Letters close to my heart

I have vivid memories of my father. I always relate him more to general aspects of his persona than to any specific incidents in life. I lost him quite early in life, probably even before the time when I understood the meaning of death. I do not remember many specific incidents as such. Of the few that I remember only a few stand out. Not because they were special to me but because I feel that things could have been different if we had put in a little effort.

I still remember the day when I saw my father spending an entire evening reading a letter, a letter which was probably not more than 25 lines. In those days we had the inland letter and it was the only way to get connected with people we miss.My father worked a good 700km away from his home town and we saw our family only once a year during the summer vacations. Its more than 17 years since that day and I still remember that evening. Why was he reading the letter again and again. I was 10 or 11 years old, not old enough to understand what was happening and not mature enough to be explained.

A few years later I learned that the letter was from my paternal uncles. Three of them in fact. There was a property dispute going on and that letter was a sort of final agreement/settlement agreed upon by the three. I was a bit older and it was starting to make sense. But I was still not mature enough to be informed about the contents. Being young it gave me a great sense of pride when I was involved in serious family discussions. It made me feel mature, big. Which of course I was not. I was small and was as immature as anyone of that age could have been.

It was even later, long after he had left us that I became mature enough to be told. I always took the effort to make sure that I do not ask uncomfortable questions, thinking it might hurt people. Later I realised, my thinking was all wrong after I understood that by not asking uncomfortable questions I always ended up creating confusion, which more often than not, hurt everyone involved .

Coming back to the letter. One fine day someone realised that I should be informed and out came the secret.

I was surprised, to say the least. The letter informed that my father's share of the property had almost been overlooked when they decided to settle the dispute. Having equal claims to the property, he should have been more demanding. But he was not. My mother and brother recalled days when he used to read the letter again and again, alone in his room and cry. As I said I was surprised. Not by the contents of the letter. But by my father's reaction to it.

He was never a person who cared a damn about money. I always remember him as someone who never hesitated to share his income, even if it came at the cost of his family. He would have felt bad about missing out on his family's share, but I couldn't accept that it was something that would hurt him that much. And it is something that he has passed on to his sons. I don't recollect my brother ever thinking twice in money matters. And it is an attitude that has passed to his sons. And it is that inherited trait that I saw in my brother, my best friend when he supported for my studies, sacrificing his life and career.

But why would he read the letter again and again. That too alone. And not willing to share it even with his family.

Some strange incidents in life make us realise how stupid we were. It was not until I went through a life changing experience myself that I understood the depth of what he must have gone through. For some stupid reason I had to part ways with my cousin who was very close to me. He was like a godfather to me. Never in my life had I ever dreamt that this would happen. Not even a remote chance. I always took him for granted and I never thought of the possibility that things would go sour. He had a very difficult choice to make. I intend to write about it later. He had to choose  And rightly so, he didn't choose me. I know it was the best decision he could have taken. But I am still bitter. Not because he chose his life. But in doing so I lost my brother. Someone whom I used to look up to and always trusted. A loss that cant be explained. One day changed everything. Its days like these that make you loose trust in relationships. He was always there with me and for a stupid reason he chose not to be there for me anymore.

I tried to be bold, angry, confident and unaffected, but deep  inside I knew that I had lost something valuable. I have changed a lot after that. It has made me strong. Very few people mattered more to me in life, and I have learnt to put things in perspective.

Sitting alone I couldn't help but cry at my loss. I lost my cousin, my brother, my role model. But I couldn't let others know that I was weak.

And I slowly realised something about my father. He too must have felt the loss. His brothers. When they choose the little property over their brother. They lost him. And he lost them. Now I know why he cried. I always knew he would never cry for the money. He decided not to reply to the letter. That letter was with him till his death. I found the letter in one of his dairies. And he might have died, probably still regretting the loss.

Now I understand why he chose not to involve us, his sons and wife in it. I was immature. I would never have understood. And it was his loss. His alone and no one would understand. I don't know if anyone understands or even appreciate it now. He couldn't show us his heart. We would never have understood. The fact that we lost money would have blinded us. I understand now. And it is pointless. He is dead.

I could have done more to patch things between them. Could have pushed him more to follow his heart. I know he would have melted, he loved them so much. Now I know its not until u experience something similar that you understand the pain. Death is not the only way to loose loved ones. Its easier to loose loved ones to your own ego.

I am more mature. Mature enough to let my ego take hold of me and not even try to forget and reconcile with my cousin. Maturity obviously comes with other perks.

I long to be immature again one day. I know I will. But I am afraid, afraid that I will be late. Late like my father.

His sons must not inherit that.