Smell. Because you always smell rain first. Petrichor.
Feel it lightly thwacking at my forehead, forearms, balcony railings, pavement.
Hear it set a steady percussive backbeat to our descending flights of stairs
Taste it.
If you smell, you soon thereafter, taste. And everything in India ends up rolling Uber your tastebuds and landing in your lungs.
See it. Through balcony windows at every turn only to stop and cease FULLY as you emerged…as we emerged with you.
I
Can still
Sense
This rain.
And no, Johnny, not for a second, could I stand it. I took it. I had to. But I couldn’t stand it.
#iqmgrateful and #iamthankful that I can close my eyes, or catch a waft of chemistry before rain happens, and let myself be carried all the way back to carrying you. The only time I ever carried you.
In 2004, thanks to the good graces of an old friend Rupan Trikha, I connected with a doctor who was pretty world class at addressing some of the wonkiness in my vision. It was a material enough exercise but I was in my 20s (barely still) and was pretty cavalier about it all.
One person wasn’t cavalier. My Daddy. He made his way into a 45 minute phone consult with my doctor (a truly world renowned expert, like when other doctors around the world, yes doctors around the world have looked at my eye, look at my eye they will say “who did this? Was it Peter Hersh?”). Dr Hersh was wonderful. Daddy was at his best.
Asking questions. Thoroughly researched and thoughtful and respectful and even honoring Dr Hersh while also making sure all the gaps in my knowledge and his were filled.
Firmly.
When I went in for the procedure, Dr Hersh even commented how lucky I was to have a father who cared so much. His own father, Dr Donald, was his mentor and also my contact lens specialist. It was one of those moments branded on my personal timeline. A thread or moments wrapped into one cohesive thought ending with me acknowledging that I was (and am) blessed.
Today, I’m headed back to that office. To fix some more wonkiness. Dr Hersh is no longer practicing … and my Daddy is no longer able to call in. He left this planet three years ago today. (We still say it was to watch that Super Bowl IN PEACE, go !)
I chose today for this procedure for a reason. I’ve got your shirt on, Daddy. And yeah, I really make 75 look great (it helps that I’m only 45; you did it well at 75 itself).
Thanks for seeing me then. Thanks for helping me see then. Thanks for making time like that, when I needed it most. Thanks.
Like I said on November 19th, I won’t speak of you in the past tense. You’re here. And we got this.
#iamgrateful and #iamthankful I was able to get into the office today, of all days. I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
Luv ya.
PS: 2021 has been a great year so far. If for no other reason than I actually fit into this shirt now.
I’ve been trying to write this post for 3 weeks. I’ve tried many different hooks and patterns. I’ve tried to be simple. I’ve tried to be poetic. i’ve tried analogies. I’ve tried to be detailed. Yet every time I got about 350 words deep, I’ve leaned my head back away from my laptop, frowned, selected all of the text in the editor, and hit “delete”.
Nothing I can write does my feelings and my appreciation for you, justice. Nothing.
I have no words. There are no words. Language is limiting. As I understand it, there are over 1,000,000 total words in the English language, over 170,000 in current use, and on average, a person uses 30,000 of them.
As I told your Mama when I proposed to her: “even 1,000 poets, writing 1,000 words a day, for 1,000 years can’t capture what moved me to propose to her”.
Now; for the second time in my life, I find myself verbally helpless; trying to find a way to bridge how I feel with the few words available and the even fewer words I know.
I don’t know how to capture what I’m feeling in words; in a way that you will read them at some point in your future and understand the weight of the feeling and the sentiments behind them.
But what I know, is that it won’t be for a lack of trying.
Anaiya. Jaanu. Buhboo.
For all of my worth as a human being: thank you.
There will come a day in your future; maybe a few, where you’ll wonder if you are up to the task. If you can pass some obstacle in front of you. If you can conquer some challenge. If you can go some Seussian places you want to go.
You will wonder. You will pause. You will hesitate. You will question.
