Ignatius Hirudayaraj

 My Father doesn't exist on the Internet.

I google his name expecting to see some rare snippet of lost information about him

As if the ghost of his passed life will somehow emerge

In the memory of someone who was so inspired to enter it into:

a post/ a comment/ a reflection/ a reference...

For me to see

And to know that

His life made a difference to someone somewhere,

Other than me.

My Father doesn't exist on the Internet.

That's because he died in 1987

A few days after my 9th birthday

During the same week when a much-loved and much-loathed political man in our city died too.

So, there was a public mourning,

And much wailing and gnashing of teeth...

For me to ponder

That I knew that the people around me were not mourning for him or anyone like him

But for themselves and the void in them for now so to co-exist with mine.

My Father doesn't exist on the Internet

He's not there for me to look up or follow or stalk

He's not there for me to sound off to about war and regret

And failure, and the shape of clouds.

My Father doesn't exist on the Internet.