What He Left Behind

He used to grab hot, burning plastic with his bare hands sometimes, quick, almost bored about it, moving it aside before it could do real damage, like his hands had already decided this was fine. He was a supervisor in a factory that used to build plastic containers, Delhi, night shifts mostly. For two years, when I was ten, we lived inside that factory. Not near it, inside it.

I have seen those hands since, rough, cuts on them, sign of burning, not deep, but still there.

After the factory we moved to a rented room, ten by ten, not even a full home. One morning he was returning from his night shift, on his cycle, and saw me playing marbles, kanche, outside. He gave me a spank on the head from behind, still on the cycle, didn't even stop. He never hit me otherwise. A minor spank on the head is different, this is what I remember the most, no anger in it.

My mom used to tell me that when I was even smaller, before I can remember, he slapped me once, hard enough that I even got fever. I don't remember it myself. What I remember is, he never hit my mom either, and my mom always said, he was best, only 10th pass, but more educated than that. She meant, he chose silence over anger, silence over any kind of domestic violence.

He was third of four brothers. The eldest, I have seen him too growing up, he never hit his wife, but he was abusive, mostly in words. My father was different even from his own brother.

He was fond of phones too. Not the cheapest one, not something everyone else's father had, but not the flagship either. Whatever his salary could afford, per his salary he had the best. Same with earphones, always a working pair, even when nothing else at home was new.

Mummy used to tell me, he was shaukeen of movies once, every new release, wanted to watch it. I never saw that side of him. Not one memory of him going to watch a film. Maybe responsibilities took that away.

He was the all in one man in our house. Whatever is not working, he can fix, CRT tv, dvd player, switch board, water heater rod, fan, cooler. Only too complicated things went to a repair shop, but he could have fixed anything. He used to have a tester, electric tester, in the left pocket of his shirt, he never forgot it. And he was a great cook too, at least for us, our family. On his day off he used to cook something different, paneer, chicken, sometimes. He needed some compliment after, not from us, no problem, he can do it himself. Dekha, sahi bana hai na.

Saturday was his day off. Me, my sister, and my parents used to go to the mandi together, Shani Bazaar, kind of a flea market. Jalebi, clothes, toys sometimes. Whatever had happened all week between my parents, only required wordings, cold arguments, nothing more, it always got sorted out on that day. Nobody said sorry. Everything just went back to normal after.

In 10th, I asked him for a phone. He bought me a Samsung keypad, worth 2.5k, when he was earning around 14k only. I lost it within a month, at school. He said nothing. No anger, no speech, nothing. I felt like he will be so angry, I lost a phone he bought me, I was not that kind of kid who understands what 2.5k out of 14k really means, but I knew how hard working he was, I had seen him in the factory.

When I got into college, it changed. Not loud anymore, just cold. I think it was an understanding my parents had, or maybe just him, that I am not a kid anymore, and he might hate himself if he ever hit a young man, or something close to that.

I earn well enough now that money isn't the obstacle anymore. And I keep thinking, if I could find him, I would say, tell me which phone you need, what accessories, I will buy it for you. What he gave me was priceless, and today, even if I had him in front of me, I cannot repay his sacrifice, his hard work, his silence, some of which must have happened because of me.

The day he left us, I was with a friend, discussing something, and I almost tried to call him. Then I realised, he is not here. I still have his bike. I am looking to sell it, but even thinking of not having it from tomorrow makes my chest feel heavy and my throat go dry.

I still have his old pictures. With his friends, with my mom before me, with me, with my sister. Some of them I am not even in.

I have two boys, one is 4.5, one is around 2. They both love their mom a lot, they love me too, but after mom. I know they are just kids, but it's a feeling I cannot fully explain.

Fathers will grow old. They might not be earning money anymore, but they are the foundation of the family, they are the pride of the family. A son can leave home peacefully because the father is at home, he can handle anything. Not for me anymore.

If my kid ever asks me, papa, aapko kya gift chahiye, I would say, love me if you can, before I am gone.

Miss you, papa.