He is growing Old…..

Posted: March 26, 2010 in The People

I would generally reach Kurampala about an hour before the midnight. My father would be awaiting me with the bike so as to welcome me home  for the weekends. I have never understood the cheerfulness and the excitement he showed whenever I met him. The drive to my home is less then a mile, I would pillion ride behind him and we would talk about how my journey was, what Amma had cooked for dinner and how much he missed his daughter and his grandson. Although I cannot see his face but I always knew that whenever he answered my questions, a smile would form on his lips reflecting his cheerfulness and the joy. Travelling on the dark road with plantations on both the sides with the evening rain drenched cold air blowing on my tired face, it always felt good. More than that, it was the sense and the very sight of my cheerful father awaiting me that made me happy. A few days ago when I reached Kurampala, he was not there. Out of curiosity and uncertainty,  I called him, he cut short my questions and asked me to take a rikshaw to get home. Still, unsure what went wrong, I got into a Rikshaw and reached home. I felt like a street urchin robbed of his only toy. Felt as if the endless journey has cheated me and didn’t fulfill the promises it made. I reached home and couldnt find my father around. I was not sure and neither did I wish to question his absence. Still gripped in pain and sense of being cheated by a friend, a father and a human being I loved, I walked into his room, switched on the lights only to find him awake lying on the bed. Somewhere within I wanted to question his absence, question him of not be there for me, not fulfilling a promise that never was. Walked upto his bed and sat with my back towards him, I felt his hand on my back and I turned around, only to see his eyes soggy with tears.

Am still not sure whether it should have happened or not. His words withered away in tears withheld, like a child gasping for breath. He said  “couldn’t come, was too tired… think I am growing old”. I smiled and patted on his shoulder. The moment I walked out of his room, I felt this sudden urge to cry and scream out the choked voice in me and in him. My throat went dry and I felt choked up. Partly because of what he said and partly because of the realization. I missed his presence but more than that I was hurt because of his realization. For the first time I felt a sense of responsibility and oneness towards this man. I think he is growing old and he is growing old with a sense of realization.

  1. callmeninja says:

    short simple powerful striking.. had it all… really can connect to it…

  2. sujata modi says:

    subhayou was right,,,,’why does your writing mist up my eyes ?’,,,,’cause however hard, the projected armour around you,,,the softness within leaks ,,,,revealing the strings that still bind you,,,,,always has the power to pull at my heartstrings 2.

  3. Sangeetha says:

    🙂 🙂 🙂 …. A realization…..

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