The third Sunday of June

We were on a highway. Roads were new and few then. It poured. He took out his jacket and gave it to me. I was late for the very first day in my college. There was a never-ending queue to take the bus. He hired a taxi for me. There was a time when reading a newspaper was the most irksome part of my life – especially after it became a necessity. He cut out articles, filed them and placed them on my table. The night when I returned home late, I didn’t look him in the eye. I walked straight to my room not to let know of my inebriated state. He came over with a glass of water.

There is a phone call everyday – invariably – whether or not I receive the call. There is message every morning whether or not I remember to reply. There is a mail of advice in my mail box every week whether or not I open it.

I heard this verse from a song and it is nothing if not apt for him -

He is patient.
He is kind.
He does not envy and he does not boast.
He is not proud.
He is not rude and he is not self-seeking.
He is not easily angered.
He keeps no record of wrongs.
He always protects. He always trusts. He never fails.
When he looks at you, he doesn’t see your mistakes – he doesn’t see your past.
He only sees this great hope, everything you can be and everything he made you to be.
Not because you are perfect, not because you are always right – but only because he loves you.

From my first foot step to my first sip of whiskey, you have been the perfect comrade. Happy father’s day, Dad! This one is for you.

Everything and nothing

Let me count the ways I miss thee
And this I say with hardly a hyperbole
To me, thou art a long night’s Aura
With a smile lovelier than many a flora
No greater a joy do I seek for my own
Nor glory, riches, treasure or renown
For no gem or diamond or its worth
Seeking nothing but thy smile and grace
For slightest of thy wishes be my own space