And when you do, I want you to read this. And then, I want you to call me. On the phone. Over whatever device is in vogue when that challenge presents itself. And when I’m past my life while you’re still living yours, close your eyes and picture me. Reading this to you.
There is absolutely nothing you can’t do. Because at age 6 and age 3, you took the greatest punch the world has seen in over 100 years. You took something that crippled towns, cities, states, countries. You took a haymaker that brought humankind to its knees. In days. To our collective knees.
You took that. And you brushed it off your shoulder in a way that would make Aaliyah, Jay-Z, Barack Obama proud. You wiped a drop off blood of your lip in a way that would make Bruce Lee, and every Saturday afternoon Kung Fu theater hero (as well as your Dada Fua) proud.
There has been so much discussion about the lockdown the world has experienced post COVID-19. Coronavirus. Corona – why us? There’s been some discussion about how resilient and adaptable human beings are. How if you had told us 3 months ago the way we’d be forced to live now, we’d never have been able to imagine it; and we certainly would have denied it would be possible .But when it happened, we adapted, and here we are.
Yes. Adaptable. Resilient.
But none of us are doing this adaptable thing, this resilient thing, with your grace.And that is precisely where I lose all ability to express myself.
I want to tell you how one night you went to bed, ready for the next day. Your ordinary next day. An Alexa alarm. Breakfast and drop-offs. School and play time. Somewhere between 9 and 10 hours, a super majority of your life, for a super majority of your days each week, you were immersed in a world that we got glimpses of when we opened your backpacks, checked logs and updates from your teachers, hears mentions of when you had the time, energy and interest.
One night you went to bed, ready to do all the things we told you that you had to do. When we dropped you off at daycare. When we celebrated your first day of school Make friends. Play nice. Listen to your teachers. Eat your meals. Be strong when you’re being bullied. Find strength when we aren’t there and when you feel like nobody else is, however fleeting. Do all these things because they are the most important things for you to learn now.
One night you went to bed knowing the next day was going to be filled with all those things.
And when Alexa woke you up that next day, we told you that wasn’t happening anymore. We told you that schedule, that way, wasn’t going to be the way. For a while.
If that had happened to me, I’d have needed a lifetime to plan, and a lifetime to prepare, and a lifetime to adjust; and I’d go through the motions and I’d do what I’m supposed to do.
But I don’t think, ever in my life, that I have operated with your grace. How can someone be so strong, so unwavering, so staunchly making progress, while doing so in a way that seems so effortless, so natural. You see, when I look at you, I don’t remember the way our life was 5 weeks ago. Because when I look at you, and observe you act, and watch you interact — I am only convinced that the way we’re living now is the only and obvious way we have been living all along.
When I look at my calendar. When I talk to people at work. When I read the news. Tonight is Sunday. Week 5 of quarantine. Poised for an even longer and more isolated road ahead. Into a new normal. Never returning to the way life was before. And it can be overwhelming.
When I look at you, though.
It’s Sunday.
What are we doing today, Buhboo?
Thanks for grading our worksheets, Buhboo!
Yay, we get to watch a movie, Buhboo!
I didn’t like my dinner, Buhboo, but I’ll eat it for you, Buhboo!
When I’m with you, it’s Sunday. It’s just Sunday for you.
And you’ve found a way to make it “just Sunday” for me too.
You can’t see your friends. Except, maybe from across the street. You can’t hug your Nana, Nani, Dadi, Tito Foi. Your Mamu is living with us, upstairs, in the guest bedroom and the best you can do is let him know when you’re downstairs so he can step out to get the tray of food we’ve left outside his door.
You can’t go to the park. You can’t go for ice cream. You can’t go to Charlie Brown’s (yeah, by the way, we need to talk about how for most of your childhood your favorite restaurant was a terrible chain restaurant that indicates you share a palate and a thirst for ambience with people born in the 1940s).You can’t go to school. You can’t go to Tae Kwon Do. You can’t go to Dance Class. You can’t go to Bagels 4 U. You can’t go to Genus Boni. You can’t go to Shop Rite and you definitely can’t get the free cheese handouts there and at Whole Foods. You can’t … do … everything that brought you joy.
