Remembering you.
We write because we think .We read because we think. Thought is the most personal possession we have, nobody can steal it .My father was a man of thoughts. I called him Baba .A doctor by profession ,but his romantic and thoughtful mind ruled his personal life. Be it teaching me about the constellation sitting under the open sky on our terrace ,or reciting poetry with my sister, or reading out stories from a novel to my Ma. This was a way he shared his love with us. I wondered then why can’t they (my parents) read their own books individually. Years later I realized that this was their way of sharing time and romance. He inculcated in me the love for books and reading. Today whenever I sit to write I realize that without ever trying to teach, my baba strangely taught me how to think ! When I think passionately, deeply, earnestly I want to put down those thoughts on paper. My baba used to translate his thoughts into letters, beautifully composed letters.Those were not the days of mobile or internet. Having a land line telephone connection at home was a luxury few neighbors had. Letter writing had not become an art form till then. It was a regular mode of communication used by all. My Baba wrote letters for communication and much more. Whenever he had the time he would make his letters long and beautiful. He preferred letters to telephones. Baba would say telephone talk is like taking a shower, quick and practical, whereas letter writing is like going for a long swim, enjoying being in the water. A little strange but his very own parallel drawn so many years ago stayed back with me. Wonder what would be his reaction to today’s time and smart phone world ! The romance of creating words with ink on an empty page holds its own charm through the ages. So he wrote letters. In his letters he wrote to us (my sister and me) about everyday life, his day with Ma, their long walks, the sky, the heat, the rain, the weather, his patients, our dog, menu of the day, evening guests, sharing with his children the home they stayed away from. Ma had to find space in the same inland letter card to pen down her lines . It was also her responsibility to write the name and address, for Baba was a forgetful man and would often mix up names and addresses. My parents were in a hurry to go ; perhaps that is why Baba taught me all he could in those few years we had together. He taught me to think. I write because I think. I have passed on this legacy to my children, they too are people of words ! Even in today’s day of phone and internet, my children write beautiful letters. My daughter buys hand made paper to write long long letters . She is wiser than me , she has learnt to preserve her letters in a box. I have lost mine.Today I want to write a beautiful letter to Baba and Ma .Tell them all that I have been storing in my heart for years.Tell them about their letter writing grandchildren. Tell them that all four of them have grown up to be wonderful people. Tell them about their daughter who records her recitations and wins hearts. Tell them that I write because they taught me to read and think. Tell them all this and more for one last time. But I do not have their postal pin code. The famous gazal by Jagjit Singh comes to mind, “Chitti na koi sandesh, na jaane wo Kaun sa des ,jahaan tum chale gaye….”!