Father and the son.

When I think of my father, I always remember him as a tall towering figure with head held high and a far sighted look. My tiny palm always has been in his mighty hands, whenever he took me for a walk or our usual routines. The grip always tightened or loosened depending on whether we were crossing the road or in a park. The sense of carelessness never left me whenever my hands were secure in his hands. I was usually left with my mind wandering amidst the clouds towards the dusky horizons during such walks.

Ever since I remember, my father’s life hasn’t been an easy one. The monitory loss with the economic downturn left him deeply immersed in the loans which distanced him from most of his close relatives. His stability and strength was tested to the limit when I lost my mother who had been a backbone for both of us. The true strength of a man has been displayed during the testing times it seems. My father was going through just that.

He has been a man of action and a few words. It was rare to find him appreciate my hard work, but when he did, he really meant it. His interaction with the society and its cleanliness spoke for themselves. He was more like a person who just remembered his fundamental duties, but had forgotten his fundamental rights. I read about these in my high school class along with all the other subjects. But, most of my education necessary for my life came more or less from my father.

Today is one such cold December evenings, when my father would search for me when its dinner time again. It’s that time of the evening when it’s close to dark but never fully dark. It’s that time of the day, when the birds start searching their way back towards their nests housed amidst the all inviting lush green trees.

I more or less wilfully offer my hand to hold, even though I am no more a small child and I almost look at him at eye level. The grip on my hand nevertheless, continues to tighten and loosen depending on whether we are crossing a street or in the park. I would however never object to it. We arrive at our usual dinner place and my father orders one plate meal, as usual. It has been the routine that he makes me eat first from the one plate of rice he would order. He never had enough money to order for both of us, I presume. And, what is left from that, he would fill his stomach. Most of his hunger would probably be quenched by listening to my narratives of the day’s happenings in the school.

It was more of a funny balance, I should say. Whenever I ate more as I grew, he would eat less as he grew older, but I was aware of it. The personnel who served the meal also contributed to our survival. He had increased the food quantity that could accumulate in that one plate meal, so that both our tummies were three fourths full, which made the food even tastier even though we had been eating the same food for a long time.

The food arrived and was placed in front of me, as usual. But, before I began, I looked at my father and smiled. I pushed the plate slowly towards the opposite end of the table, where my father was seated looking at me. “It’s my turn now to watch you eat first”, I said, “I have secured a scholarship for my studies and even a part time job at the local store. So you eat first to your heart’s fill and I will finish the rest”. Father began slowly unaccustomed to the unexpected turn of events.

We ate drank warm water and I paid the bill. The manager lowered his glass and smiled at me while handing over the change. I took my father’s hand and we walked. I loosened and tightened the grip as we walked the road. Things came naturally to me. The starlight, the night sky, cool breeze welcomed us. I noticed that he was lost dreaming amidst the stars. Not many words were spoken. We had exchanged our roles easily, looks like. “Happiness is a complimentary ingredient when you live amongst shortcomings, crisis and problems” he said. I nodded in agreement. One more important lesson as the pages turned in the book of my life.



Ashwin
24-05-09, 7.30pm.