Uppa.

This is without a doubt the most difficult post I have written. But it seems fitting that I restart my almost dead old blog with this. Two years have passed in my life without my uppa in it. To this day, I haven't actually had the will power to sit and write about him, because for me it is still as difficult to talk about him in past sense now, just as it was then. But to write about everything thing else in my life and not about him would be the most selfish thing I could do, because uppa was the person who read my first poem, and said "Aahaa.. nannaytindallo!! you should write more!" Every certificate I've got since then, every compliment I've received and every like I get here for my writing goes back to those seemingly tiny words of encouragement. There are many ways in which I could describe uppa; a protective husband, a devoted son, a pampering grandfather, a selfless philanthropist... but the only way I want to is as a loving, imperfectly perfect father. The year Harry Potter and Order of the Phoenix was released, my sister and I were waiting to get our hands on it. Uppa had gone on his monthly trip to Kasargod. The moment he reached back, I grabbed his bag for my usual scrounging for magazines and snacks. I was disappointed to find none, and on top of that, uppa ordered me to take out all his laundry immediately. I sulkily pulled it all out, and out fell a heavy yellow brick... the new book! BRAND SPANKING FRESH AND NEW!!! and just 2 days after it was released!!! I remember screaming out loud, and immediately getting into a fight with Itha as to who gets to read it first, without so much as a thankyou to uppa (yep, parenting is a thankless job. I realise what uppa and umma have been saying all along) But I also remember the sheer delighted smile on uppa's face that the scene had played out exactly as he had imagined it. Fast forward to a few years later, uppa and I were sitting at our dining table for breakfast. The disease had already taken hold of his brain, and words came with difficulty to him. He was staring at the newspaper, aimlessly turning pages. And then suddenly he pushed the paper towards me and said "Ninte aal..." (your person). I didn't understand what he was saying and kept asking what he meant, and he kept on pushing the paper towards me. I glanced at it, and saw in it an article with Daniel Radcliffe's picture in it. I remember fighting back tears, and the sudden warmth that spread in my heart because of the realization that Alzheimer's could take away uppa's words and his thoughts, but it could never take away the father in him. The same father who would scold us that Harry Potter was just fantasy, and still travel to Mangalore just so he could he get us the new book we were so eagerly waiting for.