Father's Day
A Tribute
On Father's Day, in fact a little ahead of this day, among other stories, I had paid my tributes to my father in my book : Corn on the Cob & Stories [Portraits of Life] - available on Amazon & Flipkart.
He was like a Rock for all of us. A few lines as a remembrance:
“Anna was the sort of older brother every folklore quietly aspires to include, and he was for his family. A tall, dark complexion from years spent wrestling life outdoors, and handsome in that unbothered, bow-moustached way. He was forged not in gyms or libraries, but in sun, sweat, and street. Smart. If you were family, you knew this:
Anna would never hesitate to raise a hand—not in anger, but in protection. And if you were a threat? May the Gods help you, because Anna certainly would not.
Once, as a young lad, in a school party, he taught a lesson that no chalkboard ever held: when a teacher misbehaved with his friend, a girl too dignified to retaliate, Anna stepped in and thrashed the man. Not for glory. But because honour was muscle memory for him.
He told me this story decades later, not as a boast, but with a faraway smile. The kind of smile you wear when you have lived a life you do not regret, bruises included. “
“Anna was a giver. He used to shower unabashed love, affection, wisdom and including dry fruits, fresh fruits, or his time—he shared them all with neighbours and near-strangers. He relished yoghurt, cream, and cheese with the kind of joy children save for mischief.
Anna knew everything about automobiles and the business of manufacturing and marketing of spare parts. He gave his life for the business venture he co-founded with his friend. He was the go-to person in crisis, be it men or materials at the factory. He never believed anyone would cheat him. But alas! He was wrong. His friend did that. He lost everything, leaving a big blow on his health, denting his confidence when his children were yet to gather their feet.
Once all was safe and the children started earning, he returned to his normal self. Apart from the yoghurt and cheese, a bottle or two of a fine whisky always found its way to him, whenever I came home on leave during my stint with CRPF [Central Reserve Police Force]—not as bribes, but as tributes to a life well poured.
He was a giver. A protector. A bow-moustached angel in slippers.
And if heaven has challenges, whisky, and his favourite things, he’s right there—raising a toast, offering a dry fruit, and smiling at us from above. My personal anchor, my father.
He left behind a message: Overcoming obstacles helps you to develop the mental and emotional toughness and resilience needed to handle future setbacks, if you want to succeed in life.”
Ashok
I know, if you like this you will: