Man in my Life

Ethel da Costa writes this very touching article after the recent passing of her father

submitted by the author to TGF on November 11, 2002

Dearest Papa,

There is a bite in the air. I’ve been reaching for my lip balm too often, so winter must be setting in. We had a long power cut again last night. And then to add to the misery, our neighbours had left the water sump dry, so we had to go without water.

I lit a candle for you again and then stood on the balcony to trace out my star.

The bats were flitting around the dark sky for food. A memory sailed into the consciousness. I remember how you used to complain they were eating up the fruits in your garden. Leaves have covered the ground like a warm blanket now. They are still, listless, lifeless. Sometimes I imagine a crunch of hurried feet over them and I turn back. It’s probably only a rustle of breeze playing with my thoughts. But the bats are having a field night.

How’s work you ask? Touching Cloud Nine and taking my blood pressure up with it. Kicked myself into gear, filled my pen with new ink, my telephone has been ringing incessantly, I launched a new magazine with my team recently, and then partied a little.

You always told me that life goes on. We have to fulfill the responsibilities entrusted to us -- I know you’re nodding your head in agreement and frowning too.

 I am always too restless, you said often, doing too many things together, wanting to be everywhere at the same time and not taking care of myself. Some habits are hard to break, I agree, even as I pick up the phone now and half expect you to scold me. My mother’s lilting voice on the other end of the line fills my being. She laces her scolding with concern and a little sadness. She has taken your place.

But I’m your girl. And tough girls learn to survive in tough situations.

Oh, nothing has changed much since the last time I spoke to you. The girls have done some more drawings to send to you. The government hiccups and limps by with their promises. Some empty, some with good intentions.

 All the fountains in Panjim are working fine. Oh, they have water too, while our buckets have been running dry continuously. Ridiculous, isn’t it? The prices of fish skyrocket during the day and hit bottom during the night. I miss mom’s fish curry, like you do too, but food and deadlines have always vied for my attention (I can almost feel your frown again now).

As I write this late into the night, I hear voices in the bylanes which have suddenly woken up with activity. Diwali is almost upon us. But this time the bombs will not disturb your precious sleep. Nor will the violent sound of firecrackers.

For once you will be in peace, even as they keep me awake with fond memories, and an ache in my heart.

Yes, I know you weren’t one of those who made plans for the future. Life is meant to be lived everyday, and with complete honesty, you confided in me one of those quiet nights during Christmas. We were always alike, too much for Mom’s comfort sometimes, but you must know that I doted on you. Silently. Sometimes unabashedly. You were my role model. You were my strength. My own hero who showed me how to triumph over life’s potholes through your own examples. You set those examples right. And you set them straight, without compromise. Without bending over backwards. Without licking ass, or dirt. I am proud that I learnt them from you.

Oh, I’m sure you always knew that I loved the ground you walked upon. Despite my frowning, despite my complaints, despite my tantrums, despite my bouts of weakness. Despite my shopping expeditions too, yeah. You thought me how to forgive, but never to forget. And you let me hold your hand and walk, when I should have been shouldering the burden of my faux pas. I learnt through you that it was ok to make mistakes. But above all, it was ok to learn from those mistakes, and forge ahead with renewed enthusiasm.

I’m not too late in telling you that you will always be the man in my life. Yes, I told you that before you bid me farewell. I fought those tears because I wanted to look brave. Like the son you always told me I was for you. Thank you for teaching me to love quietly. But in strength. To think like a man and feel like a woman. Above all, thank you for teaching me to be myself, and not to walk in somebody else’s shoes.

It will take this lifetime to find someone who can replace you in my life. I think you know that too. Until we meet again.

Yours,

Boo


Ethel da Costa
November 11, 2002
 

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