Gulmohar

I still remember the day my father tried hard to scribble a few words on the cover of x-ray report at the hospital. He was gasping for breath and muttering something which I could not understand, I tried hard to no avail. Stillness in the air loomed large over me. I somehow understood something was amiss, but could not put my finger on it. Today, after a few years I know that fear of losing somebody is a terrible state to be in. It must be all the more painful for someone who knows that time on earth has ended. My father knew on that fateful Saturday morning that his time had arrived.



~*~
“Amar, come running. This is what both of us wanted all the time.” I heard papa calling me from the Verandah when he returned from work.


“Haan papa, what is it?” And then, my happiness knew no bounds. He had brought with him a cricket set, complete with 4 stumps, a bat, a ball, batting pads and gloves. It was such a dream for me all these days. I would always look forward to having my own bat in my hand while playing, and I had to wait for quite a while. Some waits are worth a lifetime. That Friday evening still remains my best evening. I still have that small local bat named SRU (Sports Round up).


He used to work very hard; he would leave early in the morning by 0530 train from Mughalsarai to go to Chhabirani, a small village where the Vanaspati factory was located. He worked as a Commercial Assistant back then. We children generally understood that pitaji was trying hard to give us a decent up-bringing and nice education. He always insisted on good education. Although he could never give us enough time, we neither complained nor missed his presence because whenever he was around, he made up for all the lost time. We never saw a crease of worry on his forehead. Smile, big and genuine, always adorned his face and Amma basked in the glory. She is a strong woman and stood by her husband in times of distress. Hunger, joblessness etc were all part of the life back then. Vanaspati factory locked out for some reason and papa found himself out of job suddenly. Five mouths to feed, school and fees for three is always an insurmountable task. We went half hungry to school but were always the first to pay fees. We didn’t disappoint our parents, being good students all throughout. We weren’t toppers, but generally took good care of ourselves while competing with the best.

He always would tell us stories during the evenings that he was around. The type of stories that never ended. One such story was about Jhatku who would open jar after jar full of sweets like Rasgulla, Gulab Jamun, Cham cham, barfi etc. He would continue to tell us and we would listen for a while until irritation took over and we would shout in unison, “Enough, now tell us some other story.”


I still remember one terrible winter few years ago. Temperatures had gone down as low as 1 degree Centigrade. One such evening, while returning from work, Papa came by rickshaw. The rickshawpuller barely had anything warm on his body. Chilly wind would cut across his face and body, but he still pulled rickshaw with cold feet and shivering torso. After reaching home, papa made him wait for a few minutes while he came inside looking for his coat that lay in a trunk. Pulling it out, he looked at it once, and went out with it. He handed it over to the rickshawwalla and said, “It will be useful in the winter. Keep yourself warm, you need it more than I do now.”

I can’t forget that evening. It was the only coat that he had. It is easy to give away something when we have something to spare, but to give away the only coat was an act of true courage. He was a courageous man, and the only time I saw him defeated was when he scribbled on the piece of paper, ‘I want to live beta, I want to live now.’ Death, which means so many emotions to various people, has remained a quiet word for me ever since!


*~*

We all have our pet theories about life and living. With time, we become rigid and with that develop the inability to appreciate simple things. Small joys are lost on us; we discuss issues and politics but fail to indulge in small pleasures of life. It has been more than 16 years since Papa left us: now I can say with clarity that he lived a full life. Although it was plucked out suddenly, it still had the radiance that anyone would want to live! He was a complete human with all attributes that can describe someone great - greatness is not in fame, but in who we are! If that much becomes clear, then all else becomes transactional and transitory!

A Gulmohar tree that he had planted is now big and full. This Gulmohar tree has curves and contours in a few places which look like a smile. In the evening, before streetlights are put on, I stand looking at the tree and can immediately see it smile from various angles. A gentle and genuine smile.

तुम्हारी मुस्कान
कोहरे से छन् कर नहीं
सीधी धूप सी आती थी
जैसे सुबह सुबह चिड़ियों का गान
तुम्हारी मुस्कान |

PS - This is fiction - not personal