For my father, who in words unspoken, continues to inspire me with his smile and his perseverance. The one man who never gives up on me. I love you papa.
In the symphonies of loss,
I have found my father time and again.
Once, as a young man carrying his child.
Once, as a weeping man caressing his liquor like an old
lover.
Once, as a photographer nearing his death on a water tank
Because the eye of the camera showed him more of the world
than the eyes of the wary watchman.
In these symphonies,
I have found my father time and again.
He often said, “let your mind and your heart play see-saw to
achieve a perfect balance”
Because his heart always won and that is one fight which
always hurts when you win it.
He told me stories of Romeo and Juliet in the same breath as
the existential pains of Bertolt Brecht and the vagaries of war.
Maybe in love and war, he saw mind and heart playing
see-saw.
Just as he did, between court room disasters for custody
And a child who hung herself from his tie, refusing to let
go, because he was Tarzan.
And he always told her, the forest never lies. Believe in
it. Live it. Find your Tarzan within you.
In these symphonies,
I have found my father time and again.
A young bearded man, best known for playing madman in his
father’s play
He now walks, slowly, very slowly, holding on carefully to
the walking stick
The only madness afflicting him being not a show
But a de-anchoring of his feet and a trembling of his hands
From years of sifting happy stories from those of loss.
Maybe it is just old age. And maybe, it is just life playing
examinations.
If I could watch him once more, laughing and chasing me down
the garden of hibiscus, jasmine and guavas
I would perhaps not look for him in these symphonies of
loss. Time and again.
As you become older, you become more aware.
Of parents becoming grey haired children, of their frailty.
Frail, fragile, innocent. Somehow that order doesn’t seem
right. Doesn’t seem fair.
I find myself wondering if I’ll see him lift his arms up
again, for my sky jumps
And he’d catch me before gravity got the better of me.
It feels like another lifetime, does it not?
To find your father in those images because the movies played
it out for you
To find your father in symphonies set in the piano keys of a
jazz festival your father never cared for or heard of.
Let me tell you the story of his life. In monosyllables.
Brilliant. Loving. Estranged. Trampled. Cornered.
Resilient. Brave. Actor. Victorious. Silent.
Silent. Silent. Silent.
In the symphonies of loss. Silent.
I cannot find him in the silence that time bears upon him.
Can you find yours? Tell me if you do.
We could entwine our fingers around that memory of our first
heroes.
