Gaurav Parab
‘So how was your visit to Orlando? Stay here or…. visit?’ the old Morrocon cab driver spoke every word deliberately like he felt the need to get it right.I caught him looking at me in the mirror, eyes steady till they met mine.
In the brief moment when I saw him at the start of the trip, as he helped me with my backpack - I noticed he wore brown spectacles and a patched up coat a size too big. As I entered, he switched off the cab radio. That had been the extent of our interaction before eye contact was made. The only sound so far had been the familiar rumble of heavy wheels going over American concrete and the static from the cab company dispatch radio. The car smelt of detergent and coffee, as clean as a hospital - and I could not help but feel guilty of violating it with the old clothes I had worn after getting rid of my suit.
‘How was your visit Sir’
I was looking out of the window when the question was raised, my eyes moist no matter how much handkerchief had been thrown at them, my mind jumbled, the rest of me smelling of after- shave to compensate for the perfume I had no time to find and put on.
Him speaking was not part of the script. The events of the past few minutes had created that type of strange situation when you feel like you are watching someone else’s life in action. A cliched out of body experience. Life had forced me to act how I was supposed to act. Correction. Death was responsible. I was grieving and also observing myself grieve.
Look out of the window. Don’t focus on any particular spot. Chin up, shoulders dropped. And then that slow sigh like it is the only way you can can hold back tears.
His question was clearly practiced. He had waited, like polite old men normally do these woke days till the inevitable clearing of the throat. The children and grandchildren have now taught the elders about subtlety, ‘no poking in the affairs of others' and respecting private space. And the old have understood that the world which is no longer theirs to run now frowns and makes memes of them behaving like kind people who care.
Did I send a signal - an invitation that it was ok to speak? Was it the slight shift in my posture? Or because I had closed my eyes and opened them again - dazed at the city which now repeatedly thanked me like cities do when tourists get closer to the airport.
My response options. Say something wise/ poetry/ sarcasm. I went with sarcasm.
‘My visit? ’ I said, sticking to the screenplay my mind typed out and demanded.
‘It could have been better’.
The tears came down. I looked out with the handkerchief, and realized it was already so wet that it left a trail on my face while clearing one.
‘I was just told that my father passed away back home’ I shrugged, now feeling guilty. Clearly, he knew something was wrong and was trying to help.
I looked out of the cab, and now the movement and the world seemed natural again. No voice told me that I am supposed to look out at some great distance. I just looked. A son grieving his dad, without thinking of how he looked while doing it.
I knew I would never visit Orlando again.
***
I apologize for starting the year on this note. Most readers of this blog are at the age when unfortunately they are losing friends and family faster than they are making friends and family. We have crossed the point, when it is near impossible to make new old friends. Some manage to take the loss in their stride, some struggle for a while, and a few are never themselves again. Everyone eventually heals, but no one does completely. Every time you hear time is the greatest healer, it is true but not quite.I just want to share my experience of that cab driver and how it helped me deal with the first few days and subsequently the rest of my life. I also have my own selfish reasons for this post. Writing is catharsis for me regarding my Dad’s passing away. I am the most human version of myself when I write.
***
The cab driver sighed and his eyes withdrew from the mirror and looked straight ahead. And I could not help but believe the closed confines of this pleasant smelling cab has seen more confessions than a confessional.‘Where are you from?’ he asked.
***
The previous evening in Orlando, on what was his final morning (in India) I was looking out of my hotel room at the golf course. And I had made a promise to myself that soon I will book a slot for my Dad at such a fancy golf course. He had played at many courses in India, but none in the US. Golf was his great love and he saw, measured and lived life in the context of the sport. When we would be on the road and he would see large farms, he would say ‘Four golf courses can be built here’. No wonder the farmers are in trouble
Or when someone would buy an expensive thing, he would say - That should have been spent on a King Cobra ( A golf driver, not the freaking snake thank God.)
Book a day for Dad on a golf course. That’s the fastest I have ever broken a promise.
‘Will we reach the airport on time?’
‘Don’t worry son’
Book a day for Dad on a golf course. That’s the fastest I have ever broken a promise.
