WRITER'S CIRCLE - NOVEMBER STORY by Sainath Raorane

My Father 

by Sainath Raorane 

When I remember my father I think about his gardening, his discipline, and his courage when facing difficulties. He was in the military so he was a very disciplined man and this showed in his daily life. He used to wake up at 6am and brush his teeth in a particular way as recommended by his dentist. He ate only a small breakfast. He was of medium height and build. I had a photograph of him in his uniform. In that photo he looked very handsome, wearing a coat. I liked that photo very much. I kept that photo with me for many years and used to show it to my friends with pride.

Later father was labour officer in an industrial company in Worli. When he came home from his office work he would bring many things from Dadar Market. He used to get vegetables and sometimes big fish and crabs. He would arrive in our chawl around 6,30pm, which was my playtime. When I saw him I used to run and pick up his bag filled with all sorts of materials. He and my mother used to regularly give us fish and crab meals.

Father was very strict and sometimes if we made mistakes he used to shout at us. Only very rarely did he beat us. He used to ’iron’ his clothes in a peculiar way which he learned in the army. He used to fold the clothes and sprinkle water on them before putting them under the matrass while sleeping. He would show is the ‘ironed’ clothes in the morning. He was disciplined in other ways too. When putting the sheets on the bed he did not like any wrinkles in the sheet.

Father used to get New Year calendars from our regular food suppliers, showing pictures of Bhagwan, Krishna, Dutterguru, and Sai Baba  . We enjoyed these pictures with great pleasure. He got many of them framed and made a beautiful collection of gods on the wall for us.

I remember him working in the little garden in front of our house on Sundays and in the holidays. In that small garden he grew tomatoes, lady’s fingers, brinjals,drum sticks, papaya, sitafal, coriander and tondli. He also grew flowers like marigolds, mogra and hibiscus. He grew a bush of cotton to make his own cotton wicks for the little clay dishes in the house puja place. Father kept chickens too. He used to breed them and show us the eggs when they were hatching. We used to see the chicks in different stages; when they came out of the egg, some when they were still sticky and wet, some sat on the broken shells and looked like woollen balls. We all used to enjoy these hens and the new babies.

 He used to take us to our native place or to Shirdi, (the Sai Baba temple), in the holidays. We used to enjoy swimming in the river with him, after swimming we would come home and enjoy hot bhakri and junka. We enjoyed our childhood for many years because of him.

Father was religious, he used to pray every evening and we would join him. He enjoyed his life and went to god while listening to the Bhavagad Gita which I had put on the TV for him on that particular night. His last day of life thereby became his Golden Day!

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