Tuesday, June 17, 2014

Words... And words are all we have...

Papa knew something was amiss.  She was overly enthusiastic. Her lips smiled, but her eyes seldom complemented that expression.
Of all his children she was the stubborn one. The proud  one who would never let off her guard. 
His first born.  His lucky mascot.  The day she was born, he got his first promotion at work.  Every year his pay raises and promotions would typically come around her birthday. It could just be that time of the year she was born that coincided with his Bank’s pay revision cycle. But to him, she was his lucky mascot. 
Every birthday of hers they went shopping and brought gold jewelry for their little angel’s big day .   She was not particularly enthused with her birthday gifts. But they knew it was their investment for her future. 
The day he bought his first house she came of age.   
On her engagement day he had a heart attack. 

The hospitalization, the tests, the angiogram happened like a well-oiled machine. At the hospital the  Doctors had apparently see worse cases day in and day out.  They prescribed a series of medicines and regular tests and assured everything would be normal. 

Instinctively she knew this was a premonition for a disaster looming round the corner. Soon she was told to silence her instincts and move on with life.  

Father and daughter got themselves immersed with the wedding arrangements. For him it had to be a wedding like none other.  He wanted to spare nothing if it would bring happiness to his daughter.

The man she chose to marry was her choice. When the two men in her life met for the first time, Papa grilled him with his questions, like he was an Al-Qaeda suspect.  Later he did his surreptious checks on the boy’s character, verified his payslips and educational qualifications just to be sure that his darling daughter was secure in someone else's hands and she was not being  hood winked.          
Years later, they would laugh at the questions he asked  and the demeanor he exhibited on that day of interrogation.

After the wedding, she made sure she would not cry when he came to see her off at the airport. She knew he would ‘nt cry, but his heart was weak. Just a trigger from her was enough to break him down. She ensured Mama  was carrying the Sorbitol, the emergency first-aid  pill for heart attack.

Two days after the wedding, when she had gone away, came the Tsunami.  The real Tsunami. The tectonic  plates  moved, the ocean roared and spouted itself all over the Indian Ocean.

At the Marina Beach, Papa  saw it firsthand. He was out on his morning walk. 
By afternoon, when the Television channels blared the news about  Tsunami, people grappled coming to terms with that strange word spelt  with a Silent T. 
Till then nobody knew what a Tsunami was like.
For those who were affected and those who saw it first hand , it left them shell shocked.
She was shell shocked…

‘Tsunami’ was not the only strange new word she would learn soon after her wedding.   She learnt there were many things, creations, situations, circumstances , experiences , orientations and  perspectives for which words were not yet coined. 
When words don’t exist in a vocabulary, how do you even express them?
If you perceive something, experience it and feel it , can that be called real ?
If it is real why weren’t there words to express  them.  Who coins words?
Do the animals, birds, marginalized and minorities have words which they use to express and communicate. 
Before the Tsunami struck did people who haven’t seen one in their geography or experienced it in their generation or heard from their previous generation even know what a Tsunami was like ?
At least ‘Tsunami’  was a word that existed in vocabulary. Apparently the Japanese had experienced it often. If she had been well aware of worldly matters  she would have known what a Tsunami with that strange  silent ‘T’ was like.

They say the Tsunami had come without a warning.  She never believed it. 
They would speak on the phone every day.  Over  the next few months, it became every alternate day. Then it became the weekly routine. Later phone calls were restricted to birthdays, festivals, anniversaries and once in a while events that happened on either side of the continent. 

They both knew something was amiss.  He was at loss of words.  Silence hung over heavier than words.  But ISD phone calls were expensive and meant for words .  There was no point drooling over silence. 
He knew her  voice, her words, her expressions very well.  Every time she came over the phone, her voice was unnecessarily nasal and her enthusiasm was unwarranted.  The voice and the enthusiasm did not complement each other.

When two connected souls speak, words are unnecessary to validate them.
Both of them knew it.   Yet...
Both of them believed they did not know it.
Both of them knew the other person knew it... yet
Both of them believed the other person did not know it.

Months,  became years and years became a decade.
She came back with heavy bags.  Heavy bags hanging under her eyes.
There was no mistaking it this time. 
And yet Papa could not bring himself to ask her if there was something amiss.
And yet she could not tell him there was something he was not seeing through.
Years later …It just happened one sudden day. 
Without a trigger,
Without  any warning.
They were surfing their respective laptops. 
She was watching the Tsunami videos over you tube.
'Strange' she said, 'it took me a decade to google up and find out how it was to be around the Marina Beach when the Tsunami came' ? 
'You weren’t  around.  I experienced it first hand', he said without taking his eyes off his laptop. 

He was watching the movie ‘gaslights’ on you Tube.  'Strange he said, took me these many years to figure out what this word ‘gas lighting’ meant'.      
'You weren’t  around. I experienced it first hand', she said.

Both of them knew they were around in spirit and soul with each other.  They did not need words to experience what the other must have felt like.

When two connected souls speak, words are unnecessary and insufficient.          

Dedicated to all fathers on the eve of Father’s day.

P.S : This post is purely a work of fiction. Any resemblance to a character, place or incident is entirely

What if you and your dad wake up one fine morning to find out that your souls have been exchanged? How would it be to live your dad’s life for a day or (more interestingly) for him to live yours?

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.
Every weekend, we give out creative writing prompts for bloggers to rekindle the love of writing in all you creative writers. Hope you enjoy our creative writing inspiration for this week. :)

1 comment:

  1. A very sensitive post, Jayanthi on how we feel each other is alien to feelings yet the hearts are close. It touched the heart.


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