I went to my dad’s office one day. I checked my mails on his computer, we photo-copied some stuff, and went to the bank to finish some paperwork. It was a simple day. The memories are forever.
It started with the local train journey. I wondered … this morning murmur, the brisk heat of routine…it must have been so much a part of his life for years. He looked satisfied that we managed to get a good seat in the train. Simple happiness. It was a part of the thing for him; an outsider’s view for me. I sensed he was happy, by me just being there, to share his ride, one day. He talked to me often, telling me mostly world things that happened while I was away. It’s funny sometimes, how the world is always there to fill up your conversations. I had mostly memories, faint ones, here and there. Occasionally his face brightened up by a random recollection. I was not completely ‘myself with my dad’ in the presence of others, but he was just the same. My Popo. When others intruded in our silent world, he sometimes talked to me in whispers, like we were a team. Indeed we were. A team of three. Right from the beginning. Do I even know the beginning? Perhaps he does.
We alighted at the terminus. Dad hurried to get us out before it got crowded. I followed him. Just the way I always have.
He talked a lot to me on the way. I could see the changing world in his eyes. His practicality and acceptance flowed just as easy. Everything seems so uncomplicated if it is just a part of routine. We reached his office. 10 year old memories rushed to me. The place had changed, or maybe my mind had just hazed out the details. My popo’s office. He talked to the lift operator on the way. I went to dad’s room and looked out of the window. People still looked really teeny from there. So that was not just a childhood thrill after all. I saw dad at work. For the first time I knew what it means to see him when he’s not popo. We went to the basement to photo-copy. The place talked to me. She told me she knew my dad. She had seen him around for years. Always the same brisk manner of purpose. Slightly absent minded. She said she felt that my dad was always thinking about something even when he was doing the most mundane of tasks. I wondered if she knew what. The back road that we took to the basement; how many times had my dad crossed it? We left for bank; I was trying to keep pace with him. He was just the same, he would like to say, constant velocity. Again the same fixed purpose in mind. What was it with today? What was it with that place? A hundred thoughts swept across in patterns. What was this that I was feeling? Why did each small action feel so special to me? , And then I realized it: Each moment I had been saying to myself … It is right here…the life of the man who I know so completely …the life he has lived for 20 years…
.…It seemed like I was looking at the other side of the picture. It felt like today completed the mosaic. It has always been like this. Practical. Brisk. Extremely Emotional. Popo.
