Rama Moondra

The collage refuses to fade. Though my own cup of memories is overflowing, a part of this post is for Amandeep. A son who saw his father’s situation going bad to worst and watched helplessly, feeling wasted despite the best he could do. I now know how it feels.

Today, I am sitting quiet since morning remembering each time I got late returning Babuji’s call. He loved listening to my caller tunes and most of the time his first conversation will begin with discussion of song he heard.

I am born and brought up by extremely perfect parents so nothing, absolutely nothing could have gone wrong by any means in our daily routine. Going to Babuji’s place was such a breather. I could jump around bare feet, cycle on dusty road, eat loadful of sweets in one go, read endless comics, watch TV, apply nailpolish and sleep on sofa.

Though my parents always said that I become a spoilt brat when I visit him, I would turn an oiled angel before going home. My mom struggled with my curly, unruly hair to tie them neat and it would always end up as a soggy tale with no ponytail but Babuji would know how to oil my hair without pain. Till my last visit, he would sit and oil my hair himself scolding on fashion statement of dry hair.

I tried gulping when he looked at my dry hair this time and blinked. “You be alright and oil them soon.” I said trying not to choke.

Fathers are so important figure in our life. They shape our value system, teach us to face life and above all, accept us the way we grow.

One cold night of Christmas, while coming back home, I slept in his lap but woke up feeling cold in face. He made a cup of his palms and covered my ears. The effect was balmy. Years after years, snowy Christmas of different spans of life have given me a lot of chills but the soothing effect continues.

I am sure he will speak again. Till then his hands protecting me on cold nights will keep my heart warm.

For, all those who have seen fathers fading and reeled under it. I pray for my Babuji and everyone who needs it.

The dawn is cracking that an age has come where I need to now play parent to my parents. They are aging, ailing and slowly becoming dependent.

I am back after meeting Babuji in hospital where he is recovering from a paralytic attack which has taken toll on his right side of body and most important, ability to speak of a great orator.  I am silent ever since.

My dark,dusty childhood memory lane is shining bright today . I used to jump on his bed and he used to laugh despite I knew how particular he was about his white, crisp linen. He loved teaching me Hindi vocabulary and a lot of my Hindi speech is because of him.Legends of Amar Chitra Katha and Phantom, Mandrake and Tintin came alive because of him.  Babuji  used to get a special caramelized sweet on Diwali and still the taste lingers on my tongue. I and my first cousins used to accompany him for puja especially for eating sweets and getting fire crackers. .

A repetitive scene is holding my fingers tight like a stubborn kid. He was teaching me how to join words which are difficult to pronounce. I kept failing and he kept smiling, giving me assurance again and again.

Yesterday, when I was holding his finger to put it on words from the word chart to get what he wanted to tell, he faintly smiled, I tried not to let my tears flow.

It’s tearing my heart apart to see him dependent, to see him trying to speak, to get that eating his own food or going to washroom are now farfetched dream but I know he will be fine again.

He had taught me not to cry when I fell flat on my face in childhood, to read stories, to blow bubbles out of shampoo, to hide and eat tamarinds under bed and he pretending to be very angry in front of my mom and dad when they used to come to pick me up. My dad would smile at his elder brother and I would be safe in Babuji’s lap making faces.

Babuji learnt computer at the age of 70 and Gujarati at the age of 75 so that he can read K.M. Munshi. He has always been my inspiration to fight life.

Then how it is possible for him not to recover? How can god not listen to her daughter and grant him health and speech again. Till then, my every prayer is for him and they sure will be heard.