Birthday remembrance

My love for the written word started with a story that should have put me off storybooks forever. My mother bought me a picture book of the little Match girl. For those who have not had the good fortune to be pained by her wretched existence, it is a depressing story of a little girl who sells matches (appropriately enough) but is dying from the bitter cold and hunger. I don't know why my mother thought that was appropriate reading for a four/five-year-old child.

Thankfully, my father ignited a love for literature. He loved to quote poetry and drama and would recite lines from the village schoolmaster, written by Oliver Goldsmith.

"Well had the boding tremblers learn'd to trace

The day's disasters in his morning face;

Full well they laugh'd with counterfeited glee,

At all his jokes, for many a joke had he:

…….

Amazed the gazing rustics rang'd around;

And still they gaz'd and still the wonder grew,

That one small head could carry all he knew.

The same sing-song voice that my father used, to recite poetry, was also employed for singing old Hindi songs. Between my father's brave attempts at singing and my mother's stab (literally) at it, is it any wonder that our neighbours were traumatised- not by their singing, for they weren't that loud but by our raucous laughter as we flopped on the floor clutching our stomachs. 

On his birthday today, as I sit down for breakfast, I remember with gratitude a few words of wisdom that he imparted to us by quoting Samuel Jackson who spoke of that much revered breakfast cereal thus: "oats- grain which in England is given to horses but supports the people of Scotland." These prejudiced words have helped me disregard the advice of well-meaning fitness enthusiasts and eschew it altogether. 

He would have enjoyed the jingoism that came with the elevation of a brown man to UK's top post. He would have been massively entertained by India's closely-fought win against Pakistan in cricket. But life goes on as it must, and we remember him as if he were in the next room, with affection and amusement. 

The man who could reel off sports statistics wouldn't be able to store a phone contact, and would not be able to navigate via Google maps.

He had no qualms in asking absolute strangers to carry his bag from the car into the bus depot and finally into the intrastate bus and the wonder of it is that random people indulged him. He could even get strangers to change his car tyres. He was generous in praise and unsparing in criticism. His advice was frequently proffered, unsolicited, to managers of hotels on how they could improve their services.

Post retirement, he went to banks when he was bored so that he could chat with the staff there. He even got them to fill out any and every form that was required. In short, he helped people do their good deeds for the day. 

He reminded me of everybody's birthdays and anniversaries and still, I wouldn't get around to wishing them.

But today I remember!

Happy 80th (or maybe 81st) birthday dear Dad.