The Act of being Papa

 

I thought I heard something. Something odd, something metallic, enough to fling open eyes and for a second, try to remember where you were and what time it was. I heard a faint dog bark and then like the low grumbling, the much familiar Taniya’s snore. Her nose was better today, producing a deep bass, ironically soothing enough for a sound sleep. The blue dim light at the corner filled the whole room with such sudden brightness that I could clearly see the hanging scarfs from the wardrobe, and even make out their fresh colours. I searched for my phone, checked the time. 3.10 in the morning. Maybe I heard wrong. Maybe it was my dream, like one of those elaborate dreams where I fight with monstrous aliens while barricading us in our village home. The last man standing. And weirdly, it is Vedantika, who always fights alongside me. The dream needs an upgrade, as there is Oishikaa now. But you hardly have any control over your dreams. 

It was too early to wake up. Our general time is 5.30. I pulled up the sheet over me and turned around to check on Oishikaa. Her eyes were wide open. She was staring at me. 

My heart skipped, almost coming to my mouth. Her eyes were calm yet blank, as if looking beyond me, and her body laid facing me - bareback - knees to the chest, her blanket crumbled near her feet. I looked for any sign of smiles or playfulness on her face, as she always does seeing me, and as if to make any sense out of it. This was midnight, not a time for keeping awake, and definitely not for staring through somebody's soul. 

‘Are you awake’, I gently asked. 

Oishikaa nodded. She blinked. Her stare now was much clearer, less scary, fixated on me. I smiled, like I always smile when she's around. I rested my head on my right arm and touched her face with the back of my hand. With the other free hand, I pulled up her blanket, now at seven years. With both of her hands she pulled my hand away from her face and held it tightly against her chest. The warmest place on earth. I wondered how a tiny heart like hers could generate such a massive amount of love and kindness and warmth. The blankness in her eyes faded away, and she yawned.

I again prodded. ‘Are you alright sweetie? Do you need water? Bathroom maybe!’

She didn't reply immediately, rather she looked fully at me. Her stare this time, was not soul piercing, or fixated at blankness, rather it was soft, and sad. Blue was not a perfect colour to check on tears, but I sensed, and then I knew for sure, that she had tears in her eyes. She was crying. 

I pulled her closer. She let go of my hand and hid her face in my chest. I touched her cheek, it was damp. How long was she crying? 

‘What happened Oishikaa?’ My voice was as softer than her cow soft toy. She gulped, trying to swallow down a balloon of tears. ‘Will you one day be dead Papa? I don't want you to die’. I could feel her shuddering - her emotions and her control to hide them. She was only a child, and she was way too sensitive. This world, and the bareback information she was perceiving through her little two eyes, filtered through her child mind, full of innocence and kindness, were overwhelming. What should I tell her?

Should I tell her the truth? The hardest, coldest and most brutal truth ever! That everything dies. That this moment, and the countless ones created through love, hate, kindness, anger will one day perish. Only these memories will remain, and they will be our golden frames on the wall.

Or, should I let her be a child a little bit more? I could tell her that I would be always with her, with her every step, every decision, with her schools, colleges and jobs, her falling in love, heartbreaks and marriage, with her successes and failures, and whenever she needed me. 

I chose the second one. In a way, both choices were true.

She looked at me. ‘Promise?’

I kissed her head. ‘Pinky promise dear’. I meant it.

I ran my fingers into her hair. It'd be better if she went back to sleep. In the morning, I was sure she'd be okay. Chirpy, bubbly and playful. My Oishikaa.

With time, her shivering stopped, and I could feel the stillness, and her slow breathing. I made her comfortable and tucked her properly with her favourite blanket. 

I kept lying down on the bed for a while. Tossing and turning. The blue dim light was turning hazy. It was a good chance that I was sleepy, or, maybe a balloon of tears burst inside, and now it wanted to flow out. I hid my face in the pillow and quivered.