To my Late Grandfather.

Akshay Bhurke
Jul 21, 2017 · 3 min read

Pappa,

It just dawned on me that the names I call all the elders in the family are what my parents call them, and since I had totally forgotten Hindi and Marathi, I just went ahead and copied whatever they said, which is why I call you Pappa (Informal way of saying dad), and not Ajoba (Formal way of saying Grandfather).

I’m writing to you today because of a couple of different reasons. I didn’t think I’d ever want to after the things you’ve done and the things I’ve heard, but today, I feel that I should.

I watched a movie called Dunkirk today. I made sure I took time out to watch it because it’s made by my favourite director, Christopher Nolan. It’s about the great evacuation of soldiers from Dunkirk during the Second World War. I had great expectations from the movie, but perhaps I wasn’t ready for what I was going to see. The movie depicted the true, first-person emotional and physical tire that goes into being in war. Scene by scene, they showed how hope is but a luxury in some moments. It was extremely touching, and the emotions ran high.

On my ride back home, I thought of a small specific scene of the movie. It had nothing to do with the story-line itself, rather just to paint a picture of what depths such a situation can pull you to. The scene was simply a shot of the beach, with men onlooking a single man, who was clearly frustrated, walking towards the harsh waters. He arrived and simply dove into the water, while the men looked on. They never showed what happened next.

I remembered that scene, and then I thought of you. You were an Army Captain in your days. You fought valiantly for the country and for our freedom, and I’ve heard stories from not only your son, but also from you about the things you’ve seen, and the things you’ve had to do. Basically, it made me realise just how deep the memories and scars of war truly go.

I don’t know how you were before the war, before those experiences. I don’t know if you were always the way you were, or whether the experiences dug into you little by little. But when you decided to leave this world, even after your own son had left his whole life behind to come take care of you — I couldn’t feel for you. I couldn’t think of a single reason why I should even miss you. That’s the bitter truth.

But maybe today, I’ve gained the slightest bit of perspective. Maybe, I understand a fraction of how you slowly managed to lose your mind. You were always angry, you were always abusive (in more ways than one). Yet somehow you became a warm loving person when it came to me. You named your house after me. You said that me and my parents were the only thing that mattered to you in your final letter.

Why? Why did you push us all away then? When I was a child, I remember begging mum and dad to stay with you and Grandma longer. I can’t remember why, but it must’ve been the love you showed me. The affection and comfort.

I’m not apologizing for not being with you more when I had the chance. I don’t feel bad that you threw tantrums when I chose to play with my cousins rather than spend time with you as I grew up. I’m sorry, but I was a kid. I was selfish and quite frankly, I’d come to an age where being with my grandparents became boring compared to being with my cousins.

I will not forgive you for your actions of the past.

I’m writing to you to say that, I understand. And this might just be me being selfish and wanting to get all these feelings out, but here they are. I’m sorry you had to go through war. It probably changed you, and it was probably permanent.

Rest in peace, Pappa.

)

Akshay Bhurke

Written by

Product designer (Aspiring to be) | Definition of Libra | Foodie | Average student | Electro/DnB | Hardcore sleeper |

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