The Man Who Held My Hand

I have no idea how to start this one, to be honest. I think I restarted this blog at least thrice and still I have no clue how to go on so, I’ll just ramble.

My nanu was one of the first people to hold me when I was born. He was my first teacher, friend, philosopher and guide. When I was 2, he used to drop me off at preschool but god, I was stubborn. I just wouldn’t leave his hand, no matter what. So, he used to sit with me in the play area and hold my hand until I stopped bawling my eyes out. Then he would encourage me to go inside, he used to tell me I was a brave little girl, a Sherni and reminded me he was right outside. And he would actually sit there for all 3 hours just in case I needed him!

Whenever I lost a competition, he would be the first person to call me to tell me he was proud of me. When I flunked a test, he was right beside me, working with me through my mistakes no matter the time of the day. I can proudly declare that I was the only person he ever missed his night time saas bahu serials for, which if you knew him, you would know were sacred. He taught me to be kind in a very cruel world, to be empathetic, to be patient (although I haven’t learnt that yet), to debate and most importantly, he taught me maths! Seriously, he was my lifesaver throughout high school.

So, it feels really weird that he is no longer just a call away. Sometimes I come across a difficult question and pick my phone to call him before I realise, he won’t pick up. Sometimes I want to discuss a controversial view but he won’t debate it. Sometimes I am really bored and want to play UNO but he won’t play against me and win (I know he peeked at my cards but I can’t prove it). It’s just so difficult to accept this reality that he is no more.

People keep saying “he’s in a better place now” or “he’s always watching over you” and although I understand the sentiment, it really makes me mad! Is there a place better than his family? His friends? His favourite park? His favourite Aarya Samaj Mandir? I don’t want him to watch over me, I just want him here, to watch with me. And it just kills me that he isn’t.

Death in our society is, I feel, a very taboo topic. I get it, it feels really uncomfortable to talk about someone who’s not there anymore but, we should. I mean, a person only dies when we forget him.  right? There are days where I wish it wouldn’t hurt so much but then I realise, pain stems from love. So, controversial opinion, but I have started feeling grateful for the pain because it reminds me how much I love him and how much more he loved me.

He firmly believed in God. But I just keep asking myself over and over, why would God take him away from me? Was he really needed there, over his family? I am not sure what I believe in now, but I trust science. And the law of conservation of energy says that energy can neither be created nor destroyed which means his spirit, his soul is still here. I can feel it, in the soft sunlight (early morning not the painful afternoon sun😒) in my house, in my math book (he is always gonna haunt those🙄) and whenever I eat his favourite food. It should make me feel better, but it just doesn’t. Maybe I will with time, maybe I won’t (now I sound like a grandma🤦‍♀️).

I don’t know how to end this one. It’s the first blog he won’t read and comment. But I like to imagine that up there, he has his laptop (seriously that thing was like his child) and he is reading it while sipping a cuppa and sharing it with all the friends he has undoubtedly made already (imagine an extrovert x 10). I think I will end this one with a line from one of the only English songs I forced him to listen to-

 

“It's been a long day without you, my friend
And I'll tell you all about it when I see you again”

Love you beyond the moon and the stars, Nanu🫶🏼