SATURDAYS WITH DAD

A Tribute to Memories filled with Love

Life is a myriad of experiences. As we go trudging along, from birth till death, life is unique to each one of us and our experiences are also unique.

At 32, I may not seem so old, but neither am I too young, and sometimes I have this keen desire to be all of SEVEN' (I mean seven years old) again. The best part of my childhood was my journey between the ages of seven to twelve.

Let me introduce my father to you. He was (As it has been ten years since he passed away) an epitome of hard work and honesty. A cheerful friend and a trusted confidante, that's him. He always exhibited a happy and fun-loving persona. He worked in the armed institution where he was employed for 35 prime years of his life. He loved his job and the Campus was one beautiful place. Its architecture, vast sprawling lawns and open areas, fighter planes and tanks on display at different points, long arterial roads and most of all a pervading sense of peace and tranquility.

This is where he spent most of his working years. He was always used to hard work. I remember how he used to tell me about starting work when he was really young, at the tender age of 12, and how he used to run errands for his mother and help her a lot. Due to certain hardships he started working early but this enabled him and groomed him to be a man, who always wanted to make himself useful and keep himself occupied, whether in the garden or in the kitchen. Coming back to me, as far as I can remember, was an age where a child can absorb in almost every thing.

During the week, i.e. Mondays to Fridays, I would be in school, and sometimes on a Saturday, my holiday, I started feeling really bored. So, my Dad decided that I would accompany him on a Saturday to work and this would help me enjoy my holiday, rather than sit complaining the whole day.

I still remember, the first time I took the bus with him. (They had a silver gray bus for the Employees). As I entered, I could see this sea of human faces and my father guided me to the long row of seats at the back of the bus, right at the end. (It was basically a vantage point from where all could hear him when he had a joke to crack). Those peering faces, inquisitive looks, suddenly broke into smiles, as my father, so very proudly announced, that, I was his little girl'. And for years, after that, there was nothing more meaningful than taking a ride in that bus. I started looking forward to it.

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