My father is a very ordinary person. He is my hero. My early memories are of him cuddling me between long hours of work. He was very tall, with broad shoulders, slightly rough hands that handled me gently all the same, and mischievous eyes behind glasses. A very well-read and intelligent person, he had -- still has -- a great sense of humour. He is deeply religious, a man with absolutely no airs. Every Sunday when I was growing up, he would give my brother and me oil baths. After that, prayers and lunch. Then he would read every word of the Sunday newspaper while Mom sat by him, knitting. Soon it would be our naptime, followed by a visit to the local park. I remember the times he asked my Mom to prepare the dishes I liked because I was a picky eater. Just as life was getting better, he got his transfer orders. My parents wanted a stable environment and education for us. So Dad went alone to his new work place. Our days stretched limitlessly. We got to see Dad only during the summer holidays and on special occasions like Diwali when he used to fly in for a day or two. Those years were hard on all of us, especially Mom. She was balancing a teaching job with being a housewife and mother. When I knew Dad was coming, I used to save small quantities of all that Mom cooked for him in the refrigerator. It was simply great to see him again! Mom's face would become softer, Dad would look better, and there would be laughter all around. No matter what they faced, my parents made sure we never felt even a twinge of pain. As I grew up, I remember the pain I caused my parents by turning rebellious. I was the typical teenager with the 'no one loves me, I don't care' attitude. Wisdom was to dawn much later, after a lot of pain. Despite all that, Dad was at hand to lay my fundamentals in mathematics. We had major clashes about my studies. Both of us were stubborn. And I was not mature enough to see the wisdom behind his words. As years went by, I saw my father beginning to stoop. The immense workload he shouldered cost him his health. The pain I caused too took its toll. Luckily for my parents, my brother was not like me at all. My Dad was the youngest of five brothers, but he was the first to get white hairs. He retired in due course, with high accolades. The staff he supervised still reveres him. In the meantime, my brother and I graduated and settled abroad. Seeing him reduced to a bag of bones at the airport after three years, when I went home for the first time after marriage, reduced me to tears. I rely on him and Mom more and more for guidance as I traverse through life. I am happy to add that my parents and I have now grown closer. Today, leaning more towards spirituality and dishing out large doses of humour, Dad enjoys his old age as much as he enjoys his grandchildren. But for him I would never be where I am now. My dad is an ordinary person. Yet he is extraordinary. Illustration: Lynette Menezes Tell us what you think of this diary Be part of an exciting venture! Write a Diary!
HOME | NEWS | CRICKET | MONEY | SPORTS | MOVIES | CHAT | BROADBAND | TRAVEL ASTROLOGY | NEWSLINKS | BOOK SHOP | MUSIC SHOP | GIFT SHOP | HOTEL BOOKINGS AIR/RAIL | WEDDING | ROMANCE | WEATHER | WOMEN | E-CARDS | SEARCH HOMEPAGES | FREE MESSENGER | FREE EMAIL | CONTESTS | FEEDBACK