Dear Editor,
I, too, lost my father nine years ago. He was a master story-teller as well, narrating anecdotes with rustic wisdom and ‘akhaans’. Though he had not gone to school, he spoke fluent English which he had learnt during his army service under the British. Five days before his death, he asked me to sit by his bedside and told me that his days were over. ‘Chittragupta (mythical stock-taker of human deeds) has visited me and told me to be ready to leave this world,’ he said. Two days before his death, he refused to be hospitalised, pleading that he wanted to die at home. When he died – at 88 – distraught, I wrote a poem about parents. A few lines are quoted: Bapu sabh da hausla/Bebey da shingar/Kheesa ohda bank, te khoonda pehredar./Bebey di bukley, simat jaye sansar/Ki bacha ki budhra, sabh di palanhar!
Jaswant Singh Gandam,
Via-e-mail
