Memories are funny things. I remember today two score plus years ago. I just gave birth to a girl. I knew we were going to be friends. In a world then that felt so desolate and friendless, I felt the pull of a promise. I was losing consciousness and my Indian doctor was screaming into my ears to stay conscious. I was in despair, and her voice was receding but a word struck, ‘daughter’. It pushed me back. I struggled against the waves re-energized. I sensed she was going to be pissed if she learned I just gave in like that, so from a distance, I hurried back with apologies.
I remember my first contact to connect with my dad after he passed. It was kind of funny thing too. The message which I received that I was not to forget to be on the train. It was for me a very strange instruction. ‘You should be at the train station, board the train’. My anxiety not to miss the train, my excitement that I was going to meet my dad. That he would be waiting. I had so many questions I wanted to ask him. Most of all I wanted to let him know I missed his passing even if I had prepared for it a whole year ahead, It was not the thing, to go over to your dad and tell him he was going to depart soon. To feel the pain of his passing. One year of living in a daze trying to accept your best friend had left, and then the excitement of the impending reunion. You were aware that he had departed and you were going to see him in his new quarters.
I remember my curiosity as I watched the train move from the terminus and the faces of some of the passengers. Some of them were visitors like me, some of them were leaving permanently and were not so sure of where they were to drop from the train.
TO BE CONTINUED
