My Blog for November

12^th November 2004

It’s 4:45 pm in the afternoon, on this second Friday of November 2004. I’ve been feeling a little better since morning; although every time I think of him, I feel my stomach knotting. It feels like some sort of morbid fear, as if I’ve lost a portion of my soul. I don’t know how long this pain will linger on, it seems almost irreparable. Every time I think of him, my mind takes me back to all those times I’d spent with my dearest Pabamam, I feel deeply hurt. He’s just gone, in a flash.

Every time I’ve called to speak to my mother and aunt in Mulki, all I hear is about the objects he’s left behind in our new home. His music CDs, his books, his little table fan, a table lamp, and some other articles. They are surrounded by his memories and his little memorabilia; I wonder how they’re trying to come to terms with each glimpse of these objects. My mom’s grief is unbearable for her; she sits and recalls all the wonderful things he would bring for his kid sister; the Bata chappals, the sarees, money for movie tickets and ice cream. It seems as though a huge void has been left in our lives and we’re standing on the edge, looking down into emptiness.

This emptiness consumes me; my stomach hurts. He is never coming back. Never. I won’t even get to see him. On my part, I’ve just told my mother to hug him hard and say, it’s from me. For everything he’s done for me, for all those years of advice, lots and lots of love and encouragement. I never even got to say thank you. I remember how he would say that as every generation grows up, the children tend to experiment playfully and try out new things. These adventures are often mischievous and very unnerving to elders sometimes. He had seen me do this as a toddler, and he was only happier to see Priyanka and Varun do the same. He would always say that it is vital to encourage such playfulness. His big smile, the aura and all the glory.

Whenever I think about never being able to see him, my mind panics and I feel like screaming aloud. It feels like something inside me wants to break free; my heart wants out. I just want to see him right now. Even if it’s his lifeless shell; at least I will get to hug him; scream at him and ask why did he leave us in such a hurry. There were so many things to do, I had so much to show him and share.

The first blow.

11^th November 2004
As I type these words, I am consumed by my grief. I have lost someone very valuable to me, someone who stood by me, who taught me how to live, how to survive. Prabhakar mam’s unconditional love and affection is lost. He is gone. I can’t believe this; I cannot somehow come to agree that it’s happened. The formative years of my life at Manipal were reinforced by his love, determination and his firmness to bring me back into my academic stream from the disillusionment of failure. And yet I stand, failed. It feels like someone has knocked the wind out of my lungs.

Every time I think of him I feel sharp pain in my heart, in my stomach. I had so many questions for him, so many things to show him, so much to share. All that has been dashed in a few hours. The very thought of never being able to see him again is agonizing; I can never hear his voice, his boisterous, contagious laughter and feel my heart jump with happiness. I’ve never felt so belittled before. Life has very strange ways of showing one, how death is unpredictable. The last thing on my mind was losing him to his 3 year battle with cancer. I was certain, that with the kind of will power this man commands, he would be invincible. Even a sinister ailment like cancer cannot snatch him from us; it would be vanquished and cut to size. Today, some 30 hours after his demise, I feel helpless. Everything I thought about, everything I expected, contradicted. Since yesterday, his voice is echoing in my ears, his smile burns through my eyes; his memories haunt me. Raj had said yesterday that there are many things in this life that we take for granted. Now, I can’t agree more. I was always sure that Prabhakar mam would always be there, ever ready to cure me of my distress, talk to me. I didn’t even get to speak to him on the last day.

His role in my life has been instrumental in shaping my opinions, my tastes, and my very intellect. I can still recall the evening when my father, Prabhakar mam, Devdas mam and I were driving back from Mangalore. We were talking about how each one of us has battled our problems, constantly striven to keep our families in good health and self sufficient. That evening, I was proud to be an aspiring man among such strong confident men, who were nothing short of warriors to me. After my loss in Manipal I have a strongly believed that living your life each day, being just another human on the face of the earth and standing up for yourself and your family takes a lot of courage and perseverance. These men had valiantly battled courts, hostile circumstances, and grievous losses and yet ensured that their children were well groomed with good education and a lot of values to fall back on. These were the men, who have nourished rich values, infinite amount of strength and courage while battling their own fears.

Every time I found it hard to concentrate, to remain focused, Prabhakar mam’s voice echoed in my ears, “Write it down, make a list. Check it. Repeatedly!” I have quarreled with him, shouted at him, thrown my frustrations at him with all I had and yet he stood by me. To my father, he was an elder brother, to my mother, he was her father and to my aunt he was her little baby. To me, he was my guiding light, my own personal guiding light.