It was only last month. My father poured himself a drink and gave it a sniff as if to ensure what was going inside his gut was as good as what was pouring out from his heart.

He rested his back on a chair, put down the glass on the table, and while still holding it with his right hand, he said, “When I look back at my life, I have no regrets. I’ve lived a good life. Interesting even.” He took a sip before he went on, “But, I feel like I’m losing time. I’m growing old and it’s getting foggy up here. There’s so much to recollect, there’s so much to share. I need to get them out before I can no longer remember them at all.”

That evening, I noticed something that I had never done before. Even while it was unspoken of, Buwa and I were both afraid. We had known so little. We had shared so little.

We were not conversing enough, we were not listening enough, and we were not trying enough.

We needed time—to fill each other in about one another’s life. I needed time—to delve into his layered history.

..........

I was 11 years old when I first realised that I don’t really like the idea of my parents aging. At the time, both my parents, now 62,  were approaching their 50s. From where I stood, 50 didn’t seem like a very cool age to be at. I was certain in my heart that as soon as my parents hit the age, they would grow old, frail, and sick.

I was terrified.

But, four years passed by in the blink of an eye. As I turned fifteen, my parents turned fifty. And the fear disappeared right back into the thin year.

Like most teenagers, especially those who grow up in a boarding school, I had already grown apart from and detached to my parents. You see, fear and attachment play an important role in the family dynamics. Only when you are afraid of losing someone do you value their presence. And only when you are attached to someone do you observe how little time you have together. When you feel neither, you just go on to live under the same roof without ever wondering who the other person really is and why they are what they are.

It all came back to me only three years ago. As I was with a friend who was losing her father to a terminal disease, I realised I was losing my parents to indifference. My parents were really growing old—even if gracefully so. And I was losing time—even if gradually so. But what was I doing about it?

It’s never an easy job. Sitting down with your parents and talking to them about their lives. At an age where looking down on the phone is much easier than looking into someone’s eye, typing is much easier than talking, swiping is much easier than listening; it’s a strenuous process. Trying to trace your family’s history. Your own history.

 It takes time, patience, energy and strength (to handle the awe, should it strike you). Who has it all anymore?  Unfortunately, for many of us, our history is only as old as we are. And there is only so much we will ever know about our roots.

...........

But it is not just about the age, or the generation. It’s a general human flaw—the inability to just listen.

Buwa later confessed to me that in the last years of his life, my otherwise uptight and quiet grandfather sought after his children just so that he could talk to them. But the children never had enough time.

In his last years, my grandfather tried to recall as much as he could—knowledge, stories, memories, everything—and share it with his children. It was almost like he was in a hurry, almost like he knew there wouldn’t be enough time to preserve it all.

It was almost as if he knew that his children would not know ‘enough’ about their roots. 

Buwa on the other hand didn’t quite realise that the clock was ticking and the time would not wait for him to come back and listen to his father’s stories. “I didn’t pay enough attention, I didn’t invest enough time. The stories are now gone with him. And nobody will ever know what it was that he wanted to say,” Buwa sunk into the chair with his drink.

We don’t really realise that our parents are wealths of very raw stories that we will never find in history books. What we also don’t realise is that family is the best place to practice listening—not just to get connected to our roots, but to embrace the very act of love.

We may not lose much if we fail to immediately catch up with this fast moving world. We may not lose much if we forget to read that notification on our phone. We may not lose much if we miss out on that round of beers. But, should we fail to stop and look back, should we fail to miss out on our parents’ and their parents’ stories—and we might just be losing a whole lot more than we realise.