Morning Runner- Burning Benches.....on repeat
Let us make amends, we’re not overly good friends, but its not Heaven without you. You can have it all, we’ll see Mountains fall, but it’s not Heaven without you.
It’s the symphony distorting, when were not talking, but its not Heaven, without you.
There’s just something different, With the air about you, The signs, the shapes, the numbers, none of them give me a clue You can have it all
and im not Burning Benches cos the ash would make me choke It was me who always spluttered every time we spoke, you can have it all

Apupa's gone. And ever since that black Valentine's, I've been wondering how to proceed on this blog. I couldn't write about him at all for a while and I couldn't write anything else on this blog without paying him a tribute. So here it is. A tribute of sorts. I've mashed together stories i heard about him, stuff i remember. Feelings distributed themselves evenly among everyone he knew. Good feelings. Warm fuzzy ones. Respectful ones.

Too little, too late.
I wish I'd hugged him more.
I wish I'd sat with him a while or been around more.
But even enough of it all, now i know and believe,
wouldn't've been enough to console me
and make me not 'wish' anymore.

My earliest story about him that i used to tell people with exasperated affection was when we would be far off in a different state and living our important lives and we'd spare a few minutes on the phone for him. His conversation on the phone would be punctuated with millions of questions about things that i thought were silly. My favourite was "Have you remembered to turn off the gas?"
My most recent is him pestering my grandmum to within an inch of her life with the same repeated question said with varying levels of emotion-accusatory, casual inquiry, in-passing, in all seriousness etc. "Are you taking care of Sharu?" usually followed by "Have you fed her?"
When we lived in Bangalore he'd suddenly turn up at home in the morning after we'd left for school or office and my mum was alone at home. Just to check on her under the pretext of having breakfast and then he'd rush back home because all he'd said there was "I'll be back in a bit". Everyone knew of course.

I'm told he was a very soft-spoken man so much so that when ever he raised his voice, even to call out to someone, people thought he was angry. He once gave a speech at a HUGE family gathering, a powerful mic under his nose, and not one person beyond the second row heard a word of it.
He was the only man i knew who literally carried a walking stick. Not once did it touch the floor while he walked. It's like he had it along for the ride.
Once for my mum's birthday he brought home a mini-amusement park.
You knew he was in an affectionate mood when he pinched his bottomlip between his teeth, smiled and patted you on the shoulder.
If he was ever in Charlie's chocolate factory he'd run them outta business. He had the biggest sweet tooth you could never imagine. He'd have dessert before lunch.
He'd blush furiously and giggle or swat at us if we kissed him on the cheek.
He never failed to say 'mind your head' when i walked past the stairs.
Everyday for twenty years he locked the three foot high harmless front gate. Every day.

How can you stay dry while writing an obituary for such a man. I didn't. But i sucked it up. Like I do everytime i leave the house. I feel guilty for wanting this feeling to pass but nevertheless it will. Life goes on after death. It always does.