A dreaming tall man of stout built, he was my hero!
When i was born and started having the feel of his persona much later, he was already a hero...a village hero for sure...a regional 'feel my presence', presumably!He started as the first child in the family of three under the strict fatherly shadow of his parent-less father who saved no sweat in his body to avail all he could and the time then had to offer.He grew up a bright young man with a long trail of anecdotes behind him, many of them have become village, and relative, folklore with all the creative interventions of the interested parties. Having topped his school, his marks a school record which is in my name now, he went to a 'not so elite' college in the nearest city and returned home a graduate with a govt. job, an honor and deserved tribute to my grand-parents'(there were three behind him) sweat! He remained a cynosure of many a lives.A dreaming tall man of stout built, a graduate, in 70's that too in a remote village, with a govt. job and husband of a very beautiful lady, my mother!
One day, he came from the office and sat beside me. I was bed ridden from fever for few days.I knew he had come,but pretended sleeping.He put his hand on my forehead which was burning as he whispered to my mother.His hand on my forehead, finger-combing my hair, he kept sitting beside me for a long time...said nothing , asked nothing. I felt a drop fell on my cheek, he left!
Before that and after that, we shared only three feelings...two from my side, awe and pride...one from him, care.I don't remember talking to him eye to eye, sharing charpai(cot) with him...yes, we did eat together many a times, but 'together' may not be the right word for that.
He was not a man on a mission, but he took delight helping others. A pleasant and sociable man with good sense of humour, he spared none. As an ambitious village folk who had seen city life and aspirations, he bought a piece of land where he would grow vegetable, much to the astonishment of the villagers, to add a source of income to his salary so that he could avail us all, almost, which was available, and he did.No extraordinary feat,but an extraordinary life for us by then, and probably now, village standard...a pukka house with concrete roof(lantar), TV(Texla with wooden shutters), a big Radio[bigger than the TV even which always had a 'Sugam Sangeet' programme in the morning around Papa's office time; i still wonder why that was called 'Sugam(easy Sangeet(music) Karyakarm(programme)] and a Scooter(lambrata).
There are many things which come randomly to knock my heart into the streets of my village where,once, he dreamt, toiled and lived...more for for us than him...where he died to live forever.There is that drop on my cheek which refuses to flow away.This article is not a tribute to him...nor an attempt to portray him as the greatest father ever,but to say that i always loved him, was always in awe of him, was proud of him...i'm still like many others...i still love him,even more knowing that he cared for me and he's around!
Whether people remember me as my father's son or remember him as my father, i wish his name remains with me as he lives in me.A dreaming, caring, toiling,smiling and living young man.Pradeepds(PradeepDalelSingh).
When i was born and started having the feel of his persona much later, he was already a hero...a village hero for sure...a regional 'feel my presence', presumably!He started as the first child in the family of three under the strict fatherly shadow of his parent-less father who saved no sweat in his body to avail all he could and the time then had to offer.He grew up a bright young man with a long trail of anecdotes behind him, many of them have become village, and relative, folklore with all the creative interventions of the interested parties. Having topped his school, his marks a school record which is in my name now, he went to a 'not so elite' college in the nearest city and returned home a graduate with a govt. job, an honor and deserved tribute to my grand-parents'(there were three behind him) sweat! He remained a cynosure of many a lives.A dreaming tall man of stout built, a graduate, in 70's that too in a remote village, with a govt. job and husband of a very beautiful lady, my mother!
One day, he came from the office and sat beside me. I was bed ridden from fever for few days.I knew he had come,but pretended sleeping.He put his hand on my forehead which was burning as he whispered to my mother.His hand on my forehead, finger-combing my hair, he kept sitting beside me for a long time...said nothing , asked nothing. I felt a drop fell on my cheek, he left!
Before that and after that, we shared only three feelings...two from my side, awe and pride...one from him, care.I don't remember talking to him eye to eye, sharing charpai(cot) with him...yes, we did eat together many a times, but 'together' may not be the right word for that.
He was not a man on a mission, but he took delight helping others. A pleasant and sociable man with good sense of humour, he spared none. As an ambitious village folk who had seen city life and aspirations, he bought a piece of land where he would grow vegetable, much to the astonishment of the villagers, to add a source of income to his salary so that he could avail us all, almost, which was available, and he did.No extraordinary feat,but an extraordinary life for us by then, and probably now, village standard...a pukka house with concrete roof(lantar), TV(Texla with wooden shutters), a big Radio[bigger than the TV even which always had a 'Sugam Sangeet' programme in the morning around Papa's office time; i still wonder why that was called 'Sugam(easy Sangeet(music) Karyakarm(programme)] and a Scooter(lambrata).
There are many things which come randomly to knock my heart into the streets of my village where,once, he dreamt, toiled and lived...more for for us than him...where he died to live forever.There is that drop on my cheek which refuses to flow away.This article is not a tribute to him...nor an attempt to portray him as the greatest father ever,but to say that i always loved him, was always in awe of him, was proud of him...i'm still like many others...i still love him,even more knowing that he cared for me and he's around!
Whether people remember me as my father's son or remember him as my father, i wish his name remains with me as he lives in me.A dreaming, caring, toiling,smiling and living young man.Pradeepds(PradeepDalelSingh).
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