The man who influenced me the most

Here. This is the man who influenced me the most.

A man of letters who loved to read everyday.
A man who made it a point to celebrate every occasion at home.
A man who loved his wife so much.
A man who made sure that his children had the education they desired.
A man who sent his children to music classes.
A man who put his reputation at risk for his family.
A man who turned poor for the love of his firstborn.
A man who sat silently in a police station for the happiness of his daughter.
A man who paid every bit he owed not by begging, but by selling everything he had.
A man who loved to travel, but stayed put for he had to feed his family.
A man who took the lead in computerizing the organization he worked for.
A man who secretly wrote and read poetry.
A man who romanced, loved and cared always.

My hero. My ideal. My father.

O. M. Mathews (09.09.1948 - 31.12.2013)

The man who was silent

He was always there. For everything, for everyone. No one felt his presence, because he was there, everywhere, for every need and reason. He turned a deaf ear to his own needs, so he could be available for those of others. A man of all seasons. A man who joked, laughed, smiled, wept, sat by, hugged, begged, loved and lived. No one noticed him because he was always there.

Then one day, suddenly, he stopped being there. Everyone who were used to his presence soon felt him- that he was absent, that he was not there by their side, that he was no more. He made his presence felt, with his absence. But while he could have, he didn't care to make himself prominent.

This truly is what a man can be. To be remembered is what one can achieve the most with one's life. He did it. Through silence. Through suffering. Through smiles that covered up tears. Through laughter that overshadowed sorrows. A man for others. My father- O M Mathews. 'MY' father.

O M Mathews
09.09.1948 - 31.12.2013

When he went away, I was left alone, standing on a cliff in the middle of an ocean of unknown faces. I felt the fall, but didn't care. The shock that crawled into my bones remained till the ocean waves screeched into my ears. Soaked in salty moisture on the cheeks I headed towards the shore, to see if he was still there, waiting with the usual warm hug and smile.

I couldn't see him. He wasn't there on the shore. There were only a few faces with no souls behind. Walking shadows. All of us, walking shadows. Soon we realized that the persons that we were, were not completely ours. Something was missing from our beings. Something was missing now. As for me, the fact that he is not there has not sunk into my understanding. My father, cannot not be. He should 'be'. There is no alternative.

Then I saw him. He was motionless. The radiance of his face had faded, but not the power of that smile that hid sorrows behind. The smile was kept behind a glass cage and it would never fade. Symbolism has to tell us that he cannot not be. And that, that being is not similar to my being now. So far, his presence was present, but from now on, his presence will be his absence. How strange! Life has to play all these scenes to me!

Later when that smile was taken down under the earth and I too threw a handful of frankincense and sand down into his grave. I found another fact- that the self that I have is not mine as I thought. I am a part of him. The way I speak, walk, react, think, live... Everything. My tears told me again and again that he is still here. And I realized that this is how he could still BE. Through me. I am him now.

I pray that I can embody what he was, so that he never dies. May god bless his soul.