It’s been seven years since I left my home and as I embark on a journey back, the world starts to feel suffocating again. I came to Delhi to pursue my career as a lawyer and did well with the fact I didn’t have the network or skills needed to be a decent lawyer. The reason I am a lawyer is not a choice of passion or want but the unsuccessful dreams of my father. He wanted to be a big city advocate but was not able to crack the national entrance and was trapped into his local law college. The degree wasn’t of any use but was helpful to ensure a torture for the next generation. As the train arrives and the crowd declares war to get on the train. I casually wait and sit on the edge of the stairs. I wasn’t able to reserve beforehand as the reason to go back didn’t occur until I Received a call an early morning. The call was from my distant cousin who was staying there to help my father with his work to secure some money. The call was to inform that my father had died. As the train streaming through the jungle of concretes and the wind tries to carry me with themself I strengthen my grip to support bar. As I wonder what will happen if I let go I distract my mind towards my memories of my father. He was in not any way a bad father. He provided me and my brother with all we needed to study and survive but I couldn’t remember talking to him in my entire life for more than 3 hours. All I have is a memory of him being involved in his dark and small study room. He wasn’t like this always according to my brother but things began to change as I was born and my mother passed away on the same occasion. He loved my mother and it’s evident from the fact the way he was lost in her black and white picture which he took in their adolescence. “chai…chai..” As I am disturbed by the chanting of his extreme salesmanship, I decide to enjoy a cup but it was so bad I had to throw it away. My father made amazing chai also it was the beginning of our morning . He often lectured us about how should we surpass him as a lawyer and secure a seat in national law University. Two months later, the mornings were not that peaceful and my brother was cursed as a failure to remind him that he was not able to secure a seat or any law college and that I should not fail his expectations. On the third Tuesday of June, he didn’t wake up the reason was consumed rat poison. My father started speaking fewer words after time progressed. He didn’t even budge when he heard about me securing a seat in a top law school.

Soon, I left the town and never came back but I did meet him a few times as he use to visit me in a very uninformed random manner. The train halted in my hometown or to better to say I pulled the chain to stop the train and ran away as the train didn’t stop in this humble settlement. I chose the almost filled auto rickshaw available and reached soon to the front garden of my home as he was lying covered in a white sheet of cloth. Many people encircled me to offer their condolences as I noticed many familiar faces. I chose my way towards the inside of my home rather to entertain all the people available. As I entered inside the house, sounds of my step echoed back to me as apparently, my father had removed many items after I left. I went to my old room and remembered the unhealthy number of hours I had put for a chance to become an advocate. As I was looking around, I was informed that we will leave for the crematorium in a hour and half. As I put my head on the best for ease and peace for a moment and suddenly I was woken up by my relative's voice to hurry up. After some time my father was being loaded up on a pickup truck as I went to have a seat in the car behind. As we were steadily making our way towards the crematorium through the random people paying respects on the street as to respect the final entity. I read somewhere once that life is nothing more than the worship of death and all living things are nothing but an offering. As we reached the crematorium near the riverside we started the procedure for the cremation with systematic and intense steps towards the final bid to my father. Nothing was left except the final procedures and it heavily involved me as the sole son. Till now, I didn’t have to lift a single finger as all the work was being handled by my relatives. As I circumambulate the pyre of woods with Ganga Jal in a clay pot, I keep glancing towards his face and reminiscing the time when I could just ask him to … I don’t know whether he was a good father or not, such a thing doesn’t matter anymore. As I lose my grip on the pot for it to break I am immediately handled a burning torch. As I see on his face of relief as he was finally able to not regret the choices, words, or paths he chose, he was finally able to forgive himself in his last breath as the chanting of the phrase in the crematorium that death is the only truth whether day or night. As I was staring towards the burning pyre, my uncle said to me to stop saying sorry, I didn’t know what he meant but I soon realised that I was subconsciously apologizing again and again during the rituals. My father taught me many things in life and I am grateful for all of it but perhaps if he could have taught me one last thing as how to forgive myself.

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