Have you ever felt immensely quenched and terribly thirsty at the very same time? Has it ever happened that your food pipe is drenched and yet the tongue and the palate feels unusually arid, somewhat a dead desert?
It was strangely odd a sensation. A vaccuum feeling.
As the seething temperatures scorched his very skin to nothing, I lost my father to ashes, once for all.
How would you feel, if, on a murky afternoon, you walked out of your room to realise, you lived a lie all along, for the last two decades, from the very inception of it?
I had never seen my mother. They said, she died fighting to let me live. The only string that led me to my roots, was my father. A father, whose identity seemed bleaker than the rapidly vanishing horizon against the overcast skies.
"Hi, madame.."
"I'm sorry for you loss. I really am."
"Some things are simply inevitable, I suppose."
"You are his son, aren't you?"
"I've been told so atleast..."
"You have questions, don't you?"
"You are the famous fashion icon Ira Dubey, if I am not mistaken."
"You aren't, my son."
"And how on earth could a life as celebrated as yours cross paths with a commoner life like his?"
"Commoner? He was anything but a commoner. Who do you think your father was?"
"Just a regular guy, who wrote advertisements for a living. Or so, I have been told."
"They called him The Renaissance Man. He was a legend."
"Outlier? Rebel?"
"He wasn't a rebel. He was the revolution."
"I don't understand..."
"Your father brewed storms in his words. Storms that rocked the seas and wrecked the sails. Poetry that turned anthems. Poetry that cut lives open, poetry that healed the charred. For a decade, he wrote and wrote. He just wouldn't stop. And then, one day, he just retired himself. But, the world had only gotten started with him. The day he exiled himself was the day that marked the beginning of a revolution."
"How do you know so much about him?"
"We used to know each other. Once upon a time."
"Estranged lovers?"
"If only definitions could put an end to the hundred thousand questions that feed off you, every single minute!" Her smile was hauntingly calm.
"Did you know my mother?"
"I had met her once."
"What was she like?"
"The sea that could contain the entirety of the storm, within."
"My father, you said, was a revolution."
"That, he was."
"They called him The Renaissance Man. What did she call him?"
"The Madman."
That night left me orphaned. All over again.
It was strangely odd a sensation. A vaccuum feeling.
As the seething temperatures scorched his very skin to nothing, I lost my father to ashes, once for all.
How would you feel, if, on a murky afternoon, you walked out of your room to realise, you lived a lie all along, for the last two decades, from the very inception of it?
I had never seen my mother. They said, she died fighting to let me live. The only string that led me to my roots, was my father. A father, whose identity seemed bleaker than the rapidly vanishing horizon against the overcast skies.
"Hi, madame.."
"I'm sorry for you loss. I really am."
"Some things are simply inevitable, I suppose."
"You are his son, aren't you?"
"I've been told so atleast..."
"You have questions, don't you?"
"You are the famous fashion icon Ira Dubey, if I am not mistaken."
"You aren't, my son."
"And how on earth could a life as celebrated as yours cross paths with a commoner life like his?"
"Commoner? He was anything but a commoner. Who do you think your father was?"
"Just a regular guy, who wrote advertisements for a living. Or so, I have been told."
"They called him The Renaissance Man. He was a legend."
"Outlier? Rebel?"
"He wasn't a rebel. He was the revolution."
"I don't understand..."
"Your father brewed storms in his words. Storms that rocked the seas and wrecked the sails. Poetry that turned anthems. Poetry that cut lives open, poetry that healed the charred. For a decade, he wrote and wrote. He just wouldn't stop. And then, one day, he just retired himself. But, the world had only gotten started with him. The day he exiled himself was the day that marked the beginning of a revolution."
"How do you know so much about him?"
"We used to know each other. Once upon a time."
"Estranged lovers?"
"If only definitions could put an end to the hundred thousand questions that feed off you, every single minute!" Her smile was hauntingly calm.
"Did you know my mother?"
"I had met her once."
"What was she like?"
"The sea that could contain the entirety of the storm, within."
"My father, you said, was a revolution."
"That, he was."
"They called him The Renaissance Man. What did she call him?"
"The Madman."
That night left me orphaned. All over again.
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