PAPA JI NAHIN RAHE

PAPA JI NAHIN RAHE

24 May 1143AM

Lily ka phone tha

Bahut dino se ye andesha ho chala tha,

Aisa kuch ho sakta hai, lagne laga tha,

Jab aaya tha tab haalat kaafi kharaab thi

Par phir bhi,

Papa Ji nahin rahe ?

1230 PM

I am in my Gypsy, traveling to Jallandhar Railway stn

I will board some train to Ambala,

Uske aage phir dekhi jaayegi

Ghar pahuchana hai, jaldi se jaldi,

Papa Ji nahin rahe

There is no train to Moradabad from Ambala,

So I will have to take a bus and go to Saharanpur

1745 PM ,

I pass Saharanpur,

Strange co incidence, the town of my family, my father,

I reach Roorkiee,

A friend has picked me up from Saharanpur bus stand and has also got me a ticket in Kaathgodam Express,

I will be in Kathgodam at 7 in the morning,

And at Naukuchiatal by 8 in the morning,

0815 AM, 25 May 2010

Naukuchiatal

I am reaching my parents home,

Where he would normally be found sitting in the veranda,

Reading news paper with the help of a magnifying glass,

Grumbling on his wife,

There is a crowed out side the house,

Aakri safar ki taiyaari hai,

Sirf mera intezaar hai,

I reach the veranda,

he is there

not grumbling, not reading

But lying on a bed of Ice slabs, his body frozen,

Waiting for me to arrive for almost 20 Hrs,

He is getting late,

Ab naye safar par nikalna hai, ye safar khatm hua,

Is jeewan main jo rishte bannaye the,

Sab yanhi chor ke jaana hai

Bara beta ab pahunch gaya hai,

Vida karo,

Papa Ji nahin rahe,

0940 AM

Arthi uthi hai,

logon ki aankkon main aansu hain

meri aankhon main sirf  dhund hai,

aansu pata nahin kahaan kho gaye,

Ek machine ki tarah jo kaha jaa raha hai kar raha hoon,

Chitrashila Ghat,

Behte paani ke upar pattharon ka platform,

Us par chita saji hai

yahaan ki yahi parampara hai,

Moonh main ghee daalo,

Parikrama karo,

Agni do,

Wo shaerer jis ka main hissa hoon,

Maine agni ke hawale kiya,

Sab hat gaye par mujhe rukna hoga,

Us shareer kaa har hissa puri tarah raakh ho jaaye,

Paani main beh jaaye,

to hatoon

Yahi ek jimmedari baaki hai,

4 PM

Chita jal chuki, raakh beh chuki, pathar hata diye gaye,

Nadi pehle ki tarah behti hai,

Sab khatm hua,

Jo mujhe dunia main laaya tha,

Jisne saalon meri parwarish ki

Use bas chand ghanton mein dunia se vida karke ab chalta hoon,

Bare bete ka kartvaya poora hua,

ab Pagri mere sar pe hai,

Papa Ji ab nahin rahe,

Ab Mummy ko sambhalna hai,

52 salon ke baad, wo akeli ho gayi

jeewan ka arth khatm ho gaya,

Wo kursi verande main, khaali pari hai,

Magnifing glass ki ab jaroorat khatm hui,

Papa Ji nahin rahe

 

main bhi ek roz isi taraha se ruksat loonga,
yahan kisi ka bhi sikka sada nahin chalta,
wo koi Raja ho ya  phir ho wo phakir koi,
Kabhi kisi ko muqammal jahaan nahi milta

KABHI KISI KO MUQAMMAL JAHAAN NAHIN MILTA

ON FATHER'S DAY, a silent tear

Why now,

He has been gone for almost a month now. The deep sense of loss has may be numbed me in a manner that I thought was not possible for the Grumpy Old man that he had turned into during the later period of his life.

As I realize, I was wrong;

It is more clear now, the relation between a father and a son.

When a child starts understanding the world he starts idolizing his father. The father is the first real Hero for the child. He can solve all problems, he can pick up that biscuit packet from top shelf, he can lift that wooden chest full of toys, he can kill the cockroach, he can open that soft drink bottle, he knows all the spellings and all the tables. He can do almost every thing that a child struggles with. So the child wants to be like his Dad, he is the child's first Hero. One day I will go to work like Dad and earn money, the child dreams.

