Estimated reading time: 5 minutes
I Didn’t Just Lose My Dad—I Lost My Anchor
When we received the phone call in mid-May 2023 that my father had a few days to live, it felt like a vicious prank call. I had visited him in India a month ago and again booked my tickets to return in August 2023 to celebrate his birthday.
I called up Dad’s doctor in India and asked her to be honest. “How much time does he have?”
She said, “Maybe three days. We’ll try to keep him alive until you get here.”
My husband and I flew east the next day.
My brother, his wife, and their older daughter were already in India with Dad in the ICU. The doctor had to put Dad on a general ventilator, so she could keep him alive for his children and grandchildren to arrive.
Despite his hallucination, Dad looked at me and smiled. He then handed me his phone and wallet, “I cannot be trusted.”
That was the first time I realized I was losing my anchor. Who was I without Papa?
My anchor
The man who had cooked for me when I was sick and recovering from surgery in 2018. The man who took two months off from his job in North Africa, only so he could be there as I prepared for my board exams. The man who brought me banned books and read them together with me. He taught me to write, become an advocate, speak up for those who didn’t have a voice, travel the world, and fall in love with the ordinariness of everyday life. Dad taught me to prioritize my happiness and do good for others instead of instilling the stereotypical South Asian pressure to become a doctor, lawyer, or engineer. The man who kept me grounded, rooted, and steady in this otherwise crazy world, my anchor, was fleeting.
The dual loss
In losing my dad, I also lost the role he played in my life. He was my safe space, my confidante, my critic, my favorite source of dark humor, my chai buddy, and an inspiration for doing good in the world. He was an engineer by day, a poet by night, and a social activist by day. He was the only male feminist I knew growing up.
People say I am his mini-me. Like him, my mind works fast, I laugh easily, I enjoy movement, speed is my jam, and I have a short fuse. My dad introduced me to the joy of habits and routines. Ever since we lost Mom, he and I would chat over chai on a phone call or a video call daily. Politics, silly relatives, my work, his work, and travels. When we visited each other, Dad and I didn’t talk constantly. He would watch his television, and I would sit next to him, working on my laptop.
As two strong-headed personalities, we also argued plenty. But not even once in a heated moment did I feel insecure about my place in his life or heart. I didn’t have to evaluate or weigh what came out of my mouth because Dad raised me to never be disrespectful to anyone. He also made me feel so secure that I could show up as me with him. That was sacred and a privilege.
In losing Dad, it hit me that I no longer have a place where I can just be 100% my authentic self.
Emotional dimensions
While his presence continues to influence my choices, the contrast between having an anchor and suddenly feeling adrift is disorienting. It’s like being stuck in the middle of the ocean in a boat with no oars. You know you will somehow survive, but you are fully aware of how arduous and lonely the journey will be.
Dad was also a safe space for my husband as well as our nieces. He was there for my brother and sister-in-law in moments of celebration and crisis. He would light up any room he walked into and make anyone laugh. He was kind and generous to his staff and workers everywhere. A terrible singer and the first one to hit the dance floor, he was the life of every party.
Whenever I sign a book contract, win an award, or recreate Mom’s recipes, my heart desires to call Dad and talk about my day. The thud in my heart after 24 months of his death is still deafening. Every time we go through hardship, Dad’s absence feels particularly highlighted. He had this knack of smoothing things over and making one believe that the discomfort was temporary; our resilience was unmatchable. Dad was the poster child of optimism, progressive thinking, and joy.
Lessons from Dad
Though he’s gone, the stability and wisdom Dad gave me still live on. I try to honor him by living the lessons he taught me. Be it with feeling grateful for every breath to meditating at peaceful Buddhist temples, or visiting the cities that he wanted to on his next trip to the United States, I have been exploring ways to feel connected with him.
The journey of coping, healing, and redefining what grounds me has changed since the summer of 2023. I have learned to lean on my husband, a few friends, and cousins, and my inner strength to anchor myself. I have also become more self-reliant. Building a new foundation while still carrying dad’s legacy helps me feel anchored, along with a tattoo on my left arm that says, Papa, in dad’s handwriting. I know he is always with me, looking over. But a part of me knows that he was the roof in our lives, and with him gone, I will always feel a little lost.