My Father, My Friend

Everyone in their life have friends. More to say they are crowded by them. Close friends, best friends, time pass friends and so on. Scarcely, do we appreciate their value. The story I am going to narrate is very close to my heart. It’s got nothing to do with friends but an introduction of a friend in my story is important.

This was one of my yearly visits to my father’s village. I was not exactly looking forward to it. But this was a rule of my father to once in awhile to visit our village and get a sense of our roots. Anyways any time with my father is worth cherishing. This time I and my father were alone.

He started to narrate his stories to me. Going down the memory lane so to say. He showed me his school. He told me about his friends and his exploits there. In his words I could sense an enthusiasm of a young boy. When we saw his school there was an expression in his eyes that I was too young to understand but old enough to recollect it. He told me he liked his English class the most. Then we took a turn to the right and saw a playground. It was summer season and close to dusk. So the ground was full of children and full of dust. So to say dust filled up my nostrils. There were kids flying kites,playing cricket and some sitting watching them.

My father was almost emerged in the scene. I could sense that if allowed he would go running towards the ground to play in that dusty field and dissolve him in it. I understood his excitement but the expression on his face was a unique one to comprehend. I never understood adults. Their way of thinking always amazed me but even then I wanted to be growing up soon and later through my knowledgeable friend’s following words I understood how wrong I was.

“AS KIDS WE ALL WANT TO BECOME GROWN UP FAST AND ONCE WE ARE GROWNUP WE LONG TO BE KIDS AGAIN.” Meanwhile my father told me how mad he was about kites. He need not to tell me that because I could sense it. He told me how to make ‘majja’(A superior quality of thread made by hand especially of kite fights). How to make kite from newspaper etc. I never learned to fly a kite so leave alone making one. Again in my father’s face I saw the same expression that is hard to say but easy to remember.

Sun was setting down and so were my spirits. It had been a long day full of exploration. Yet my father didn’t stop walking or telling his tales. I enjoyed them though. We were just going on when we saw an old man sitting beside the pillar of the building. He was enjoying the sunset. Then suddenly my father touched that old man’s feet (An old Indian tradition to give respect to elders). I was not sure that the old man recollected who was touching his toes. Then my father greeted him as a student and he accepted it as a teacher later on, I got to know that he was the English teacher, my father talked about so much. They were discussing Shakespeare, George Bernard Shaw etc.I did not understand one word of it. I was in Hamlet’s territory of to be or not to be. Anyways the conversation was over and we moved on. But the teacher returned to his old place not wanting to go.

Then we visited a temple which is now under the care of ‘WORLDHERITAGE’. We settled in a restaurant for some coffee and light dinner. The restaurant’s name was ’COFFEE PALACE’. My father explained to me how he and his friends used to be the first and the last customers to have coffee. My father was explaining with so much detail that I could see those things with my eyes.The food was not that good but my father’s stories made them. Then my father started to tell me stories about his best friend. No matter how old you become the definition of a best friend remains the same. My father told me how they used to work in an x-ray unit. How they would capture anything moving in their cameras my father told me that his best friend was the one who taught my father how to develop a picture. Again in his eyes I could see the same expression.

All of a sudden he stood up and said “lets meet him”. It had been almost 25 years since he left his village and the same duration since he saw his friend. After all the explanation it was hard for me not to see him so I too was equally excited. After a long search on streets and through smelly lanes we discovered his house. My father shouted with full force once again.After some time an old woman came out. It took her some time to identify my father. When she did she came closer to my father and gave him a motherly hug.I could see the tears in both of their eyes. I couldn’t comprehend why. Those tears that my father shed were not of weakness nor were it his low point.Sometime you need to shed tears knowing the other person is worth it and take your emotions as an act of con.

Again today when I remember it I understand those expressions clearly with meanings too. Maybe he left the town to be someone. May be he never returned back there because of us? He sacrificed what was close to him so that we could get something that he never got. Maybe there comes a time in a man’s life where he has to leave his threshold to be someone in life. There comes a time when family comes first and definitions change. The only way to remain constant in this world is by changing. Maybe my father was trying to say this to me. May be he wasn’t. But someday my position will change and I will become a father and I will be with my daughter or son. So will I be able to convey this to them or would they take their time like I did or would my eyes explain things like my father’s eyes did? I may never know the answer but whatever it may be. I would do anything for my family.

Long days after my visit I asked my father about his best friend.He told me that he was dead. So that silence was for that. That silence conveyed the condolence of his friend’s death. Again my father had that expression on his face and again I can only guess what it meant. Was it due to him being poorer by a friend or him being richer by us. I leave it to you to decide and in the mean I will enjoy my time with my family.