To Singapore and Srinivas with love.

Walking the streets of CBD by those towering buildings, cycling along ECP, trekking to Bukit Timah and sipping on beer at the hawker centres, I thought about you for the first time in ages. I lost you when I was 9. Ever since, subconsciously and actively, I hived away whatever few memories I had of you and pushed you out of my thoughts to stave off the pain. I was 9. I had a lot of growing up to do and very little time. I was too young, too poor and too busy playing catch-up to find the time to sit down, gather my thoughts, unpack the compelling circumstances behind your decision and grieve you. I drowned out the volume of your thoughts in India’s noise. Noise of a lower middle-class hustle. Of studying in a system where I felt unwelcome. Of internships which taught me the value of hardwork (the lack of it).
Noise of the locals I rode in Mumbai, buses I took in Bangalore and the rickshaws of NCR. In your absence, I parented myself. I brought myself up to be a competent lawyer, a dependable friend, a kind human being and a happy family man. Wandering around Singapore alone with my thoughts reminded me of your Singapore trip. Somedays, through the corner of my eyes, I could almost see you walking around. A businessman dressed in a crisp suit. Beaming with confidence. And it got me thinking. Maybe one day, not too long ago, you walked the same streets and out the corner of your eye, glanced upon a competent young man in a suit and fantasised. Of your son having found his place in the world. Of having found happiness. And for a moment we reunited, albeit in thought. Miss you, Papa. Wishing you happiness.