The Ones That Got Left Behind

I'm oscillating between anger and sadness, with the stunt that you've pulled. None of the people that you held in the highest regard have reached out to me. Not one single person. Your work-wife looked dishonest and unconvincing. He told me to consider him a big brother. I almost told him to F!%k O#f but held my tongue. I already have two big brothers and a sister who can make chutney out of him.

You died for those traitors. I hate you for that. You never prioritized your health, your family time and your precious sleep. I saw you sleeping your hardest on 6th December '21. I only wish you slept like that when you were still alive. How many more movies we could've caught on the big screen. The new Spiderman movie released, just after you died. 

Riaan asked about you this morning. "Why has Baba not taken his big suitcase with him?" I replied saying, "He has left it for you my darling". He giggled and said, "Oh! Okay!"

Watched a stupid Malayalam movie yesterday, called "Kurup". It had too many scenes of Bombay and reminded me instantly of our life there. Your motionless body, lying in an impersonal corner of Bombay Hospital kept flashing in my head like an alarm. I quickly ran inside my room, switched off the lights and howled  as quietly as I could. The baby kept circling around me. Luckily, the lights were off so he didn't see my tear streamed, blotchy face. I don't want to burden him with my sadness. He has his own to deal with it. 

I read him a storybook last night about a family visiting a Zoo and he immediately asked about you. He thinks you've gone to the office poopie. I didn't bother correcting him. Let him wait for you. I know you won't let him down. You will visit your son. I know it in my heart.

Since gyms are shut in Chennai (now stop your sadistical chuckling, Chennai is not a village!) I've started evening and morning walks in our colony. It's not the same as walking in Raheja Vihar, but it will have to do. Home food is excellent and I'll bloat like a balloon before I know it. 

Have you met everyone up there yet? My grandparents? Nitin? Akshay? Your grandparents? How is everyone? Do you have drinks in heaven too? The logo of all your favourite beer brands bring a pang to my heart now. I might just start drinking beer now even though it tastes like horse piss. I saw multiple BMWs drive past me yesterday evening during my walk. I'm still not convinced as to why you had your heart so set on buying one.

New plan; I'm buying a BMW bike. I'm a bike rider remember? You're the car lover. I know you hated me driving my Scooty Pep. But you can no longer control my decisions. So BMW bike it is. I'll go on off-roads with fellow bikers and might even have a freak accident. Who knows? 

I have a child to raise, I know. You've happily dumped the biggest responsibility of our lives, on my shoulders and gone. So, I've taken it on, just like fixing the bathroom flush, changing a bulb, finding a dusting maid, finding a tenant for our Kandivali flat, getting Riaan admitted to a good school and so on. Then the bike accident can happen.

Our baby will be three years old on the 8th. I've taken over the cake design as usual. We're not calling anyone home this year though or decorating the house. We are in mourning after all. I still haven't prayed. Unable to find the strength in me to allow you to rest in peace. Don't rest in peace. You haven't done anything peaceful, in life or in death. I'm torn between intensely hating you and missing you terribly. My mind keeps replaying every conversation we ever had, from 13th July 2008 to 6th December 2021.

Why didn't you come home earlier? Why didn't you sleep earlier? Why did you miss my delivery and seven months of my pregnancy? What can be more important than being a father? Why did you travel so much? Why did you dress up so badly? Why didn't you ever comb your hair? Why didn't you wash your hands more frequently? Your chubby fingers always stank. What I wouldn't do now to have one last whiff of that nasty smell. 

You've murdered me along with you. I saw a Lenovo Thinkpad at the airport baggage check-in counter and I thought I'd die then and there. Going to the airport and sitting on a flight back to my parental home took everything out of me. I'm never leaving Chennai. I never want to see Bombay in my life. I don't want to board another aircraft or see an airport ever again. 

You wait for me wherever you are. I want you to regret all the decisions you ever took in your life, that excluded the baby and me. We were important. And you didn't give us that importance. I want you to repent, wherever you are. If I cry for 2 hours everyday, I want you to cry for 20. Keep crying until I meet you. Cry until you have no tears left inside you. They say you're a higher soul now and are in a different place. I don't care what you are. You just wait and cry. That's your only job now.