by Ranjana Banerjee

Created on: August 26, 2008   Last Updated: November 10, 2008

Last summer I spent a month with my Dad, after four and a half years. I thought this is not such a big span to locate any big change but meeting him physically made me understand the biggest truth of life "every moment counts". I found each day had slipped with lot more than I was informed through the wires.

Those hands I tucked once to set my firm step now needed support to pace. The tautness of his arm sloped down and hanged its weight in a miserable way. I searched for the stars that sparkled in his eyes when he smiled, but they are veiled somewhere under the thin film that needed to undergo an urgent operation. I sneaked at his face every now and then to trace the missing notions from the one I held in my mind all these years.

He did not stop me from settling in a land so far from my origin but the distortion in his appearance told me the agony he had battled to accept the parting. Only thing that I found the same was his soft voice. Somehow it managed to escape the rage of time.

The more I tried to hide my sadness the more it showed in my glistened eyes or broken voice. He took my hands in his frail hand to cheer me up and to make every day a joyous one to take with me or to leave behind. So I had to become his little girl again to bring back the mirth to ooze away the dull. Then we talked about the old time when he was a strong stout Dad who was the sparrow king to me and me his little chubby chick. We went to the days when I waited eagerly for him to come from his office with a story book or a the part of the newspaper where the big foot thumped on Himalaya leaving his foot print on the loose ice flakes to warn people not to try to peek at the peak or the elephant head newborn baby who matched Lord Ganesha but could not thrive to show his heavenly power. We laughed recollecting those fun filled carefree weekends, how we tricked my Mom to lose in the board game called Loodoo but could not trick her to win the snake ladder game in which she always aced no matter how hard we tried to trick the dice.

I listened to his ideas, reading to his articles on various political issues of the country though on some point I strongly differed but I kept my logics with me and I tried to take each moment in my heart. Sometimes we just sat in the balcony watching the afternoon peddlers with out any word lost in our own solitude.

The night before my departure we went to the roof top, I helped him to climb the stairs, I could see the pain from his puckered lips, every rung he paced but he said it was not that hard as he had thought. It was a clear sky we watched the stars, he showed me the milky- way. Under the big sky I felt small and scared, though I promised to myself not to show any emotions I could not help to rein my sobbing. He was quiet too then he placed his palm on my head, I said" I will miss you Babu" he looked up at the clear sky and said "I will be always there for you."

I looked through the window of AC 859, the clouds passing over each other. My kids sat right in front of me, giggling at their own jokes. They were happy to come back home, their home; I now belong to nowhere. I looked at the sky again-I could see no shapes though once upon a time every cloud molded something for me.

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