***
‘Where are you from?’ he asked.‘Will we reach the airport on time?’
‘Don’t worry son’
I let it pass.
Good old fauj. They have their way with words.
‘Ok’
I remember looking around at the event going in full flow. And then walking towards my colleague.
I nodded.
‘Rich or poor, cab driver or passenger, the King of Morocco or whoever - everyone has to one day face the death of his father. It is as definite an event as having a father. Everyone’s father dies. If you have children, the best you can hope for is you do not outlive your child.’
That last bit about the child was a line straight out of my then unpublished book. I had written it without knowing what it meant.
He had my attention. Encouraged, he continued. ‘My father died too when I was away. I was here’, he waved his arms. ‘Driving someone to Disneyland with him back home. At least you get back home to meet him...to see him. Can you imagine? Disneyland… every time i have to go there on a ride...there is great sorrow behind my smile and I look at my phone with fear.’
I don’t know how, but I had found my voice.
I had to rush to my room, where a colleague helped me pack and said she will get the rest of my luggage with her so I can save time through security and customs. Another woke up people in India to get me tickets. They even offered to get tickets in place for my sister who is flying from New Jersey. All I did was splash a lot of aftershave...for the people on the flight. ’
‘Good son. You are now thinking of something else. You are showing gratitude to your company and to your colleagues. Sure this trip could have been better. Should have been better. But there is no outrunning death is it. It happens to everyone. To everyone’s father. You are not unique in this tragic experience’
I nodded. That was the key. As harsh as it sounds, the understanding that what I was going through was not unique was liberating.
‘....and there is the answer to how a man... should deal with something of this type. Think of others. Gratitude and concern.’ he said. ‘The death of a father is not unique, but the response to it can be unique if you worry about the others who were close to him’
We had reached the airport and I knew what I had to do.
Our obvious understanding of death is that it takes away so much from us. But as you look back days, months and years later - you know it also gives you a lot. Primary is the realization that time with someone is not always kind and is always limited. The whole thing about the clock being round and the minute and hour hands resetting every time the earth goes around is flawed. Time is linear. It runs out. You need to forget a lot of unnecessary things and burn it across your mind.
Second, no point spending time in self pity when you lose someone. Like my cab driver said, there is nothing unique about a father dying. It is tragic, but it happens to everyone. In my case it was my Baba, but for others it could be someone else. Spend some time preparing those you will leave behind, and make sure they are financially and emotionally sorted. ( My father had left minute details on what to do with everything he had, where he had kept important documents along with a Will)
Pro Tip: On tragic occasions, helps to get busy looking after others that are affected by the loss. It sounds selfless and noble, but it is a selfish thing as it makes you too busy to grieve. Grief is a vulture, a very patient bird. It will hover over you for the rest of your life. There is plenty of time and many opportunities will present themselves over the years as you will miss someone so much that it physically hurts- but in the immediate aftermath - when you feel weak, helpless and like your heart has been pummeled by a King Cobra Driver - you plan and you execute all that you can to make life easier for those dear to the departed.
And finally, the last lesson in it was you got to live your life. This should not just be a freaking Instagram poster you read. It should be the driving force behind your life.
If you have not already done so, get busy doing things you love. Birth and death are lotteries. What happens in between is what you made of the winnings or bad fortune. My father, especially in the last couple of decades of his life started having a ball of a time till his last day here on this transit planet. He truly lived large. He was busy playing a game of golf, possibly around the time I was planning to make an international golf trip happen. He came home. Walked our dog Joko, ate Chicken nuggets and his favorite Kaju Katri and went out with a massive - a massive heart attack for he knew no other way. Go big or go home. Now that was not only a life to aspire to, but also not a bad way to go. I guess there is momentary pain, but for someone like him who was always miserable when in hospital rooms and a pain for everyone else - it was a perfect ending to a life well lived.
Do yourself a favor. Speak to your cab driver whenever you can. Those chaps have it all figured out.