Yet you’re still, full of joy.
You are. Absolutely full of joy. It is because of you, I wake up with a bounce in my step excited about what we’re going to do today. Because of how you ask your questions, I focus on what we can and will do today; not what we can’t or can no longer.“Buhboo, what’s our plan for tomorrow?”
What an absolutely beautiful question; Warren Berger would adore it. “What is our plan for tomorrow” is more intrinsically hopeful than “What are all the things we can’t do tomorrow that we could have done 5 weeks ago?
”It’s been 5 weeks, and you’re still asking beautiful questions.
You’re making me see the beautiful.
Your laughs fill our house. Your cries do too; but if we were to put them on scales, there would be no contest in terms of which direction we’re tipping.I’m also watching you grow.
Anaiya: Yoga. Dance. Math. Reading. Mentoring. Eating. Breathing. Guiding. Defiance (I mean, you absolutely hate to lose at a level that would make Michael Jordan proud.) Love. The way you clutch my arm, at bedtime, at wakey time, and at so many times in-between, and hold it like it’s the last arm you’ll get to hold and hug on earth. I can’t help but feel that some of that has nothing to do with me, actually; you’re holding my arm so tightly because it’s the one place where all that’s been taken away from you is manifesting. And riding your bike with no training wheels. Yeah, that happened.
Jaanu: Dance. Gibberish. Letters. Tracing. Troubleshooting. Putting away dishes. Cleaning. Defiance (I mean, you absolutely hate being told what to do.) The way you proclaim to every person who’s ready to hear you that they are “the greatest in the history” is tagline and catchphrase I hope you never lose. I can’t help but feel that you’re expressing that as a way of defining a new baseline for history, and helping people find positivity and feel special in this altogether new way of being.
I’m words, sentences, paragraphs in; and as you can see, I’ve written so much, and I’ve said so little that captures how proud I am of you. How honored I am to be your Dad, your Buhboo.1,000 poets. 1,000 words a day. 1,000 years.
Even when, as a family, we experience the most extraordinary of losses, you find a way to bring love, to comfort, to hug and support — videos weren’t designed to have this kind of impact and sincerity. You have managed to make video feel human and intimate.
Consolation is something you give to people. After loss. After disappointment. Right now, as I read what people write and say and share; I feel an excessive amount of consolation. I see a world full of people acknowledging loss and disappointment and sadness; and from that, trying to force a rose to bloom from concrete.
Consolation is what I see and hear in every interaction.
Except the ones I have with you.
With you, it’s “just Sunday”.With you, it’s “what IS our plan?”
With you, it’s not resilience. Or adaptability. Or perseverance.
With you, it’s not about the new normal.
With you, it’s just what’s next. Your ability to make everything that is, seem natural; and to make what’s next, seem possible. Is what makes me, so uncontrollably humbled and so infinitely proud, and so eternally enamored.
Thank you.
So when that hill, or that mountain, or that sea, or that valley, shows up in your way. I want you to call me. On your phone. On your <<unnamed device>>. On your memory.
And I want you to hear me. Loudly. Clearly.
The world handed you the worst the world has handed anyone. And you flicked, brushed, dusted, and resumed. #iamgrateful and #iamthankful for you.
Thank you, my children. Thank you, my kids. Your Mama and I wish the rest of the universe had you to wake up to, you to bring tomorrow’s schedule to, you … to look forward to.
Because then, they’d all be as happy, as proud, as hopeful, as we are.(And just as speechless.)How much do I love you? More than anything.
The post below. Well it says it all. #iamgrateful and #iamthankful for the picture below (one of our few believe it or not) and the stories you told and taught. Mom just tried to tell this story a few weeks ago. You’d have laughed at how miserably she failed. Ha! And loved her even more profusely because of it.
