A Burger or a Missing Hand
Few days back, I was sitting in a restaurant and a veg-burger was served on my table. I could see it right in front of me and after 10 minutes, it was not there. For 10 minutes, that burger was part of my atmosphere, like air, like sunlight, like space and matter. Now it was missing. It had done its job. It was not a constant in my life.
Soon, I noticed how a man just limped across the gate, and entered in. He had one hand chopped off and carried a baby in his other arm. He was cautious to stay balanced while moving around, before he settled on a table. “Did he miss his hand,” I wondered. How many times in a week, month or year does he think about his missing hand? No clue. May be sometimes. Since the missing hand did not complete its job.
It was NOT 03 December that day, so it was not a World Disability Day. But for some, it is always a disability day. For that man, the absence of hand might have become a constant. For him, every day is a disability day. Same way for last 26 days, every day had been a world disability day for us.
It was evening and a bit cloudy yesterday. While having a walk in a nearby park, we saw the moon playing hide and seek in clouds. We sat on a bench and saw different shapes formed in the clouds. As if a running dog (tail flying and mouth opened), or flying kite (with a long string). Both looked happy, as if doing their job well. The next moment I saw HIM in same clouds, looking at me. No words. Quiet. Still. Expressionless. Like a portrait of his picture clicked without his permission and without his notice. As he was on 22 February 2011 before he breathed last on 23 February. In spite of that, I sensed as if he wanted me to say something, to ask about his health. I wanted to.
I felt like that missing hand of that man (as if the job was incomplete).
26 days. Just as 26 alphabets can be rearranged and used to communicate anything, these 26 days have almost summed up our disability without Him. His eyes were devoid of any emotions. After all, space is always less, everywhere and so probably, he had too many wishes and plans to leave any space for emotions. I was not sure though. As I was looking at him, a plane flew across those shapes. It must be noisy there. Would he be happy for that noise (among Haria (his servant), Roorh Singh (his driver), his phones), or that He was missing his *silence* (Vinish)?
I felt water all over. In my eyes, throat, limbs. My wife asked me what was wrong. “Nothing”, I said.
Probably the dog was still running in clouds. And we walked back home. Me like that dog, and my wife like my wife.
Back home, I entered His room to switch off the room light. My heartbeat paused for a while. He was not there. Only the space. Silence again.
As if He was like that burger (as if he had done his job).
His absence has become a constant in our lives. Like a burger. Like the absence of that missing hand.
PS: For the complete series of memoirs, please see: https://vinishgrg.wordpress.com/memoirs/. Thank you.