An Afternoon that lasted for 22 years

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 . . .”

“ . . . . . . ."

“Papa . . . Papa”

I wasn’t loud enough because I was cautious. Any slight moment from him was the only window for me to wake him up. I kept asking myself that why isn’t he hungry yet but then I’d recall what my brother said to me a couple of weeks back that “Your father has throat cancer”. Yet I still kept asking myself “Why isn’t he hungry?” 

The phone rang downstairs. It was mom. She use to call us in the afternoon from work and also to check if Dad is breathing or not. I can never imagine myself in her shoes because they are too big and broken from the inside. So, the phone rang and he didn’t move an inch, so the window was still shut. I cautiously went downstairs, hoping to see him awake when I come back.

“Hello”

“Mummy . . . I am hungry and Dad isn’t waking up”

I heard nothing for a few seconds. I scared her. She thought he was dead. I should’ve chosen my words more wisely.

“What do you mean he isn’t waking up?”

“He is still sleeping.”

“Wake him up and tell him that you want to eat… It is 2 already. Go now and wake him up. Tell him that my office colleagues shall be coming in the evening. Eat something and please tell him to try and eat as well. Bye Beta”

“Bye mummy. Please come early”

“I will try Beta. Bye”

 I went upstairs. He wasn’t there on his bed. A small victory. It must be the coughing that might have woke him up. I took my spot and waited for him to come. Five minutes later the door opened.

“Papa . . . I am hungry”

I didn’t wasted a single second.

“What time is it?”

“2 pm Papa”

“It is 2 already? You should’ve waked me up”

*Sigh*

“You were tired of the coughing. So I thought you’d scold me if I wake you up”

“No. Why would I scold you? Don’t be afraid of me beta. Come on . . . let us have our lunch together”

I had enough reasons to be afraid of him but I won’t delve much into that because it has no place in this story. The cancer did him real bad.

“Papa . . . You will be with us forever and ever.”

He smiled and we went downstairs.

Ah! The food. Mom had prepared spaghetti. The usual Dal,

Chawal and Roti were given a day off. Now you know why I was so hungry. The Spaghetti.

“Papa. Do you like spaghetti?”

“Isn’t this something your Mother learnt recently? I think this should be easy to swallow. There is a bottle of Pepsi in the fridge. Have it.”

Pepsi. Little Joys for a seven year old.

“Papa . . . Mom said that her office colleagues might come here to see you”

“I told her this morning only not invite anyone. I don’t like seeing people. I see myself beaten up in their eyes. Anyways, it is okay. I don’t know if I’ll even see you both tomorrow.”

I cried. His last few words literally destroyed me. I threw the glass of water in anger and I cried even louder. He stood up, hugged me and kept saying sorry.

“Do you want to watch ‘The Lion King-?

I should’ve said no. The Lion King gave me hope. Even till this day I believe that just like Mufasa’s Ghost gave Simba a life lesson, my father would also come. As long as I am alive, I’ll wait for him and keep looking at the stars. Also, I’ll wait for a Rafiki to show up at my front door and tell me that ‘He lives in you’.

“Promise me you’ll be with us forever.”

“Forever and ever. Get the VHS now. Go”

He slept after the first 15 minutes of the movie. Probably his last best sleep.  I stopped the movie after that stampede scene. A death of a father was the last thing I wanted to see. I slept besides him on the sofa. The comfort around his arms was something I always craved for but that was the time I did that because after a couple of days, he was rushed back again to the hospital.

We woke up around 4 pm and after that I don’t remember a single damn thing. That is where this memory ends and that is where the sound of the door opened my eyes, just to realize it was all in the dream. 

This was the memory that I had stitched when I went back upstairs after talking to mom. This memory was born in those few moments when Dad was in the bathroom. That Hug. The movie. Him smiling. All of this was a gift that I gave myself that afternoon because when that door opened, he didn’t even looked at me and straight away went to the bed. I remained hungry that entire afternoon. I don’t blame him but that wasn’t a memory I wanted to live with for the rest of my life. I wanted that hug that smile, us watching the movie together but it never happened. So, I stitched all of this in that brief moment just so that I have a better boat to sail in the future.

How do I want to remember him was the question I keep asking myself? I have two memories to choose from, one that I stitched and the last one in the hospital. When he was in the hospital for the last time, he asked mom to call me and my brother there just so that before he closes his eyes once and for all, he doesn’t go away with any regrets of not seeing us. So, mom called and we were there . . .  

He saw both us. Touched our heads. Cried and asked us to go back home safely. I looked back and waved at him, he smiled . . . He smiled.

I wish he had smiled before but it had to end this way. He died after a couple of days. His story ended but left with so many unanswered questions and that is why I keep going back to that afternoon and stitch something new out of the ordinary and try not being hungry. Maybe next time, I’ll stitch a memory where he beats cancer and lives forever.

I miss you Dad.