

a prominent one

is the idiosyncrasies

 

 

the knack of storing

newspaper cuttings

older than me

 

the fountain pen

the Chelpark Dark Blue Inkpot 

and the calligraphic writing

 

the carbon sheet

for a duplicate copy

of every handwritten sheet

the radio news

thrice a day

with strong tea

 

the phone diaries

of every shape and size

 

the neatly arranged

shaving supplies

 

coins of every denomination

in small jars

by the bedside

 

only cardigans

no pullovers

only blazers

no jackets

 

ironed and folded

hankies all whites

 

 

a no stubble look

a six decades old hairstyle

 

there were no headlines

80 years old, father of a girl, died

 

but a million idiosyncrasies

that were only his

some I inherited

some died.

Hide and Seek (in the memory of my late father)

H

Blogging from A to Z [April 2015]

 

 

 

 

 

A vast green campus

of several historic structures

amidst a thick pine forest

 

The heritage power station

- your workplace

my childhood home

 

those endless mazes

of cobbled corridors

stone walls

 

where my little giggles

and Jackie's* mild barking

would echo for hours

 

we would run around

playing Hide & Seek

 

till you would call out

for me and him

and before the echo of your voice died

we would come

running to you

 

Now I know

you will never call out

my name again

Jackie is long gone

 

Hope you meet him up there

and his coat is still shinier

than my hair

 

This time you both

have gone hiding

and I seek you

over and over again.

 

*Jackie was our German Shepherd, who had come to our home before I was born, was a constant companion, almost a sibling during my childhood. He passed away while I was still a child.



G- Grandparent/Grandchild (in the memory of my late father)

G

 

Blogging from A to Z Challenge [April 2015]

 

 

She knew him

for six brief years

so I presumed

she would have

only baby memories

 

toys, candies

stories, mischiefs

 

but I was surprised

how she knew

so much about

his childhood

his likes and dislikes

the details she recalls
about his 1947 tales
anecdotes of his work life
his friends

his wrinkled hands
combing his white hair
random Punjabi words
he would sometimes use

their last phone chat
the last kiss
 on his forehead
saying the final bye
she tells me
she whispered
"I love you Nana*"

and now she says
she will be him for me
and I know
souls live on
as residue
in other souls
they have loved

a grandparent lives on
in his only grandchild.

*Hindi word for maternal Grandfather

 

Feet of Clay - (in the memory of my late father)

F

 

Blogging from A to Z Challenge [April 2015]

 

 

Had long ago read a poem

about Ozymandias

"Two vast and trunkless legs of stone

Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,

Half sunk a shattered visage lies..."*

 

As I grew year by year

The halos of my parents

did gradually disappear

 

I now saw them whole

as humans with their flaws

their feet of clay**

and all the faux pas

 

Now as a parent

I have to come to terms

with life's full cycle

when my little one

turns around

 

and sees me

as a regular woman

who has her flaws and

is less divine more human

 

 

I forgive you Papa

as you had once said

- "because none of us is perfect

what matters

where we are

we give it our best."

 

* Lines from the poem OZYMANDIAS by Shelley

**Feet of clay is a reference to the interpretation of the dream of Nebuchadnezzar, King of Babylon, by the prophet Daniel as recounted in the Book of Daniel.The analogy is now commonly used to refer to a weakness or character flaw, especially in people of prominence

 



et ceteras (in the memory of my late father)

E

 

 

Blogging from A to Z Challenge [April 2015]

Medical bills, legal wills etc.
lotions, potions
unwanted commotions etc.
joining letters,
transfers, promotions etc.

black and white faces
in forgotten photos
numbers unknown
new fears born etc.

lists and payments
questions and arguments
incomplete forever
lifetime etc.

touch that was lost
fragrance remains
moments gone
memories remain
pain etc.


 



Death Certificate - in the memory of my late father

D

 

Blogging from A to Z Challenge [April 2015]

 

A piece of paper

to make me believe

it wasn't a bad dream
the pyre, the cremation
are fears my overactive mind
replayed
 

 

a disinterested old man's

blank stare

from behind the piles

of files

thousands of deaths

stocked as papers

as legal statistics

 

no record

of the empty beds

unused creams, toothpastes

specs through which
his eyes saw the world

his rosary wrapped on my wrist

to feel his rough, old fingertips
to hear him murmur
his sacred chant

 

questions unanswered

I love yous

whys ,unsaid

a 22 second sound recording

a blurry video

of him having his evening chai
in an inexpensive mobile

 

a death certificate

for a date and a time

none for the years

and moments

gone forever.