This is an anomaly for me, if you know me. I neither like, nor understand sports. Or their TRPs, for that matter.
And to be fair, I have only watched two thus far and perhaps that's my cap. I watched '83 yesterday and I'm watching MS Dhoni today.
The timeline hits the 2hr mark, the one where Netflix starts asking if you're still watching?! Duh, yeah. But if I'm being honest, I'm half occupied with the progression of the story, half obsessively investigating where else I've seen the supporting actors. IMDb, now an abandoned wasteland, is no help in returning the half of my attention that the background actor has taken hostage. Feeling dejected after losing my battle with focus, I retreat to checking Whatsapp mindlessly out of habit. No real notifications force me to proceed to the status updates section and I begin scrolling through stories of my contacts... When the swell of my generally silent families' updates remind me that today is my Ajja's (grandpa's) birthday.
Late* Ajja's.
*Corrective adjective used because the updates have gone from "HBD, may you have a wonderful year" to "Missing dear one on his birthday".
Understandably so.
Yet...
I don't miss him today.
Not because I'm a rebel - "You're supposed to miss him today?! I refuse to, out of principle."
Not because he mattered so little to me that I barely remember, let alone miss him.
I just don't miss him today because it is.. or used to be his birthday.
Because I don't have any quintessential memories of him around this day that make it so painful to get through. Like a birthday ritual he had to tick off or a schedule we'd all experience for his sake. Perhaps he did have these and I never experienced it because I lived two states away and wasn't around during his birthday season. Some permutation & combination of these random factoids is leading to the conclusion that I don't miss him today.
Perhaps I feel guilty that I don't miss him today and rationalizing this self-induced guilt is my way of curbing it?
"Should I? Is something wrong with me?"
To me, this is akin to the chicken-egg conundrum. What came first, the guilt or the expectations?
Anywho, this is not to say I don't miss him ever. I just don't happen to miss him during this anniversary construct.
Now that I've said I do, I feel compelled to list out all the moments, just to prove that I'm worthy of grieving (She has to earn everything, this woman, even basic emotions!).
He exists in the mundane for me. Perhaps because he was so instrumental and present during my formative years.
I miss him when I am at an Asian supermarket buying fish to fry, because they're the only ones that carry anchovies and King fish, the ones we shared a joint love for. Also because I would have never had to step foot into a mart or any market for as long as he was here. I miss him when someone (ma or pa) gets me fish too, by sheer association.
I miss him when it's peak summer in India and time for mangoes and jamuns to arrive. I miss him when I am eating said mangoes because he would procure them, then photograph me eating them..all messy and covered in pulp.
I miss him when I see jamuns because it takes me back to all the times in his veranda, playing house or cards with him, served with a side of salted jamuns and rasna. The memory of those moments locked permanently as a sepia filter frame, as it sits right at the cusp of summer-to-monsoon transition.
I miss him whenever I see the gates of our beloved Matruchaya, because I remember all the times he'd wait ardently for our arrival or where he'd bid us adieu.
I miss him during Diwali, because he made the festival feel much brighter than it already is. Jet-setting early morning to pillage boxes of curated firecrackers and dabbas of fish to fry. The joy on his face when he saw the same reflected on ours made it worthwhile for him.
I miss him whenever I see a Kinetic scooter or would. His batmobile. Our trusted vaahan for all pick-ups, drop-offs, last minute grocery hauls and shopping requests.
I miss him whenever I see a penny. When he passed and I needed something, some cue to just feel his presence, I convinced myself that finding a penny meant he was watching over. The jar of chance pennies that I've found curbside over the past decade sits atop my shelf with the sentimental value of an Urn.
I miss him as I recite Asatoma Sadgamaya every day, something he taught me how to chant one night when I just wouldn't fall asleep. As I lay wide awake, in the embrace between Mauma and him, he narrated it to me as an anecdote to all scary, nightmare thoughts.
I miss him when someone/anyone talks of sports passionately, physical or even mental. Especially, his three Cs - cards, carrom, and cricket. My penchant for strategy is perhaps, hereditary, from seeing his mentalist tendencies come to life during the game of Cot-Vakkay (Ok, that's four Cs now). Or that one finger nail he'd grow to the size of a french bean so he could challenge his neighbors to a "friendly" carrom match.
How he refused to get up from his easy chair during a cricket match. Sorry, correction, any cricket match. I feel like the TV played some form of tournament at all times, every season. I didn't get it, I mean I get the main world cup event watch party but I don't get people wanting to watch the hundreds of intermediate matches all the clubs and teams play. World cup, ranji trophy, dilip cup, t20, ODI, and now IPL.
And he'd watch them all...gah.
On the screen, Dhoni wins India the '05 Pakistan ODI tour after a series of setbacks and rises to Man Of The Match. It's a biopic, but my heart swells at the win. I guess you could say I miss him today too.
