We all called him Baba. I had been with him for a few days during my sojourn in the village. Though I don’t remember how he looked like but I remember playing in the room where he used to lie down quietly, lifeless, ostracised. He used to stare at me whenever I was close to him. I could never know what he thought, perhaps lost in the memories of his young days or maybe he was reflecting on the cycle of life and how one confronts the departing phase of life. His voice was always low as far as I can remember, urging the other person to lower his ears close to his mouth to understand him. He was weak both physically and mentally (defeated by time) and needed assistance for every movement that his body made. Life was no more congenial to him. Each day passed to worsen his health.
Nobody gratified his wishes (although few) except for his son who was mostly away from home. Some despised him and treated him with derision because he was like a nuisance for them. But as my father told me once; Baba was the lifeline of the family for the most part of his life. It was during the British rule, conditions were difficult and education was hard to get. It was a fight which he courageously led for his big family. He used to travel more than thirty kilometres a day on his bicycle with rice bags hung by its side to the nearby city to sell it to dealers there and then return by evening. Before returning home he bought bread and bakery to sell back home. As my father remembers Baba always brought something for the children ranging from a candy to ladoo in his tattered handkerchief made from an old loin cloth. As my father along with other children saw him approach the gate, they ran up to him and he was ready with whatever he had brought for them. That was the best time of the day for the children. Somehow bearing all the hardships of village life he managed to give my grandfather the best education that was possible. He had taken a loan from a Zamindar, so big that he could not give it back in his lifetime. It passed onto my grandfather who returned it back with the required interest rate. But Baba had laid the foundation stone for the growth of the family, an educated family. The generations that would follow would know the importance of education and their accomplishments would surpass the ones of the former, only to make them feel proud.
I feel so proud of him, for I know that it is because of him that I am what I am.
Adieu Baba! Hope I am able to stand up to your expectations.
