No one else can fit.

To lose someone you love is to alter your life forever

The pain stops, there are new people, but the gap never closes

This hole in your heart is the shape of the one you lost

No one else can fit it.

Jeanette Winterson

This is one my favourite picture with my father. It was taken in Ankara in 1968. I was 16 and all dressed up in mama's turquoise blue sari. The picture was shot just before a cocktail at home. I can feel the warmth and magic of that precious moment 46 years after the event and 21 years after he left me. He died on November 29th 1992.

However much I tried, I have never been able to fill the huge gap he left in my heart and soul. Papa, or Tatu as I called him was more than a father to me. I guess it sounds cliched but he was my friend philosopher and guide. But more than that he was my 'copain' French for pal, my brother on the two festivals dedicated to brothers and sisters and was the one person I ran to whenever I was hurting be it the small scratch on my knee, or the big fight with my life partner. Often he did not even have to say anything. Words were not necessary between us. I think the most poignant example of all was when Ma died and I looked at him expecting him to break down. He just opened his arms and hugged me tight. I truly felt the loss of my mother the day he died. He had filled the space she left gaping with his love.

Tatu and I were partners in 'crime. We both loved food and shared many meals a deux be it in fancy Parisian restaurants or at the pakora stall of INA market. His way of making up for his mercurial temper that always resulted in a mercurial slamming of the door by yours truly was to whip up a delicious treat and sheepishly knock at my door. All was forgiven as the first morsel entered my mouth. Today the tempestuous child does not bang any doors as no one will knock at it plate in hand.

That I miss him is obvious. I miss him every day and more so when I am in a dilemma or facing a problem. Today when I am fighting the biggest battle of my life, I long for his arms and his healing touch. When I was too old, or rather he was too old to have me sit on his knee, I use to sit on the floor beside him and place my head on his lap and in an instant all problems were solved. I miss the early morning cup of tea we shared when the whole house was still asleep. That was our time and we made and remade the world to our hearts' content. Maybe this is why I still wake up early and creep down the stairs to the very place where his favourite armchair was kept and maybe that is why I remodelled the house to enclose that space and make it mine.

I so long for his warm embrace, for his wise counsel, for his soothing coos that made every hurt vanish and every cloud pass. Each time I have to take a decision regarding Ranjan, I send a silent prayer seeking his guidance and I feel his presence each and every time. I do not want anyone to fit the hole he left. It keeps him alive in my heart.

I miss you Tatu.