The Perfect Man

Today marks one year since we lost you papa. It has been the longest and internally the loneliest year of my life. After losing Ma, I thought nothing else could make me feel worse - the last year was a slow revelation of how much you meant to me. I miss you so much especially now when I realize that you were right about so many things. I miss you even more for I have realized parents are the only ones who will unconditionally love you - they are the only family. 

For all that you taught me, for all that you said and for all that you did for me - Thank you can never be enough. I hope to live up to your ways of life. You will always be my rockstar. I love you immensely. I pray you are doing well wherever you are.

For my wonderful father Mr. Narayan Ramchandra Panicker.

Twinkled eyes and a rush of warmth,

For a man wearing perfection in a perfect form.

I see, I gurgle to call:

A fumbling Pah is all my mouth can form.

Carried everywhere and showered with love,

When asked mockingly: Papa or Mom?

Shameless innocence to blame,

As I ran to hold on tight to the perfect man in his perfect form.

An iota of an action of mine -

Lit up his face, marked an exuberant smile.

Indulgently pampered as his only child,

By the best papa of mine.

Life ran as fast as I did.

Twinkled eyes and a rush of warmth -

For the man wearing perfection in a perfect form?

Wisdom grew with my age, or so I thought?

A confused teenage mind,

Hid behind a scrupulous scrutinizing mind.

Rebellion overpowered the warmth-

For now the man - imperfect in every form.

Time passed by,

Life ran faster than I crawled.

Time taught as it always does,

Wisdom taught family always comes first.

Imperfections exist in every form.

Love rises above all.

For a parent, the child imbibes and engulfs his world.

Slowly the reality emerged above the blur.

For all you taught and all you said,

It rings true,

Loud, louder and loudest.

Surmise shunned, surprise shelved.

I wish I could tell you now,

Papa you were always right.

I dream, I imagine and again yearned to be called.

Pamma – my name with what my ears wish to be adorned.

By the man who wore his imperfections in the most perfect form.