“Appa” “Appa” the voice came loud, clear and with an urgency. That was my 12 year old calling for me. A voice filled with love and a brashness only a child can possess. “Appa” is a synonym for Daddy ..
My mind wandered soon .. calling my own Appa. Did I ever call him that way? How did he feel about it? It seems eons since I called that way. My dad passed away 24 years back on September 5 ..
My mind struggles to gather shards of memories to recreate the past. It seemed only the other day .. a tiny blimp in the cosmos of time but a large swath in my own time line. And all I could muster was inconspicuous images from the confines of the memory bank.
I can trace back his sitting at ease on his rocking chair in the family room and reading the daily news. I can revisit his walk into the house dripping water after a quick shower - the bathroom being situated outside the main house. I can see images of his devotion - praying to the family deity while keeping his pulse on the surroundings. I can see days spent discussing mundane politics, time fixing the nooks and cranks in the house .. many small irrelevant details .. now relegated to a faraway black & white image with too many grains surrounding it.
His world encompassed working in the backyard to clean that little weed that dared to encroach on the otherwise barren land. His interests were simple .. a cup of tea, the newspaper and the evening television. He seldom participated in household chores yet never hesitated to step up and lead especially when we had a terrible water crisis .. to get water filled in all the pots before the municipality turned off the daily quota of water supply. He always remembered to get some fritters like “curry puffs” while going on his daily walk.
His temper was widely known and over shadowed his generous personality. His jovial nature got subdued with age and he became ever so silent. His ability to take care of the family and extended family was done with a maturity .. no fanfare nor craving for greatness.
His youthful days were long gone before I became a teenager. Many stories of his indulgence in movies and drinking were mentioned only in hush-hush tones but never confirmed.
I grew a rebel teenager, ignoring him and his ideas .. fighting for my way not knowing whatever that was. I came to USA and created my world. But before I could breathe, stand and realize the world and go back to “Appa”, he passed away .. time took the memories and tossed into its basket while I chased dreams and tomorrow.
Some of his personality is now reflected in my kids although he is but an imaginary figure for them. The person who was the reason for my being on this earth now remains an illusion, a ghostly figure in the pages of the family album. An irony that I can only laugh about.
Now that voice brought the old memories back and I can’t help but think .. Did I ever call out for him with love? My memories crackle and refuses to disclose the secrets ..