Happy almost birthday, Appa!

Two years ago, when the thick fog of the pandemic's second wave rose, my house opened up to visitors.

One such night, I had friends from school over. We were celebrating a birthday and were given a drink that was a little too strong for all of us.

When we came back and continued, a person I hadn't seen in forever came over. He had just lost his father and asked me only one thing that I remember from the night. "How do you do it? How does one get over this feeling?".

The next morning, I woke up to blood pouring from my chin and my sister by side. Vasanth said it was time to get a tetanus shot and possibly, a stitch. We went to Kaliappa and got the five massive stitches from a handsome ER doctor who said that if I came back in exactly one week to remove the stitch, he'd be there. I never saw the doctor again.

I have no real understanding of what happened that fated night. I think I can only retrospectively say that the question that the person who came over asked, devastated me to point of physical pain.

It's appa's 58th birthday on April 16. Not a single needle has moved in my jenga of haystack emotions.

The devastation remains.

The silence, the 'are you okays' and the 'he was a nice man until everything went down' conversation remain.

But the surprise over him not having been around for 15 whole years never stops. How does one grapple with that number?

I ask because I think Amma, Anusha and I still don't know what to do.

When April begins, Appa is on all of our minds. Sometimes, the discomfort we feel about the month can be verbalised. Most other times though, we are just plain uncomfortable.

We can't eat well. Sleeping at strange times is common. There is an odd feeling always- steadily growing- until it bursts like the rain on the 16th, drenching our every thought. We cry sometimes, but sometimes we don't. We forget briefly. If we do, we tell ourselves "Oh shit, I forgot to be sad today". Most times, we just exist, talking to each other strangely about it being 'the day'.

Unlike many other families, we haven't gotten to a point of establishing rituals. We don't sing his favourite songs, we don't look at pictures, nor do we launch into monologues singing his praise.

Until the pandemic, Amma made us go to a temple every October 22- the day he died. But I stopped participating. It ruined temples for me.

Two years ago, Anusha, very kindly began making us all congregate for dinner so that we could be sad together. Even though the air is usually gloomy, we have found ways to exist in the discomfort thanks to these dinners. We don't tell each other the things we actually want to say about him. We especially don't tell each other that we miss him because it is likely to break the other. So we sit, fooling around, over ordering and eating- just like he'd like for us to.

This year, I've felt Appa's presence in my wins far more than I ever have. It's probably because I'm seeking these signs. I think I want him around.

For instance, when I was ready to give up in the 19th kilometre of my 21k marathon in January, I heard a fellow runner's phone play Konja Neram Konja Neram from Chandramukhi. Appa used to sing all the nasal bits of Asha Bhosle. It used to have Anusha and me in splits. He was so funny. I continued to run, wiping my tears. It caused such gut wrenching pain. It's the first thing I spoke about after crossing the finish line.

On the morning of my duathlon earlier this month, I was unexpectedly diverted to take the route that would cross his office. There was a shop nearby — Babylou. We used to make fun of the name a lot. I saw a sign that said that they were moving to another location. I wept again a little and continued to pedal. Was it time for me to move on also? Where do I move to?

All this makes me wonder if he is actually around, seeing us exist. Is he excited to see his girls living the life he imagined for us? Should we make carrot cheese sandwiches for his birthday? Must we cut a cake? Is he being able to live his vision of his life so far away from us? Is he.. okay?

I have so many more questions and no answers. What do I do with them? Can I distribute it to you, you and you? I guess I have no choice.

Just like with Sisyphus, one must, with all their might, imagine Appa happy.