Today's Beautiful Gem: `Musings on Father's
Day'
My mind is a winding river and memories flood it to-day; I think
of
another river that reached the sea of eternity. There are other
rivers too.
My father, I vaguely remember those distant days when I climbed
your
knees; I distinctly remember the nights when I urged you to sing
songs
for me. Only when I grew up, it dawned upon me that you were
indeed
an awful singer! But in my childhood, `Dangu Dingu ramAmaNi'
mesmerised me. I still remember the day when you jumped into the
pond
and swam across it to retrieve some article. You appeared to me
then,
and even now, like an aquatic god.
What a trying childhood you must have had with no father figure
to
look up to as your father passed way when you were just a
toddler!
You never lost hope. I am still enchanted by the stories you used
to
narrate about the days of your childhood and your growing up. You
taught me the value of work. I still remember your maxim: `Never
waste time, money and water!' You told us quite often that you
wished
to become a doctor; but nobody was willing to support you then.
Unwittingly, you became one of the cogs of the Empire. I still
recollect the story about how you all set fire to the foreign
cloth
when Mahatma Gandhi came to address your townspeople.
What you could not obtain, a university education, you made it
sure
I got. But alas, you were not alive to see the ultimate fruits of
it.
To me, you were always a tower of strength, resolution and
independence. You were a real man who never displayed emotions in
public. Whenever I used to open my eyes during my frequent
childhood
illnesses, day or night, you were always there by my side
reciting
prayers and chants.
Of course, we argued endlessly on all matters and I used to take
great
pleasure in making you angry. I know there are no second chances
in
life. But, if I were to have one such opportunity, I might
definitely
try to understand and appreciate your points of view.
To-day, I have my own children. On one hand, on Father's Day they
would present me with a book or a tape of Bach or Vivaldi. On the
other hand, they consider me as a critical and an eccentric fogey
who
could never understand their values and view points. I always
tell
them as you, my father, used to tell me: `May your children
return the
favour you show me!' But it's the undercurrent Love that binds us
all.
Today, besides the razor you used, I am left with only fond
memories
of you. Nobody is really dead as long as there are people to
remember.
Therefore, my father, you are still alive and I love you still!
Om s'aantih: Peace! - J. K. Mohana Rao
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