She was 35 years old now. Her mother had divorced her father
when she had been barely 6 years old young. She had no recollection of her
father. Just one or two faint, hazy memories. One of the memories was her
father visiting her at school for a brief 5 minutes. Another memory was her
father visiting her at her home when her mom had not been around. She had heard
the doorbell ring. She had opened the door to find her father standing there
with polythene bags full of knick knacks. He hugged her tight, planted kisses
all over her face and handed over the bags full of knick knacks to her. He told
her how much he loved her. And then he left as suddenly as he had arrived,
fearing that her mother may return.
Many years later, she heard about her father's death from
her cousin in school. No one at home discussed it. Her mother did not tell her
about it.
All her life she had attempted to dig information from her
mother, grandmother and her relatives about her father. But they had made
excuses or offered tit-bits of information.
She knew her father was her mother's paternal cousin. That
they had been married at a young age. He had been a brilliant engineer who had
turned into an alcoholic, and had finally died of liver failure. She had also
learnt that he had re-married.
And now at 35 years of age, she was itching to know more about
her father. To connect the dots. To weave together the strands of history, to
understand her own genes, background and childhood.
She wrote to her father's sister, and received a prompt
response. After a few weeks, she flew down to her hometown to meet the sister.
The sister was friendly and showered her with affection, telling her how much
she had missed her. And then she handed over her father's few remaining
belongings to her - some certificates, employment history, and her father's
diaries. Her father had been a prolific writer and had maintained a daily
record of his time.
The diaries were full of her father's expressions of love
for her in addition to his daily recollections. And then she took out the diary
from the last year of his life. He had been diagnosed with liver failure. Each
page in that diary spoke of his pain due to liver failure, his incessant battle
with alcohol, his pleas to Almighty to forgive him and help him. And then the
pages became blank.
It took her a lot of courage and tears to absorb that.
She then visited her father's grave for the first time, and
cried her heart out.
Next she went to meet her father's other siblings. He had a
brother and four sisters. One of the sister's husband told her, 'Your father
wanted to meet you on his dying bed. We tried talking to your mother. She
refused to send you." It broke her heart to learn this.
Later when she confronted her mother with this, her mother
told her, 'I was just trying to protect you from the pain and trauma."
Years later, she enjoys a great bond with her mother. Both
mother and daughter have worked painstakingly hard to develop this bond. They
have gradually learned to communicate - talk and discuss more openly and
freely, accepting each other as they are. To unravel the past, and reinterpret
it. It has been a continuous effort to try be honest and transparent with each
other, to unlearn hiding things from each other and being afraid of each
other's reactions.. The past has been dealt with. It no longer bothers.
