I will miss you Babu ( father)

So a lot had happened.I lost my father on the 13th of August 2017. He had a massive cardiac failure inside our bathroom and we had to break the door of our toilet to get him out. The moment he was taken out of the bathroom and was made to lie down on bed, I knew he was no more. His lips had a blueish-ness, and so did the tips of his fingers. He was all cold. But I wanted the doctor to certify it medically and hence I asked others to help me lift my father inside the ambulance. I went alone with him to the hospital and came alone with him. The world was distraught. Once my father was brought back home, it became difficult to control my mother from sobbing badly. I did everything I could to keep her calm when I was not okay myself. Even I was crying hard, only silently. I badly wanted the tears to show up but it did not. I too wanted to cry aloud like my mother, but nothing happened. Then my father was taken to the morgue and kept there for the night. I could not close my eyelids that night, neither did my mother or my relatives who came all the way from Kolkata and reached here at 2.30 A.m in the morning. Next day my father was clothed in a skin coloured 'Punjabi 'and 'pyjama' and was brought from the morgue to our house and kept in our house for five minutes and then we departed for the burning ceremony. We were the first to arrive in the burning hut that day. I was made to wash my father with water and ghee, then I did the 'pinda daan : and 'mukhe agun' and waited for my father to be taken to the electric 'chulli' and that is exactly when I started crying, badly, loudly. That is when my world slowed down and things started falling apart. In a strange way, I understood that death is so real and true. The burning took one hour fifteen minutes. His ashes were brought to me inside a tin box. When I peeped inside it I saw my father's rib cage. The priest asked me to throw it all in the water and break a pot jar on my right and then not turn back , come what may. I did hear someone call me from behind but I did not look back. I saw my father a few times after the burning. He was still my father and not a spirit. I dreamt about him three times after his death, till now. He had his strange ways of conveying me that his death time was 6.48 P.m. How? Well, a dragonfly remained in our house from the day of my father's death till the day his 'kaj' was done. The dragonfly was distinguishable from the others of its kind, because of its slightly broken wing. So the day after my father's death,this fly suddenly started flying in the room towards the place my father fell. Then it sat on the wall clock. It was 6.48 then. I did not think it this was till I came upstairs and discovered that my hand watch too had stopped at 6.48 pm. I even saw the reaper days before my fathers death. I treated it as a figment of my imagination, a part of my stressed mind. But no, for a reason I know now, that it was the reaper, the real one. This loss is permanent and in the past two weeks I have grown up emotionally. I am not at all grateful to my father for this. But I am grateful to people who had the courtesy to call me. I am not talking about each and everyone who managed to give me a call. I am talking about the few who genuinely meant their words. Some did not call. They are to me people who did not have a proper moral upbringing. Some called once to sympathize and I never asked for it. I am well without it. Some called once but I knew they really cared. Subhayu, Souvik, Priya, Moudi, Moulima, Srijeeta, Sangeeta, Mita, Sunandini. Thank you. I mean it. Some of these names are not even friends, and some fell out of contact for quite sometime, but I will remember you for your kind words. And to those few inhuman morons who laughed at me and my situation openly, two things a) someday you too will face the death of your parent/s. I mean you have to. Isn't? Did you ever think about that? Unless you pass away before that b) Not everyone can manage things boldly and with courage and strength, after such a personal loss. And may God NOT give you that strength. And also I am grateful to all the ' kakus and Kakimas' and relatives who helped us. I am grateful to some of my professors and teachers who helped me because they too faced such a thing in their lives. I won't take the four or five names of those beloved teachers, for a reason, that I can't share. To write this was to re-live the experience. But I have promised myself to say and write it as many times as required, even if that means to dig a knife inside my heart, each time. I won't turn my face from all that I have done. People said, ' you are the son of the house' . I say, I am the only daughter of my father. I am the only daughter who burned him, because rituals wanted me to do that. I am his only daughter taking care of his widow wife and old parents, I am the only daughter managing his bank accounts , legal matters as well as household stuffs, his only daughter doing all that I never thought I will do at such an early stage. As I said, I am not grateful, but I have grown up. There were people who remarked, ' May ta k dekh, baba chole gelo, chokhe jol nai '( she lost her father, but there is no tears in her eyes). I never knew that tears were such a compulsion for a mourning, but I assure you people- I am the only daughter of my father who cried too, only to realize that nobody is going to come back in flesh and body, and that the world is not for losers. Deaths occur, life does not stop. Things change and you learn to smile again. Miss you babu. Keep on showering the blessings because only you know the promises I made to you inside the ambulance.