THE FATHER'S DAY IS NOT OVER, YET...

Pic.: Geeta Kulkarni

Last night, there was this message in my FB inbox. It was from Sushil Shankar, a dear old student and friend of mine. He wrote:

“Hi Gerry sir, I read your post on Father’s Day. It inspired me to write on my father, too. Please read and evaluate.”

Today my daughter wished me “HAPPY FATHER’S DAY”.

It made me go back in my past… I lost my father to diabetes 32 years ago. He had just crossed 50 years.

He was a Diabetes-Mellitus patient, with foot ulcers. Later on, he developed kidney failures and died during dialysis procedure. His body couldn’t bear the dialysis, which already was suffering the after-effects of medication and diabetes.

When my dad was alive, I don’t remember celebrating a Father’s Day or any such days which are in vogue now. Only my and my brothers’ birthdays were what we celebrated. We never celebrated our dad’s birthday. I have one sibling left, and he doesn’t even know our father’s date of birth!

My father never visited any temple or place of worship. He never believed in God as a stone… He was against all religious practices and rituals. He had a heart to help anyone in trouble. An incident, which is etched in my mind, is about a youth he had helped against everyone’s advice.

Our house was located near a road and was on the ground floor.  Anyone who came in to our building area encountered our house first. It wasn’t unusual for people passing by to stop and ask for drinking water. 

So, sometime before my father passed away in March 1985, on a Sunday afternoon, we were eating lunch. Some people came to our house and asked for drinking water. As usual, we gave a bottle of water. A few minutes later, again more water was requested. By then, we had finished our lunch. My father asked me to go and find out who was needing so much of water. I checked outside and saw around a tree a gathering of people from nearby houses.  On reaching the spot, I found a youth, who seemed to be in his early twenties. He was lying there under the tree. He was looking sick, tired and very dirty. Bad smell was emanating when we stood near him. He had a watch with him and he was holding it out for sale…

I went back to my house and recounted the scene to my father.  He wanted to see the situation himself. So, he came to the scene of the incident. People around were saying that the youth might be a thief, trying to sell a stolen watch etc…

My father inquired with the boy. The boy told, that he was travelling from Delhi to Miraj. His sister worked as a nurse in a hospital there. During the journey, the boy suffered diarrhea. In one of his rounds to the loo, his wallet with money and tickets slipped out and fell into the train tracks. His father, a retired army person, was an amputee. He had spent two days in Mumbai for help. Some people had directed him to our residential area since there was a large Malayalam-speaking population. The boy was a Keralite born in Delhi… Well, this was what the boy claimed to us as his story…

Meanwhile, some people had informed the police. The police came to get the boy. He looked terrified seeing the police. My father decided to help the boy. He told the inspector, that he would take the responsibility of the boy. Thus, he went to the police station, gave a written guarantee to this effect and he  brought the boy home.

At home, the boy was made to bathe, given a set of clean clothes, and served hot food. My father asked me and an uncle to go with the boy to CST ( It was V.T Station then) and place the boy on a train to Miraj. We purchased ticket for the boy and saw him off, handing him some additional money for his expenses during the journey.

What I still remember distinctly is this:  everyone had advised my father not to trust and help the boy. But my father told them straight: “I have a young son, who will, also, go out into the world… He can, also, be in a situation like this boy, one day.”

My father was convinced about the boy’s story and innocence.  Later on, I came to know, that the money which was given to the boy was a part of our monthly milk allowance!

Some days later, we received a letter. It was from the boy’s elder sister. She profusely thanked my father for the timely help to her brother. My father was no more by the time the letter arrived!

In my life, I have struggled at various instances and places. In these situations, I have received help from many people around me. I truly believe, that the help which my father did that day, years ago, still helps me – his own son - in difficult times!

Thank-you father for being the father you were. I do not know where you are… but, in my heart, I remember you every day.

“A HAPPY FATHER’S DAY.”

It was 11 in the night when I read this message… and, it was the first blog post Sushil had attempted to write. Yes, as he claimed, inspired by my own post… The post had touched me… because there was ‘heart’ in it… That was my evaluation….

“And, that’s really enough, dear Sushil. Write with your heart, and write regularly. Best wishes and love.”

I had promised Sushil, that I would be sharing his post with my readers, today. I have kept my promise.

GERALD D’CUNHA

P.S. With Sushil’s permission, I have taken a small liberty to shuffle some words/lines here and there.

http://enteachhan.blogspot.ae/