Remembering Dad

On a December day five years ago my Dad signed off. He was there the night, gone the next morning, just the way he always said he would. You will, he always said, wake up one morning and won't find me, but do not mourn my passing for in life where change is a reality, moving beyond the body is the only constant. His words still ring in my ears as loud as when said, and I fondly remember him.

For seventy years he lived his life to the full; simple in thought, uncomplicated in his interactions, every time I think of him and the happy times spent together, these memories liven my day. So what's new, you may ask; everyone shares a similar relationship with their father. True, but to that I say this ain't an exercise in proving my father was better than other fathers. This is just me remembering my creator.

When I think of him, I am reminded of his innate ability to procrasinate, and incidents bring a smile to my lips. I was seven and demanding a new pair of shoes. When I said I needed shoes, he would smile and say tomorrow. And when I asked him the next day, he would with a smile on his face ask me, what did I tell you yesterday? I would say tomorrow, and he would laugh and say, there you have your answer.

Before you say what a cruel dad, let me say that the pair of shoes that I had was perfectly fine and my dmeand was more because my friend had bought a new pair of shoe. Coming back to the incident, he would keep saying that until my shoe was in bad shape and then we would on a Saturday evening set out ot by me a pair of shoes.

He was a Bata loyalist, and that's why to this day I can never feel comfortable in a shoe that is not a Bata. Once we reached the shop, he would pick up a shoe with strings and I, a slip-on. Slip ons were a craze in the seventies, thanks to Amitabh Bachchan. I would fight with him, but eventually his choice would prevail with the promise of revisiting a slip-on the next year.

Another trait in my father that I simply loved was his ability to always speak the truth. Many a times he got into trouble, lost friends, and had to once quit his job. But he never wavered and taught me to do the same. I, however, cannot claim to be as correct as him. But then Dad was Dad and it would be foolish of me to try and become him. Having said that, I always try and walk the path he taught me, though at times what prevails is better sense as is called in today's world. I would say it is more self preservation than better sense, but in these times, better sense, self preservation is thy second name.

My Dad allowed me the freedom to decide what I wanted to study, the profession I wished to take up, marry the woman I loved. He did not do so because he was scared of losing me as a son if he didn't agree, but because he believed that if one has to be successul in life, then one needs to follow his calling. In short he did what most parents fail to do. He did not want me to live his life and fulfil his unfulfilled desires; he wanted me to walk my path and realize my dreams. That was my father for everyone; for me that is my father, as I am a part of him and in me he continues to live.

I love you Dad, forever.