I think that the one who cannot comprehend death cannot comprehend life. I have so many stories to tell from my mixed bag India trip. First and foremost I lost my most valuable treasure – my source of encouragement and my critique. My guide – he always told me that there is no place in the world for the mediocre. I wonder if it will ever be the same again without him. Even now as I type I can hear him in my mind – telling me, “of course it will be the same – you cannot stop excelling. You don’t have a choice but to look up.”

That was my Dad – an honest representative of the Indian middle class, who goes to every extent to make sure his kids are fed, educated and happy. He puts kids before himself for most of his life, only to realize that he will not have much time left to himself to enjoy this life. He was sixty-four, but not old. I remember when people actually asked my Dad if he uses silver hair color, just to look older, because his enthusiasm always mislead them about his age.

The Bhagwad Gita says that we cry because we are selfish. He who is gone is definitely in a better and more peaceful place. It is us who have to deal with the void – and hence we cry out of fear. It is a strange void if you ask me . It cannot be filled with people or even with time. This void will keep his memories and his beliefs. I will try to write my way out of this void. But I won’t be able to close it – I know. And I don’t want to either. After all he is my father. And there can be only one such man in your life. 

Lots to write.. But his memories are blinding my vision. More later.