Death, Dad, Poetry

Fourteen years ago on this particular day, I lost my dad. Every year I have made it a point to remember him through my words. Only today I came to know that this day is celebrated as Poetry Day. Quite a convenience I should say. The memories of my dad are vague now, I am not certain if the memories that I’ve of him are real or it is a figment of my own imagination.

Not having a father figure to give good counsel is a tragedy. Perhaps he could have helped me in choosing a good suit. Cooked me a good dish( he was a good cook, actually). These are the things that haunt me. In retrospect, I would have loved to have a dad who taught me all the manly stuff. He never took me fishing, trekking, and he did not even teach me to ride a bike. (I learned to ride a bike only when I was 25 years old)

Sometimes I imagine having kids, teaching them all the things that my dad never taught me. Perhaps it is a fanciful imagination!

Poetry on the other hand has always been with me, It has taught me so many things. I expressed all my anguish in fragmented verse. Even in the coffin in which my dad lay breathless, I placed a simple verse. That was the medium I was able to connect with my dad.

It is sad and almost painful to think that my dad never got to read my stories or my lousy poetry. Maybe he would not have appreciated it. Maybe he would have wanted me to be a software engineer working for a company. All these are simply my own assumptions.

If you have a living dad go talk to him. Then one day you will only be able to connect with him with abstract words, feelings, and poetry. A wise man once remarked: it is better to present a rose while they are alive than a wreath of flowers when they are gone.