A wake up call from my school mate CK (acronym for Chandra Kanth) is usually not unexpected but always has agendas or plans. It sounded otherwise today. The news of his father’s demise came as a shocker. His dad was nothing less than a hero to him and I was worried about how CK was going to manage this loss.
CK’s family had a closely knit setup and everyone had each other’s back. His dad was the man who architected the knit and whose unconditional love had a bigger impact on CK and his two brothers. As I was reaching CK’s house I became more and more worried. It doesn’t matter if someone who has reached 50, loses their dad but still grieves. A gentle fella like CK is going to break down and certainly I should be there for him.
When you grow up, your dad become your friend. It's an amazing transformation of relationships; one that is often unanticipated. Suddenly, you want to talk with him about personal matters and not just the source of advice on what college you should attend or whether you need car insurance.
Unsurprisingly, the dad-child dynamic changes when a child becomes an adult. In most cases, there's no resentment involved and both parties are generally pretty happy about it.
As expected there was a big turnout at CK’s place. Preparations for the final send off seems to have commenced. But hang on, the guy who works in the supermarket appears in tears and CK looks to be consoling him. Shouldn’t it be the other way around? Am I in a multiverse and did I land up in a wrong CK’s house? Why is the bank clerk and the fruit vendor crying? Something is not right here.
“Hey bud, sorry for your loss. I know it’s hard but I’ll be there for you”, I approached CK.
“That’s fine dude, be seated and I will be with you in a while”.
Unusual but interesting what’s happening here.
“So dude, you must be wondering what’s happening here huh?” How the hell did this guy became a mind reader?
“You know how close my dad was to me. He loved us, sacrificed his life that was immeasurable and unforgettable. We lost our mom when we were very young. The struggles he went through and pain he endured as a single parent to support us was much bigger than our mightiest achievements.
Yet, he lived larger than his life. He listens when someone tells him their story, makes them feels important.
He took up genuine interest in others and made a lot of friends. You saw the supermarket guy? He was a drunkard and dad ensured he received counselling to rid of his habits. Dad set his own goals and developed himself as an engaging and fascinating personality.
You know he is a family man. But do you know that he is an intriguing and well-rounded person? He learned few languages, arranged his own holiday trips, took cooking classes and teaches?
I’ve never seen him dislike something. He loves company of others, does something new everyday and accepts people who they are.”
“But hey, won’t you miss him?”, I asked.
“Hell yes! I’ll miss his warm hugs during my hardships, his kind words and motivation when I’ll be slumping, his coffee that energises my entire day, his bright smile and unadultered love.
But then, won’t it be honourable to celebrate this man’s journey rather than feeling miserable and lost?”
True it is, death isn’t the end after all.
