While in pain during the rain; or when at gain and if everything is in vain; where I’m sane in house full of insane …why is that only one face floats in front of my eyes when I shut them with fear, sorrow or joy? Perhaps I have undermined the importance all this time and now as my age climbs, I realise the worth. While he’s the money and even every penny of it, his complexion or competence both is hardly relevant for me.
I’ve never come to imagine to this day that I could write more on my father than any other child of my generation and acquaintance. Since childhood I was always a step more closer and open with my father. My mother helped him foster that connection through regular grammar teachings to me. She used to force him teach me grammar and on that pretext make me share all the things that went on in school and life. To be frank, I was a little scared of my father while in school. He was always more generous than mother but hard to melt.
I promise my father to live up to this happiness and smile of him forever and never back down and keep his spirits and love held up always.
He always told me the things that I didn’t like as a child will be the same ones I will love to do. And he was always right. My father was surprisingly always right at each step of my life. I don’t want to make this a school essay on my father of a grade 5 student. My father became my friend indeed as I grew up. Being a girl, it was surprising that I could share more openly with my dad than my mom. Because he never judged me. He always used to tease me that he loved my sister more than me. But that was really never the case which I realised only when i saw his tears when my family dropped me at the hostel for the first time away from home.
Not only I inherited his facial and bodily features, I did inherit his tastes and hobbies too. Recently he hit on ancient Ghazals which I thought too old to be exciting for me. But as his saying is always true for me, after a few days I saw myself elucidating the meaning of a Ghazal and sharing with him as we both enjoyed the ghazal a night before my marriage when everyone else was asleep at 12 am. While making rotis in the kitchen, a silent smile slips my lips as each line reminds me the exact expression worn by his face while enjoying that ghazal. Or a de-stress walk in evening, a die-hard habit of his which I inherited by his pure grace, lines from that ghazal play in my ears and soft humming of the flute wells up my eyes with sweet memories of him.
My passion for tea came from my father, grandfather and grandmother. I don’t have that many cups of tea while at in laws now, as I used to have at home with my father. Teasing and forcing my mom for putting the kettle on, a thing she dreads only outside.. the reluctance of hers and cherished company of my dad making the tea a prized thing of the day. Even my excitement for newly bought Earl Grey died down as I don’t have anyone to enjoy my cup of tea with. Nor do I have now the Kalpesh’s tea stall, which has been our go to place for random discussions and respite. I have come to realise that it was my father from whom humility could reside in me.
Be it watching James Bond movies like a crazed fan or watching standard BBC News or Reels, everything went to him and with him. Recently he’d been telling me that he now doesn’t feel like watching much of James Bond movies.. probably because I am not there to enjoy with him the nuances and the quality of dry English Banter and the standard issue language. Always in wait for my new blog posts, he’s an avid reader. His excellent knowledge and deep interest in History and Geography also couldn’t fail to reach me as I saw myself grabbing Russian Revolution books and Mein Kampf, asking him each piece of history only to awe his extraordinary memory and passion. To me it seems like he imbibes good vibes and foul mood from my one whispering ‘Hello’ over the phone. Even if he’d been working double shifts at office when I was an infant, he sure has spent many sleepless nights due to me, worrying or missing me.
The age old houses in the city and birds chirping in the morning remind me of my hometown and grandparents a lot. My father used to narrate me the stories each of the house around the block held, while on a evening or night walk. The old architecture of houses no longer allures me here because I don’t have my father to tell the stories they hold. My grandfather was a very active person. His devotional songs and routine activities deep rooted inside me bring his memories floating to me through my father. Hometowns, the people and stories ,memories call me back fiercely but the painful realisation that I will no more see my grandfather wets my eyes. Each passing day now yells in my ears how much rich my life my grandparents and parents have made.
I hope to pass down the same richness of soul that they possessed and the same passion for culture, art and music may live long in their souls forever and years to come. I hope to serve my parents and grandma at par my ability and without being impractical or too emotional at any stage. Amen!