It was great to read this post. I’m working my way back into this format generally and am excited about it. I don’t yet have the passion to do this publicly every day; I may move it to my blog. But for now, again, one of the best things Facebook does is capture a moment in time for you, and then, surprise, inspire and delight you (or emotionally wreck you) at the most unexpected moments. #iamgrateful and #iamthankful for this post and what I learned from it.
Last weekend we celebrated my Mama’s birthday. He turned 60. His heart and spirit has held firm in his early 20’s since I first met him.
On his special day he bought gifts for our kids. Books. A funny flying drone.
And then today he sent over these; gifts for the rest of us. Pictures of our son.
#iamgrateful and #iamthankful for these pics, this boy … and the amazing love my Mamas have always showered me with now extending to the next generation.
Blow has been an understated indulgent flick for me on so many levels. But the scene after George teaches his first class and then tries to catch some zzzz’s. The conversation with Diego. The panning back and forth across the characters during the dialogue. Always stuck with me as a way to tel a story. What I missed … was the story being told. #iamgrateful and #iamthankful for catching it this time tho.
One of the things organized religions do well are setting aside specific days for important and healing moments. Where rituals turn from service to some higher power to interaction courtesy and respect to the highest power IMHO, the people we live and live for.
As we sit in the heart of Yom Kippur, I’m inspired by the day. There is so much to the ritual of Yom Kippur as I understand it (an outsider) that puts me in position to do my own apology: if I’ve done anything to hurt or offend you, I apologize. If I can make it better, let me know and I assuredly will. It’s not just Yom Kippur, as Sanskrit has also taught us and as my Jain family knows too well with Paryushan and DA’s Lakshan. Which goes back to the original point of many faiths, cultures and religions getting something like this right.
FWIW, the apology is as much about the words (many say that’s the easy part but that isn’t true or more people would do it more often; and also, the hardest step is the first, shifting energy from potential to kinetic so I argue that leading with the words often enables momentum against the sincerity of the apology and ultimately, the resolution.)
Yom Kippur is the holiest day for a reason. My favorite part is when people share their apologies in the group; and what happens next sounds magical: the group leans in and shifts the context from the individual apologizing to the group absorbing ownership. From “I did this” and “I apologize” to “we did this” and “we apologize”. Sins, errors, mistakes—are communal. It’s the highest form of one of my favorite guiding principles, civic responsibility and the social contract.
I can’t think of a more beautiful moment inspired by faith, than that. Anywhere. And #iamgrateful and #iamthankful for the nudge, reminder and space.
So if you are apologizing. And I love you (so many of you I do), then as someone who loves you I say the burden is mine too. Share the weight of your known and unknown regrets; because as my Jewish friends have taught me in the past 24 hours, apologies and forgiveness love company in a way more inspiring way than misery.
What’s best about these days of forgiveness? You need not follow this faith or any faith to participate. Which is why I’m participating. You can too.
If you owe an apology. Or if you acknowledge we make mistakes that we never see; embrace the moment. We’re with you. And for those formally embracing the day, may your fast be easy.PS: As a fan of slow jammy 80s covers, I thought sharing this would be WAY better than sharing a Bieber hit:
Look at this pic. My wife. Stunning. My daughter, dressed to an adorably fine pout. This is one of my favorite pictures ever. Because it’s modeled on one of my mom ( Renu Bhatt ) doting on and kissing a 2 year old me. And it fits with the others of my wife holding one or both of our kids. #iamgrateful and #iamthankful for these moments captured. And pleasantly re-shared.
Somewhere between those two lines — a clinging love, an exhausting hell — lives my past 4.5 years of work.
Starting today, I’m no longer between them. Who knows what side I will end up past, but I’m happy to assuredly be no longer between.
“No matter how much we want things to stay the same, life is all about change. Sometimes change is for the better, and sometimes it’s not.”
#iamgrateful and #iamthankful that time is unavoidable, unstoppable, and relentless. Because it also only moves forward. All the things we can’t control move forward. All of the things that move backwards, are a product of our own choices.
Today was a can’t lose, bye hell, hello change kinda day. And I will raise my glass to it.
!)
Suneet Bhatt 