It was 9:38 PM.
It was pitch black at Autocamp Yosemite as we walked away from the lit lobby, its fireplace still going, towards the central pond where people were collecting for guided stargazing. We could barely see anything but the night was alive. I could hear the screech of an owl, could be a news anchor from a past life; and the bullfrogs croaking at the top of their lungs, probably smoking one and dealing cards amongst themselves. The wind in the trees was rushing faster than the Bay Area traffic. There was no light pollution, none of the city glow standing between us and the sky. Then there were the children running around and somewhere behind me, a campfire was still sending up its smoke.
A small crowd had gathered around the telescope for the guided viewing, and I was listening to the guide have his conversations. It was interesting how some people were more interested in other stars than the ones right in front of them. Some people were not even amused by what they saw in the telescope. To each his own, I suppose.
“Hey there! Let me grab this for you.”
The guide had spotted our little four-year-old hurricane. He brought out a ladder for her to stand on, and she climbed it like she climbs everything. He asked her what color stars she could see. She hesitated. Then, softly came, “lellow”.
He pointed. Asked if she could see the blue one too.
She nodded.
Then came my turn. Electricity running through my body. I pressed my eye to the telescope and I felt like an astronomer. I spotted both stars, the yellow and the blue, and I beamed with pride, as if I had hung them there myself.
Papa.
I learnt back in 5th grade that light takes time to travel.
So what we see in the big open sky is not the sky, it is a picture frame from long ago. The light I saw at 9:38 PM left Albireo about four hundred years back. It has been traveling all this while. And we don’t even know what has happened to that binary star right now. We just keep receiving its light.
I think you know where I’m going with this.
The guide said, Albireo is two stars that revolve around each other. At first glance, you only see the yellow one, the bright one, the one everyone points at. Later, you realize the blue one is also there. Quieter. Merging like it’s becoming one with the vast dark cosmos. And without the blue one, the yellow one probably would not exist.
It felt like yin and yang to me.
It felt like you.
Papa, you don’t know her yet, but your grand-daughter is a tiny hurricane. You would call her “My Queen Saanvi.” I know that for a fact.
That afternoon, lying on the hammock, she and I had made up a song. It’s called “All About Myself,” and it goes exactly the way you think it does:
“It’s all about myself, it’s all about me… my galaxy is Milky Way, my favorite planet Saturn and it has 1 ring ..”
“No! more”, I said.
“No! one!”, she argues like someone I know.
And I know what you’re saying right now, that’s my granddaughter. You would do her little dance and you would sing her song loud and proud… because that’s so you. The memories of you and your little dance flood my mind. In my room, the day you gave me my first laptop, you loved gadgets, and you loved giving me one even more. You were so happy, so proud. I had my dancey moment, and you joined in with that cheeky smile. The twister step.
Was that an 80s thing or a 70s thing?
I wish you could hold her.
Later that night, I found Venus with my naked eye.
I checked it on the app before saying a word about it, you know how I am, I don’t share anything with her that I haven’t verified first. Somebody has to protect the facts in this family. But… I kept it to myself. Just for a second. Just to admire it alone. I looked for its reflection in the little pond, where the bullfrog was still croaking at the top of his lungs.
So I gave her the frog first. Then all the sounds of the night, one by one. Then Venus.
Then we sang her song to it.
For dinner, we had made Maggi in the iron skillet, outside our Airstream, under the trees. True tandoori maggi, exactly how it is supposed to be. No vegetables, just maggi, extra salt and a little paprika for that smoky flavor. Corn on the cob. Blueberry lemonade. A watermelon we carried from home and cut right there, outside. It was the most natural thing in the world. Your two daughters with their banter, cooking and playing with the little one and enjoying the surroundings, the football match playing on a laptop we placed outside, its small light glowing between the trees.
It was her birthday trip. There was a balloon that said so.
We did not say anything about you.
We were hungry, and the maggi was delicious, and life was happening, that is the truth. But we spoke about you the way we always do now. In bits and pieces. In moments of calm. In the silences.
Then Messi scored, and I could hear your voice ringing in my ear, clear as anything: “Maradona is the best. Messi ki aisi ki taisi.” Haha.
You left us too early, Papa. I can hear the betrayal in my own voice when I say it. Life cheated on us.
What I love about Yosemite is it makes me feel small and my problems smaller. I like to believe the mountains are stars. Being close to one helps me materialize the perspective, no matter how many lightyears away it is from being pragmatically correct. In different lives, there might be different Shivanis.
A Shivani who climbed Half Dome free solo.
A Shivani who never visited Yosemite.
And I wonder which Shivani would be the happiest.
Somewhere out there, I believe, is a Shivani from another life.
A Shivani whose whole family came to Yosemite. Ma, you, my sister, my husband, my daughter. The complete recipe. You are there, refusing to hike, loving the camping, appearing out of nowhere the moment the maggi hits the skillet, “Arre, what are you making? One for me too!”
And then you say how proud of your daughters you are and give that Shivani and Nidhi a big bear hug, one in each of your arms.
That Shivani gets angry at your crazy dad jokes.
This Shivani would do anything to hear one more.
I wish the best for that Shivani, I truly do. Happiness is not one-dimensional and it is not absolute. Life is a recipe, not one ingredient, a little happiness here, a little sadness there. But she probably does not know what she has.
Here is what I keep thinking, Papa.
If light takes its time, then this night is traveling too.
Saanvi on her ladder. The song about herself, sung to Venus. The skillet, the smoke, the balloon. Nidhi’s laughter. The banter between your daughters. The yellow one and the blue one, revolving around each other, holding each other in place.
It’s all on its way to you.
One for you too.
Yours,
Shivani
PS: My letter to Saanvi was at 9:58 PM. Twenty minutes away from yours. I know you are definitely doing the twister step about that.
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