A beautiful sailing breeze, warm and strong blows in our faces. A Braminy kite soars in the updraft where the breeze hits the dam, swooping from side to side in wide arcs, then plunges like a stone towards the lake. We had been sighting these beautiful birds, brown wings with dark tips, white heads and throats, ever since the backwaters of Kerala. Now it felt like the spirit of my father had been following our journey and now exulted in showing us where he lived.
Death confirmed at 49 and my family’s life shattered. I choke up. The view stretches forever.
Writing this, three days after visiting Hasanagatta, on the train to
, it is still very hard to record my feelings. My eyes well up and I cannot see the keyboard. I look out the window, so people can’t see me as I try to recover...Wendy hands me half a banana, I take it quickly and look away again. I have to stop repeatedly to blink and rub my eyes clear. Seems strange that I feel so overwhelmed by a loss I had failed to understand so long ago. A father that I last knew when I was Ieft in the care of an aunt in Delhi in 1949. I don’t remember feeling this strongly back then. My aunt came to the school to tell me of his death and I felt bewildered when told. “Have a cup of tea,” she said, “it always helps” And it did. I think I may have been more happy for the week I was given off school, than sad at my loss. Now I break up easily and have to struggle repeatedly to pull myself together. England