Pritam's Blog
I Should Have Been There In The Photo
I look at the old, fading photograph of my grandpa,
Hanging from the wall.
He is sitting on a huge chair,
His left arm looks a bit odd, unusual,
It’s slightly hanging in the air for no reason,
As if he is holding something.
But there is nothing.
I remember the day this photo was taken.
It was his last day at work
And the photo was taken in his office after the farewell party.
I was there.
I mean I was there in the photo.
It was me, his favourite grandson, that he was holding.
I am not there anymore.
After he died, we looked for a nice photo of him to frame.
We looked in all the old albums.
This photo of my Daa with his grandson seemed to be
The only clear photo we had of him.
So, we gave it to one of those studios,
Asked them to remove me from the photo,
And print it,
So that we could hang it in the wall,
Put a garland around it.
I didn’t like it - Why remove me?
Apparently, you cannot put a garland around the photo of a living person…
But I should have been there in the photo.
Anyway, that’s why his left hand in the photo looks a bit unnatural.
Otherwise, he looks elegant.
I look at him.
I try to imitate his posture but I cannot.
And it makes me feel uncomfortable I do not know why.
I light a cigarette and wonder
If there is any commonality between the two of us.
And it occurs to me that
I light a matchstick just like him.
There are other things that I have inherited from my grandpa -
The skin tone, the obsession with writing,
The stubbornness,
Probably, the absent-mindedness too…
Definitely, the affinity towards Communism.
But I cannot sit like him.
I should have been there in the photo.
I have only good memories of him - that’s kind of unnatural.
He died when I was fifteen.
So, he was there for a long time,
Not long enough though.
And yet, I cannot think of one single reason
To be angry with him.
And that’s not because he is dead.
I have always found it difficult
To be blind to the wrong things
That even people I love do,
Even if that person is me.
That’s why, I think, I am perpetually disturbed,
Struggling to find a balance, to fit in.
So, that I have no ugly memories of my grandpa
Is kind of unsettling.
I think it’s good that he is not alive.
That he died when I was fifteen.
For if he had lived longer,
I probably wouldn’t have had only good memories of him.
But I should have been there in the photo.