It was June or may be July, the streets wore a darker shade of brown, knee deep potholes were distributed in an uneven fashion. It was wet and slippery to walk. I and Nikhil held his index finger, me on right and Nikhil on left and walked out of our adobe. Like always, he wore his white dhoti and khadi kurta with a tint of yellow. We wore our new velvet trousers and waist coat. Papa had got a red one for Nikhil and black for me. Sun shone brightly through the water filled pearly clouds. The road was dirty, a mud street. Rain had made it dirtier, cattle’s dung mixed with the mud, slough somewhere. Scared of the potholes and dirty street we said ‘baba’ in our toddler tone. He smiled and his silver eyes stared us in care. He lifted us up, one by one on his shoulders; and we both sat facing each other, joy waved inside like we have climbed the peak. **** His love was extremely pure and pious. He never disagreed to our choices and never denied our demands. The family must always remain one was his choice. This day, that year, he left the shoulders and the flesh with which he lifted us up and clutched in his arms. The world would have crumbled and I would have not cared a bit, only if he was here. We miss you Baba. (Bade baba, 1914 – 4th Nov 2009) Amit Tiwary Abhay Tiwary Shweta Tiwary Bhargava Nikhil Tiwary Vivek Mishra Vikas Mishra Nisha Gupta
Posted on: Mon, 04 Nov 2013 18:24:17 +0000
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