They say, sometimes goodbye is the only way.
They also say that journeys end in lovers meeting, maybe that’s to console wishful thinkers like me.
Over the years I’ve wept through all my good-byes. They didn’t kill me, but they didn’t make me any stronger either because even now when it comes to a good-bye…I feel my knees wobble, voice tremble and heart-beat out real loud. However, over the years I have mastered the art of controlling the welling-up tears in timings ranging from a meager second to a good few minutes.
I cry a lot. I need no particular reason to cry. Predictably, the only time I don’t cry is when I’m pressurized to cry! At other times let’s just say I believe in cleansing my eyes every now and then and that qualifies as an essential Aswana activity.
I have earned quite a reputation over the years, incidents people will never forget;
Howling when I left the school and friends I had known for ten years of my life.
Teary faced and running after a moving train in true Bollywood spirit, when Pinkster left Wellington for good.
Over the years it’s mostly been sad movies/books/stories…in no particular order…not to mention Heartaches. Deaths. Bad bosses. Friends leaving (!). Fights with best friends. Bouts of delirious illnesses.
One lazy afternoon best friend break the news, he’s been contemplating moving. Really? Across the universe? No way! Before we know it the paper work is done, but there is a good chance the American embassy wont like his face and he’s now of marriageable age and certainly a potential threat!
Apparently they like his face and they don’t mind seeing it for a very long time. So we’re done with the shopping, the bags are packed and weighted, carefully repacked and weighed.
Farewell meals, parting gifts and we’re finally at the airport. I’m hoping for a bomb scare, maybe one that lasts a few months, that’ll be a first! God decided to disapprove the idea.
Final words and hugs. Waving goodbyes through the glass doors and last glances. I so love Bollywood. He doesn’t disappoint me entirely I detect a tear. Real men cry. (I’m gonna get killed for this!)
So we’re walking out of the airport, everyone talking about something vague.
We’re all headed back to our respective homes; I insist I can get home on my own. C’mon!
Its all vague, the entire ride. I settle to watch a movie as soon as I get home. I haven’t shed a tear. This could easily be a new record for me.
He calls before boarding the flight. I’ll miss you he whispers and I mumble back something neither of us understands. He insists I should put the phone down first.
The weekend is over and I’m finally back at work. It’s beginning to dawn on me, that I am the one locked behind in the same monotonous existence.
So while I’m still wallowing in self pity, having an overdose of my favorite anti-depressants (read chocolates)…he’s already calling me from across to world to tell me that I would love NYC.
This is the only time I sense an evil streak in him. He’s human after all. Life goes on and I thought that was my worst good-bye. True…yet.
I lost my grandfather a few months ago. I didn’t really know him too well.
As I walked in through the gate I could feel that my past was finally catching up with me.
Vague childhood memories, mostly in black & white, few times even sepia…after all I’ve made most of my association with this place through pictures.
My grandfather’s house. The house my father and his siblings grew up in, the house my mother stepped into as a shy bride all of twenty, the house where I sang to my grandmother two decades ago….
I spent most of my life being scared of my grandfather, and restricted it to an annual visit over the rest of the years.
We spoke for a few minutes mostly over a meal, I would timidly respond to his questions in my hardly impeccable Malayalam.
True to his military background, he stuck to routine and never once showed any emotion.
I don’t remember ever sitting on his lap, stroking his beard or even laughing with him.
As a child I remember being shouted at for wasting food, climbing trees and playing too close to the well.
Later I was given the disapproving stares mostly for the length of my clothes, my lethargic lazy demeanor lying around reading books all day and my noisy music.
I guess it was his way of showing he cared.
I come from a breed of emotionally suppressed humans. Ever met my father, for that matter even my dear brother…see the pattern here?
I could sing my dad a paean from a loudspeaker on the highest hill in Coonoor for the whole of Nilgiris to hear, if I know my dad he would be melting like a volcano deep inside but all you will ever see is that very impassive expression that I fondly call stony face!
When I heard my Appachen had passed away, I wondered why I didn’t think about spending time with him earlier.
I was always judging him without realizing I had played party to this relationship all along.
I never once told him that I loved him in my own way. I never tried to know him better. I never had a chance to even say a decent goodbye…to my own flesh and blood.
That’s when I realized what’s worse than saying goodbye is not having said goodbye at all.
I always wanted a perfect ending….but I’ve learnt it the hard way…hearts break, dreams shatter, memories fade, regrets wash away…nothing lasts forever…not even the pain.
Goodbye Appachen.
