I am planning to write a book about my father. This is something i jotted down...
"He lived a life of unfulfilled dreams. Was he just unlucky? Or was it all he could do? Maybe, in life we should just accept that some of us are not meant to scale the heights of greatness. But accepting ones mediocrity is tough. Life then seems so meaningless. Was that what made him what he was? Bitter?
Who was this man? A man who lived an ordinary life and died an ordinary death.
His life began in the hazy backwaters of Bangladesh. We don’t know much of his life, so may just create one for him. But that will biased wont it? Colored by our eyes, and how we saw him much later in life. Who was he as a child? What were his dreams? What did he think when he watched the waves of the Bay of Bengal? Is it ever possible to peak inside the mind of another and dig out their deepest thoughts? Is it even possible to dig out the thoughts we ourselves had years ago? Are not our memories colored by today’s reality?
So yes, we'll just create a life for him. A life we think he should have had. We can listen to people around him as they describe him, but can they ever describe his thoughts? How can we do justice to him? How can we remain true to his memories, when he is not even here to defend them? Do we have the right to just barge into another’s life? Even if he is my own father?
Did he think those waves to be beautiful, and lost in the beauty of the moment, or were his thoughts busy with thoughts as mundane as the next meal.
We will never really know. But why do I want to unravel a life that lies deep within the memories of so very few. Why do I want to disturb the peace that now surrounds his memory?
There are so many life stories that deserve to be told, tales of heroism, tales which makes life more meaningful, so why His life? Is it because he was m father? But I hardly even remember him now. His face is just another photograph, his memories hide behind the mist that is time. So why?
Maybe because he deserves it. Like everyone else, his life has to make some sense. His life too deserves to be vindicated. If only to make us feel that yes all life is sacred.
So don’t question if the words that will follow are true or not. Just think of a man who lived unfulfilled dreams and now deserves a voice, after the stillness of death..."
PS: While coming to work today, i was scanning the faces of the people around me to find a few happy faces. Could find none. Is happiness so scarce? Then suddenly I saw a smiling face...someone who was happy, from inside...It was a woman, talking to her young son....
Lets not infect the world with our unhappiness, lets spread a little cheer...SMILE.. :)
As Good As It Gets?
3 comments:
This is so well written Chhandita. I think it would be especially hard to write biographically about someone, specially if he/she is no longer there to contribute to it.
I always feel that I would understand some of the feelings, hopes, aspirations that our parents felt, when I am a parent myself.
Very well written though - reading this, I feel like I should talk to my parents a lot more, try and understand their perspective and their life before all I'm left with are assumptions.
That was so absolutely beautiful it brought tears to my eyes. Just amazing, powerful writing...thank you.
I do remember bapi telling me the story of his childhood... during the good ol' days of his childhood with his kaka, one day he got a surprise gift from him .... a pony! Kaka bought him a pony tht he wanted ... then abt how he started working as a teacher at the age of 14! this was just after the dark hours of partition when he and his family were forced to leave their beloved home... a home we have never seen and most likely will never see ... in bangladesh...
there were so many stories tht were close to him and i feel blessed tht he shared them with us... he was one of those rare people whose smile was always genuine... sunshine smile...
wud love to write so much but so little space.....
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