People

It was hard for me to wake him up and ask for food. Dad coughed for nearly 15 minutes in the bathroom and when he came back, all he could do was lie down again and sleep, hoping to never wake up again. The cancer had won. He was wearing all white that day, a traditional kurta and pajama and that color was significant enough for anyone to understand that he had given up on life and his family. Skinny and bald with a fractured voice is what he gave me as memory of what a father looks and sounds like. But what about my hunger? Being a 7 year old, his appearance and his disease were least of my concern that particular afternoon. I needed the food and he needed his sleep. You don’t pat on a dying man’s back and ask for food when he’s busy brawling death.  The past has a bad habit of seducing you into the loop of memories, where its only objective is to make you feel vulnerable. That afternoon is where my father still breathes and I for one, won’t kill it.  “Papa . . .” ...

“This smoke has killed you already. You are disrespecting death. Please stop smoking.” “It’s 4 in the morning Mam. Don’t you have a family? Your husband and kids might just be waiting for you. Go home.” *Throws away the cigarette* *Closes the window* Another Night The clock ticks to 4. “You need to stop smoking. That thing has destroyed many lives. You have no regrets even after all that happened.” The man leans a bit forward and spits on the side *Closes the window* Yet another night. The Clock ticks to 3 in the morning.  He stands in front of the mirror. “What regrets she was talking about? Who the fuck is that lady? Who the fuck roams around like that in the morning. If she comes back again, I'll have to talk some sense to her. Enough of this shit.” *opens the window* The clock hits 4.  “Please stop smoking. The kids are here as well. That thing is evil. Come with us” “That’s it. You just wait down there now.” ...