The Father Figure

Most of us can hardly recall the sweetest moments of our childhood days. To us those happiest days remain like some alluring dreams dreamt in the unconsciousness of dreary dark nights—leaving only a vague impression on the mind that too gradually fading away at the first morning light.

It is in this faded vision that I recall my Father holding me on his shoulder and singing Tagore to put me to sleep. His passionate narration of a few imaginary stories—having two elephants as central characters—were my favourites. I can delve deep into my miserly memory to recollect my unbound tears at the tragic end of those elephants.

It is indeed my Father who first taught me the basics of Literature—coronated me to the widest world of Poetry.

It is a long time now since Cancer has snatched him away from us and haply has provided a place some where in the sky among the stars.

But today, when I hold my little daughter on my shoulder, exchange some playful moments together or sing hard to lead her to sleep—I always end with moistening eyes.

I begin to astonish—is this how it feels to be a Father Figure!!!