I was raised amidst lot of love. Though we were far away from relatives, friends of my parents, neighbors played a very huge role in my upbringing.
Birthdays, festivals people would just drop by without invitation. Some would come with sweets, some with cards. There were limited means those days, so there were no fancy gifts but there was abundant love. We learned to love Indian cuisine, Bengali, Gujarati, Punjabi and of course the different cuisines of South India.
When I think back;Bhilai of those times was indeed Utopia. I don’t know how it is today. It has been almost two decades since I went there last.
Now I just hear news of someone departing the place or the body.
Yes, I know the soul has to leave the body sometime or the other. But is difficult to accept when your own loved ones are involved.
When we are young we discuss about games and school, a lit older and its about love and passion, then it is the turn to discuss about kids and still later discuss about pills and illness.
In the past four-five years, news of some or the other dying trickles in. A teacher,a neigbor,a well wisher…and today an uncle i.e. my father’s friend. One who was with us through thick and thin. I remember him bringing kalakand on our birthdays. The one who carried our luggage when we returned from our vacation. I stayed with them when my parents had to go on an emergency to our hometown, those fifteen days he and his family treated me like royalty. SO many happy memories. And today I am left with those memories and he is gone.
Somedays back before the new academic session, I was covering the books with brown cover. My son sat with me looking at the whole process intently. He kept on telling do like this, like that. I remembered similar times when my father sat doing the same and I sat with him.
Every cut had to be perfect. There would be no wastage. and then he would put handmade labels on each book. After that he would take out his pen and write my name with a flourish.
Today when I go home, he asks me to write something or the other for him. As I hold my hand to give him support when we have to climb stairs I remember his strong hands ever ready to shield me from harms and my eye well up with tears.
Two months back we came to know he has paraganglioma. He had been hospitalized. I wanted to rush to him but his advice, ‘Don’t leave your family and come. If you do come both we and you will not be at peace’. I remember 10 years back when I myself had to undergo surgery, how weak he had become. Days he had spent sitting in front of the altar; praying. My father had been the one who had fed me when I was small. And after my surgery he did the same for I could not see properly.
However much advanced we become in technology, there are four things which we cannot conquer-birth, death, old age and misery. That is the only truth.
Long back I had decided that my blog will reflect only positives. But today I am in a blue mood and I needed to vent it out.