My old fellow
“If you had a superpower, what would it be?”
In my drunken stupor, I contemplated this question that was thrown at me.
My thoughts were accompanied by the sound of pen scratching paper,
The rustle of a newspaper,
The aroma of fresh, morning coffee,
A voice exclaiming, “You lazy crook! Have you brushed your teeth yet?”
There, in my memories, sat the ancient man
Who filled out my birth certificate,
And taught me the constellations.
The man who received a bravery award and carelessly lost it.
The only man I ever shared chocolate with.
On fine summer afternoons, I took rickety buses after college
To see him tap his hands and hum those complicated Carnatic ragas,
And ask for too much sugar with his tea.
He wakes up from his afternoon naps and hobbles over to sit next to me,
And gives me his priceless, toothy grin.
I wonder, do you remember our morning walks?
The way I jump out of the shadows to scare you,
And how you always threaten me with a sound thrashing?
The way you pat my head when I’m eating,
All your repetitive questions and my insolent answers,
And all those stories from the army you used to tell me?
Do you know the girl that held your hands on your last night,
The girl who played your favorite songs while you slept,
The child who wept when you wouldn’t wake up,
And the voice that continues to bargain and beg, only every other day asking,
Tell me, if I had the superpower to turn back time,
Will you come back to me, Thatha?