***
It must have been 3 or 4 in the morning in India. I just knew. I just knew before she said it. ‘Gaurav come home...Baba is not feeling….’ the hesitant voice. Then an Army friend of my father took the phone. ‘Gaurav there is no other way to say this. Your father has passed away and you need to come home’Good old fauj. They have their way with words.
‘Ok’
I remember looking around at the event going in full flow. And then walking towards my colleague.
***
‘Can I tell you something son’ he said.I nodded.
‘Rich or poor, cab driver or passenger, the King of Morocco or whoever - everyone has to one day face the death of his father. It is as definite an event as having a father. Everyone’s father dies. If you have children, the best you can hope for is you do not outlive your child.’
That last bit about the child was a line straight out of my then unpublished book. I had written it without knowing what it meant.
He had my attention. Encouraged, he continued. ‘My father died too when I was away. I was here’, he waved his arms. ‘Driving someone to Disneyland with him back home. At least you get back home to meet him...to see him. Can you imagine? Disneyland… every time i have to go there on a ride...there is great sorrow behind my smile and I look at my phone with fear.’
I don’t know how, but I had found my voice.
I had to rush to my room, where a colleague helped me pack and said she will get the rest of my luggage with her so I can save time through security and customs. Another woke up people in India to get me tickets. They even offered to get tickets in place for my sister who is flying from New Jersey. All I did was splash a lot of aftershave...for the people on the flight. ’
‘Good son. You are now thinking of something else. You are showing gratitude to your company and to your colleagues. Sure this trip could have been better. Should have been better. But there is no outrunning death is it. It happens to everyone. To everyone’s father. You are not unique in this tragic experience’
I nodded. That was the key. As harsh as it sounds, the understanding that what I was going through was not unique was liberating.
‘....and there is the answer to how a man... should deal with something of this type. Think of others. Gratitude and concern.’ he said. ‘The death of a father is not unique, but the response to it can be unique if you worry about the others who were close to him’
We had reached the airport and I knew what I had to do.
***
Our obvious understanding of death is that it takes away so much from us. But as you look back days, months and years later - you know it also gives you a lot. Primary is the realization that time with someone is not always kind and is always limited. The whole thing about the clock being round and the minute and hour hands resetting every time the earth goes around is flawed. Time is linear. It runs out. You need to forget a lot of unnecessary things and burn it across your mind.
Second, no point spending time in self pity when you lose someone. Like my cab driver said, there is nothing unique about a father dying. It is tragic, but it happens to everyone. In my case it was my Baba, but for others it could be someone else. Spend some time preparing those you will leave behind, and make sure they are financially and emotionally sorted. ( My father had left minute details on what to do with everything he had, where he had kept important documents along with a Will)
Pro Tip: On tragic occasions, helps to get busy looking after others that are affected by the loss. It sounds selfless and noble, but it is a selfish thing as it makes you too busy to grieve. Grief is a vulture, a very patient bird. It will hover over you for the rest of your life. There is plenty of time and many opportunities will present themselves over the years as you will miss someone so much that it physically hurts- but in the immediate aftermath - when you feel weak, helpless and like your heart has been pummeled by a King Cobra Driver - you plan and you execute all that you can to make life easier for those dear to the departed.
And finally, the last lesson in it was you got to live your life. This should not just be a freaking Instagram poster you read. It should be the driving force behind your life.
If you have not already done so, get busy doing things you love. Birth and death are lotteries. What happens in between is what you made of the winnings or bad fortune. My father, especially in the last couple of decades of his life started having a ball of a time till his last day here on this transit planet. He truly lived large. He was busy playing a game of golf, possibly around the time I was planning to make an international golf trip happen. He came home. Walked our dog Joko, ate Chicken nuggets and his favorite Kaju Katri and went out with a massive - a massive heart attack for he knew no other way. Go big or go home. Now that was not only a life to aspire to, but also not a bad way to go. I guess there is momentary pain, but for someone like him who was always miserable when in hospital rooms and a pain for everyone else - it was a perfect ending to a life well lived.
***
Do yourself a favor. Speak to your cab driver whenever you can. Those chaps have it all figured out.
***
#thatwriterfromindia #gauravparab
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