Things start changing soon enough though. Slowly the child grows up and starts becoming wise. He realizes that his Hero is not that great after all. He is normal, actually even not as good as his friend's father. His friend's father has bought that beautiful cycle for his son, which his father can not afford. Slowly the child grows into a man and feels that he is every thing that his Dad wasn't. That he is much better, worldly wise, more practical and moves on, gets busy with life in which there is precious little space for the Grumpy Old Man that the Hero has now turned into. He never realizes that his father has always wanted and done every thing possible to ensure that the child turns better than him, wiser than him. And that nothing gives a father more pleasure than being beaten by his son in every sphere. And that he has deliberately slowed down to let the son move ahead . He can not afford, to not be a Hero in his sons life. My Hero was no different. This is but one side of the story

There is the other side also. To my father when I was born I was the real love of his life. The end all and be all of his existence. I was a part of him, his flesh and blood. Those little hands, the little feet, the twinkling eyes, the innocent look. He would ensure that no harm ever came my way. He thus turned into a superhero for my sake from a humble normal human being. No he couldn't fly but when I shivered, he would wrap me in the last piece of cloth he had and hold me close to his chest, he would ensure I never went hungry and the last drop of water within his means would be reserved for me. My Hero though not the most articulate, never failed me when such fatherly Heroism was required to be displayed. If his shoulders drooped during the last days it was because he had been carrying three of us on those shoulders silently, only for the sake of pleasure that he derived from it and nothing else.

I am reminded of the time when I was sick, very sick, suffering from Bronchial Asthma. My Hero, than carried me to every possible cure that was available and brought me back hale n hearty. It simply couldn't have been any other way. But when My Hero fell sick and I who suffers from the misconception of being more capable, wiser and influential, couldn't match the Heroism. I too carried him to all possible cures but could not bring him back hale n hearty. The Grumpy Old Man did not complain though, nor did he make an issue of my failure. His way of saying he wanted to live was, and I quote " All that you and Lily have done for me, may that be successful, may your efforts not go in wane" He wanted to live if only to be proud of his sons successful efforts. That, however was not to be. The son failed and the Hero took his last flight to an unknown destination within two weeks.

This time he really flew;

just the way the Super Heroes do.

To day I understand the dilemma of my father and why he was such a Hero. He went through intense pressures, financial, social, professional, even personal set backs, but always presented a picture of calm to me. He could not have disappointed his little one. He could not see fear, gloom or tears in the twinkling assured eyes of his little child. When he taught me how to walk he held my hand and than let go off it only to make sure that I learned to walk on my own. I couldn't see but my father, the Hero, though not holding my hand was right behind me to hold me when I stumbled. Ditto in life at every step. Whenever I stumbled emotionally, financially or socially the Hero though not visible to me was always right behind me. There were many things he shared with me which will always be our own little secret. One of course was the relationship with my mother, his wife of fifty-two years. They could neither live with , nor without each other.

How suddenly the end arrives, I realized that day. That day when I finally left him, I had this strange feeling that I was not going to see him again. He lay silent in the bed knowing what was going on around him but was not able to respond. I told him that I will have to go but will be back soon, that he should get better by the time I returned, since on his Marriage Anniversary we were going to celebrate the bravery that he had displayed in putting up with my mother for so long, that he deserves a Param Vir Chakra for that. He let out a hearty toothless, soundless laughter, his face distorted with amusement, and bade me good bye. The Hero knew better. He was wiser than me even on the last day. He knew he was not going to make it. He must have been in immense pain due to his complications , also an emotional wreck knowing well that he was possibly hearing his son,s voice for the very last time. But he had to present a picture of calm, because he couldn't see disappointment, tears or fear in the eyes of his little one. His toothless laughter was Heroism at its best that day, and will haunt me for ever.

The Hero remained a Hero till the end and I remain so inadequate, so defeated.

On father's day, I can only regret that I never said it so often,

I loved you Papa Ji and you will always be my Hero.

Jab kehna tha to kabhi kaha nahin,

ab jab keh sakne ki himmat kar paaya hoon - - - -

- - - - - - - - - - to sun ne wala raha nahin,

KABHI KISI KO MUQAMMAL JAHAAN NAHIN MILTA

Rest in peace Grumpy Old Man.

And don't worry about your little one. He knows you are right behind him when he stumbles.

You have done a good job with him.

He is going to be OK