Friday, February 28, 2020

amar Mesho

Less than a day here before I get the worst kind of phone call.

I want to settle in, look around me, enjoy all the excitement, the newness, but some part of me hasn't reached here yet. I should be home with the rest of them, maybe not being useful but being present at least.

Every time I deal with loss the same way. I spend some time not talking about it, not telling anybody, because if they don't know it, in their worlds at least it hasn't happened. In some world my Mesho is still around.

In this freezing cold I put away my pink jacket. I've owned it for almost twenty years. I brought it because it's warm and it still fits me, unlike my suede jacket which was warmer but which I outgrew. I was 25 kg lighter when my Mashi-Mesho brought the suede jacket for me, thrilled teenaged me, and my Mesho kept complaining loudly about how expensive it had been and how he would need to watch his expenses since my Mashi had insisted on buying it for me. My Mashi rolled her eyes and told me he'd found it, decided it must be bought for me, and had been complaining about it ever since.

He bought me such ridiculously expensive things and made sure I knew he was not the one responsible, oh no. He complained for years because I made him buy me shampoo that was more expensive than anything he'd bought for himself. He offered me single malts to drink when I brought my boyfriends over; critiqued my parenting and told my boys to not let their mother boss them around; scolded me at every opportunity, hovered around the edges of all communication between Mashi and me, and never, not ever, let me forget I was his much-loved niece.

When I was nine he kidnapped my doll and left a ransom note on my grandfather's shelf demanding I get up and exercise if I wanted my doll back. I refused to comply so he refused to return my doll. Stubborn, annoying, always on my case. If I tell you what it was like when I was young, that is safely in the past and I can talk about it as such. If I have to talk about things now, then I have to mind my tenses and I don't think I can yet.

I really want to fight with him again. I want to watch my mother laugh because of some absurd thing he said or did. I want to see my father jealously note how Subir gets 'better' treatment from their shashuri. This loss is making a child of me. I don't want to hear rubbish about cremation and shraddha and mourning. I just want him back.

2 comments:

ichatteralot said...

Hang in there - all moves are difficult and now this. Hope all is okay given the COVID19 crisis - stay safe

Sue said...

Chatty - I missed your comment earlier. Thank you, that's very kind <3