My father and I, we had a beautiful relationship. I remember when I was a kid he’d wake me up to go to school he’d walk me to the bus stand. When I was fairly little and almost enjoyed going to school, we’d have about ten minutes of father daughter time before the bus arrived. Mostly, we’d play games or have a thumb fight, but I remember this one day where he found an eyelash on my cheek and told me to wish upon it, and my wish would come true. As a young kid who had everything, I think I told him he could use my wish.

As I got older, I could barely get ready in time to catch the bus. We’d have to sometimes run to catch the bus, while other times he just had to drive me to the school. I’d get scolded about it a lot, but those were the times when I got to know him. I’d put on music and he’s start making fun of the lyrics. If I ever put on a remake of an old Hindi song, he’d sing it in the most beautiful voice ever, and I’d forget the new, hip version in a second.

Even when I reached college, I’d sometimes ask him to pick me up. By this time my taste in music had evolved and I’d put the old original Hindi music of Rafi, Kishore or Jagjit Singh and we’d hum the songs together. He’d sometimes request his favorite ones and I’d almost always oblige.

Some of my favorite memories I have with my father have been in his car. Be it road trips or the times he’d drop me to school or pick me up from college, the times in my dad’s car have always been filled with jokes, laughter and soulful music. But most importantly, the feeling that I’ll always have him with me, as a part of my journey, that he’ll keep me safe and always know the way. Today marks four months of living without that comfort and I miss it so dearly.

Two words, “too close.”

I wonder what they mean. I don’t understand why you’d use them for us, as we stand two feet apart, barely shaking hands, as if our touching would cause them to burn.

Too close? I wonder, on the ride home.

Last we met; I remember our hands intertwined, as we stared into each other’s eyes. You’ve heard my heart beat too loudly; I’ve felt your pulse race as you think of the future.

Too close for what? I ask myself as I try to fall asleep.

We’ve lived through each other’s worst. I have dealt with your demons at two in the night; you’ve kissed mine to sleep at four in the morning. There’s nothing that I wouldn’t do for you.

Is too close an excuse? I think, as I sit in class, drawing a face that faintly resembles yours.

We have pledged our eternal love to each other, at different points in time. We’ve collided when we didn’t even mean to, and have drifted away far too many times. But we always found a way back.

Too close, I think, for weeks on end.

When I finally realize, after all these years, we’re too far to be lovers, but too close to be just friends. 

The thing about grief is it creeps up on you

In the most unexpected moments

It comes in waves,

Each time you think you will withstand the next one,

It takes over you, knocking you out, drowning you

In the sea of memories long gone.

The thing about grief is that it sneaks up on you,

Grips your heart, and almost crushes your soul

While you look at pictures of other people’s parents,

Or hear the faint music of your dad’s favorite ghazal

Or smell the smoke of cigarettes taking over the room

As you wonder if it’s the ones he used to smoke too

The thing about grief is that it just doesn’t end,

It shadows each moment you live,

Reminding you that each breath you take,

Is one that he doesn’t.