Remembering my father’s friend

I was four years old when my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. The faintest memories I have of my kinder garden included sneak-peak of my mother crying in the room, occasionally being shipped to my aunt’s place during the middle of school-weeks, tv channel being changed every time the word cancer is uttered by some grim doctor, my cousins hushing to me that she might die and I having no idea what that meant. Among these vague montage of gloomy scenes, I also remember the first time my parents took me to visit Sridhar uncle.

Now my father is a naive, charming simpleton who most people cannot resist. He had a huge group of homies back in his day and somehow trailed me and my mother along to make a functioning social circle. Though most attempts failed, I remember this one particular time because it was different. He was way younger than my father. He didn’t have the stench of being weighed down by everyday monotonies like my fathers colleagues. His house had a lot of cool things, a shelf full of books, a toy car, a swing chair and the coolest of all was a sailor cap in the coat hanger. He saw me eying it and put it on my head. They were talking about my mother, doctors , scans and surgery. That day when we returned home my father said Sridhar uncle promised he will take us to swimming pool next week and tucked me in.

The following was a weekend full of firsts, my first visit to pool, my first taste of restaurant food which was not a variety of dosa.

He become a regular feature for all the big moments from then on. It started when his kind wife ( who shares my mothers name :) ) announced herself to my house with a box full of makeup and rented costume for my fancy dress competition which I blew up , running phlegm all through my make-up. Through the years they watched me grow from an eager kid trying hard to grab their attention at every visit, to an awkward teenager not willing to open up.

When my grandfather passed away my mother rushed me to his place early morning. As I was entering the house I saw Sridhar uncle standing outside making phone calls with a leather purse under his arms. He told me to go inside and stand next to my father. I did.

When I finished my school and was about to join college, he slipped a cover and asked me to open a bank account. I still hold that money in a fixed deposit. With him I never asked questions, I never second-guessed, I just trusted.

Few years back I went through an incident which was very traumatic. I was deeply distressed and was spiralling down to a bad place. He drove to my work with my father one day, picked me up and we visited a psychiatrist. I was diagnosed with PTSD and was put on meds for months. In a particularly low moment, I was afraid to step out of my room and just wanted to just stay in bed for days. My mother had called Sridhar uncle one evening and told me he was on his way. Admist a lot of shame, tears and fear I let him inside my room. He asked about the new poster I had put on my wall. He spoke about his daughter baking cupcakes. Some people have strange ways to announce that they are going to stay.

He checked up on me often, brought his family home on the weekends. On those days I picked myself up, sat next to my father and him as a mute spectator of their many rantings about everything under the sun. They occasionally turned to my side and recalled an amusing story I used to spin as a child. This phase of healing as I remember it, was insanely humbling, mortifying , full of tiny blessings all at once.

The last I saw of him was when my grandmother passed way. It was the same house. Sridhar uncle was standing outside when I reached there. Only this time I had the leather purse. He told me to go inside and stand next to my father. I did.

Few months before my father got a call that he passed away. It took us a while to process the grief. Now there is this overwhelming sense of gratitude. His presence assured to me that family not necessarily means relatives, but rather the people who come through in good times and bad times. It inspired me to make honest friendships stripping down the weight of all the external identities we carry. We all miss him dearly. I wish for all selfish reasons he was there to approve the guy I fall in love with. I wish his daughter got to have her wonderful father during her turbulent years. I wish his wife didn’t have to suffer the void of losing him. More so I also wish my father had many more years to spend with his friend, though this uncanny friendship made no sense to me.

I understand what Harry went through when he lost Sirius, thats what it is, to lose a godfather.