Jay Dixit - My Father's Love

 

This is my first time up here, so bear with me. [cheers and applause] So, I'm eating sushi with my girlfriend in the East Village when my father calls and tells me that my grandmother in India is dying. I'd only actually met my grandmother a few times on trips to India, and she was from a completely different world. She was this old Indian woman with a bindi and a sari and she didn't even speak English and I don't speak Hindi. So, the only way we could communicate was through her cooking me delicious Indian food and me eating it and making happy gestures. [audience chuckle]

 

I loved those trips to India because my father would carry me around on his shoulders and I remember thinking how strong he was and how big his hands were compared to mine. And I always felt safe up there because he would take my hand and he would hold it and he wouldn't let go. And maybe that's a happy memory because I was too young then to realize what an [beep sound] my father is [audience reaction] because the man I know today has a terrible temper. And whatever we talk about, he always finds a way to make it about how inadequate I am, which is exactly what happens on this phone call. He tells me my grandmother has cancer and only has a few days to live.

 

He's flying to India the next day and he has an eight-hour layover in Newark. And he says, "You can come and see me at the airport." And I say, "Well, yeah, definitely. I do have to work tomorrow and I don't have any vacation days left. But yeah, I'll just explain the situation. I'll ask for a personal day." He says, "Why do you have to ask? I thought you were the big shot senior editor. When one of my graduate students wants the day off, they take it so long as they get their work done." I'm like, "Well, maybe that's how it works in a physics lab, but that's not how it works at my job." And he says, "Well, then maybe you shouldn't be working there." I'm just like, "Listen, I know you're going through a tough time right now." He goes, "I am not going through a tough time, goddammit." [audience chuckle] I am just like, “Okay, I'm trying to be nice, but if he's going to spin my empathy back in my face.” So, I say, "Got it. Your mother's on her deathbed and it's not a tough time for you. Good to know." So, he hangs up on me. I'm like, "Okay, no way I'm going to the airport now unless he apologizes."

 

But, the next day at work, all I can think about is my father all alone at Newark Airport. So, I swallow my pride and I go and I get there and there he is. And I almost don't recognize him at first because in my mind my father will always be this towering, scary figure. But, for a second, from a distance, I see him as he is. This tired old man with white hair sitting alone in an airport. And he sees me and he stands up and I go to hug him. And he does what he always does, which is he pats me awkwardly on the back. And we walk over to the most solemn restaurant we can find in the airport, which is the Chili's, [audience chuckle] and we order fajitas. And he says, "Your grandmother is on life support. I'm the eldest son. They are waiting for me. Once I'm there, then we will pull the plug." And he starts telling me about the funeral arrangements, the 13 days of mourning, scattering the ashes on the river.

 

And right at that moment, the waitress comes and she's like, "You guys ready for your guiltless fajitas?" [audience chuckle] At check-in time, we walk over to International Departures. And as we're waiting in line, my father's cell phone rings and he starts talking in Hindi. And I hear Hindi-Hindi life support, Hindi-Hindi lung failure, Hindi-Hindi time of death 1:27 AM, New Delhi time. That's 10 minutes ago. And I want to console him, so I take my hand and I put it on his shoulder. But as you can probably guess, my father's not a very touchy-feely guy.

 

And my hand just feels awkward and inappropriate, so I pull it away again. And he finishes his call and he hangs up. And he doesn't even look at me. He just stares straight ahead and he starts crying. And so, I start crying because I'm thinking there must have been a moment years ago when he realized his mother wouldn't be around forever. Just like this moment, looking at my dad's red swollen eyes and realizing he won't always be around for me to be mad at, for me to snap out on the phone, for me to visit at the airport.

 

[scoffs] So, sorry, so he hangs up. Sorry. And I'm good. Okay, sorry. So, he hangs up. So, finally he composes himself and he asks me to dial my brother so we can tell him the news. So, I call my brother, but he doesn't pick up. So, I send him a text message and I say, "Time of death, 1:27 AM," and I don't know what else to say, so I just went with those little sad, frowny face emoticons. [audience laughter] And immediately I regret it. I'm like, "It's one of the sadder moments in my life, and OMG, I'm communicating like a teenage girl." 

 

So, then we dial my mother on speakerphone, but she doesn't know she's on speakerphone. And she picks up and she says, "So, is your father behaving himself?" And so, I say, "Actually, he's right here with me right now, and you're on speakerphone." Then my father speaks up, and he says, "So, Bhauji is no more." And then he tries to continue, but his voice breaks and he can't speak. And so, I take my hand and I put it on his shoulder again, but this time I leave it there. And this time he takes my hand and he holds it, and he doesn't let go. And he says, "It’s not easy, but it is okay, because Jay is here with me." [audience aww] Thanks.