Dear Baba

Dear Baba

I know it's life,
But I refuse to accept its certainty.
Even if I say that it doesn't hurt,
Every once in a while, it happens to scare me.

Today I noticed you frail,
Turning slender, moulting hair.
Those fingers that held my hand firm while practicing cursive alphabet and filling colours in drawings;
"Let the colour not go out of the is line."
I see them losing strength as you struggle to hold a glass of water.
I see those hands shivering, those fingers trembling as it reaches your mouth spilling a drop or two.
I see your pink skin turning pale.
Like the winter that spreads its white cloak over every colour.
I see the colour of old age.
A Whey-faced man, inhaling physical bondage.


Those quick steps that followed my trail while I chased dogs and cats, I see them shredding pace.
"Hey, be careful you'll injure yourself."
They struggle to move.
I see, you prefer ramp to a staircase. I know your knees hurt.
I sense your fear in climbing steps. Like I did as a kid. "Go ahead, I am right here."
But I fail to be most the securing hand.


I watch you lying on the bed,
Being nursed by people and food being fed.
But I haven't seen you like this before.
You were the active human of the house, gathering people around sharing an anecdote, a fairy tale or a war story or two.
"So that's how I managed to escape from ma's scolding that day."

I see you can't sit for long now.
It scares me, leaves me shivering.
I think about it all, my bones end up quivering.

Just pause this time because I know what lies ahead.
Play along, sing and dance with me, just get up from that bed.
Move and set it all in motion again.
Move your weaken arm, place your palm on head, bless me, relieve me of this pain!


Baba, I know you don't talk much these days, but I promise I'll listen to all your stories with the same interest all over again and this time, I'll not fall asleep, I promise.