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Remembering You, Dad! - Sunanda Vashisht I was born in the beautiful valley of Kashmir,India when Kashmir was known for its unparalleled natural beauty and not as a cauldron of fear and terror. I did most of my schooling in Delhi and dabbled with several professions before moving to U.S last year.I am currently pursuing higher studies here. I like to introduce myself as an explorer because I want to spend all my time in this world exploring unknown. Writing for me is a cathartic experience.I can't remember when I began writing first but I do know that writing has always helped me to be at peace with myself and with the world around me.

This column is dedicated to my dad who when I was a little girl led me into the vast expanses of poetry and who has always been my muse.

What is the capital of France dear?

I was startled. I hadn't expected this question now.

Suddenly my attention drifted away from tastefully decorated pulao and the gaze from luscious raisins and almonds settled on the serene face of my dad who had been looking at me for a long time now. The question had almost hit me from nowhere and I was not prepared for it. But I knew I couldn't get away without answering. I tried to think hard but couldn't remember capital of France at all. Dad was sometimes very unfair. He deliberately asked me questions I had no answers to, or at least that's what I thought. I looked at my mother kindly, expecting some help or some intervention from her. But my mother as usual was busy laying the table, completely oblivious of what was happening around her. I looked back at my dad with a look, which meant that I knew the answer but couldn't recollect the capital of France now of all the moments.

"Paris! " You should try to learn at least one new thing everyday." My dad said softly but some sternness evident in his voice. We started our dinner and everything was forgotten about countries and their capitals. I grabbed my share of pulao and soon forgot what my dad had just said. I had no one but my age to blame for this. I was about nine years old and when you are that young, you forget things soon but they do leave indelible impression on your mind and resurface years later to remind you of the wonderful time spent in your childhood.

My dad was a very doting father. For the first ten years of my existence he was the only friend I knew. He was the only person I trusted and he was the only person I spent all my time with. He played with me and behaved like a child with me. It is so strange that when I was with him I never realized that he was older to me. I always thought he was my age.

He spent all the time he could spare with me. Apart from his work, I would accompany him almost everywhere. I remember once my father took me to a small village in Kashmir to see a potter at work on his wheel. I didn't know what to expect. I was simply happy because I was with my dad and that's all that mattered to me. Soon we were at our destination. There were a number of potters in the lane that we were walking in. My dad sat next to a potter admiring him making those beautiful earthen pots with his deft hands. I was too young to understand what was happening in front of me. I was very excited to see the soft mud in front of me and soon I was jumping in and out of the mud. The potter showed me much more patience than I deserved. I jumped into my dad's lap and saw his eyes moist with tears. I was surprised. "God up above in heaven is also a potter, a very ruthless potter who nurtures you and then ruthlessly severs you from the wheel". Dad, who was a mathematician by profession, was a very sensitive poet at heart. However, this beautiful allegory of comparing potter to God was lost on my juvenile mind.

I didn't understand the import of his words then. I quietly hid my face in his arms and suddenly started crying not because I understood what he was saying but because I had seen my dad cry for the first time in my life.

My dad soon fell victim to a terminal sickness and was snatched from us forever. I was 11 then. I didn't know what I had lost. It is difficult to loose your loved ones to death. Even when you are old enough to understand that death is the reality we all have to face one day, it is still impossible to completely get over the incomparable loss.

Through this column I want to reach out to all those who have loved and lost someone they treasured more than anything else to the ultimate reality called death. As many that have loved and lost will agree, living by hope alone is tough. Love is a demanding emotion. It expects, it challenges, it sets up parameters and asks that they be met. And a lack of response can lead to anger, despair, hate, both against the loved one and one's own self.

After my dad passed away, I tried number of ways to come in terms with my personal loss. From complete disbelief to deep mourning and from great amount of anger at my dad for leaving me alone to cope with the huge void to intense prayers I tried everything. I even tried speaking to psychos and so called god-men but still no answers. Every attempt left me even more anguished. Deep-seated anguish gave birth to intense bitterness. Every time my friends talked about their dads buying them gifts or taking them out for ice creams the bitterness for everything around me grew even more. I simply refused to accept reality and although days and months passed, mentally I stayed where I was. As I transcended from adolescence to early adulthood, my questions just assumed huge proportions. Now that I was capable of arguments, I began arguing my "state of fatherlessness" as I call it now, with great amount of intellectual acumen. Not being able to blame any one person completely for my state, I started blaming God for everything. And thus set in a fairly long period of my being a non-believer. For a while there was peace. But as they say after chaos comes creation. I realized that my peace was very temporary. The scars were still bigger than before. I was simply being an escapist. I had been disconnected somewhere.

Now I knew I had to find answers, and the only place I hadn't looked, was my own self. I knew answers were hidden inside me. I just had to delve a little deeper. Go beyond the layers of foolish intellectual façade and seek a spiritual awakening.

To my disbelief when I had shed all the layers, which had clouded my brain, the answers were pretty simplistic. The easiest way was to tell myself that my dad was not far away. He was around me all the time. The thought hit me like tornado.

My dad loved me too much to be away from me. People you love and those who love you never leave you alone. I couldn't see my dad physically but he had always been around me, silently holding my hand and seeing me through all hardships. Every time I thought about his absence, I realized I was insulting his love for me, because he had never left me alone. When I talk he talks though me, when I write he writes through me. When I achieve something, it is he who is achieving his unfulfilled dreams through me. How could my dad be away from me because I am nothing but an extension of his dreams. He has to be where I am. I can't see him with my eyes, but every time I am beginning to hit the end of the road he opens new roads for me. Every time I think there are no more dreams to dream of, he fills my heart with dreams, which keep me going for so many more years.

All those who are bitter and sad that their loved ones have left them, remember, they are always around you. All you need to do is to open your hearts for them. They are always guiding you. It hurts them when you mourn, because they want you to be happy all the time. The only way to keep them happy is to be joyous and fulfil all their cherished dreams. Extend your hand to them and you will see they never left you alone.

Today, I want to tell my father what I never told him before " Dad! I will try my best to learn at least one new thing every day."

Till we connect again...

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