Musings of a Delhi Boy

A tribute to my father, who left us in the physical form this day, three years ago, although he continues to be with us each moment……..

Several years ago- at the peak of my youth- my predilection for the fruit of Bacchus started taking an upward swing. Expectedly, as Father Time rolled on, this fondness began casting a malign shadow on my personal life, soon reaching a point where it threatened to sow seeds of discord in the garden of my fairly new marriage. However, before these seeds could be sown, and allowed to take root and bear flowers, my father- himself a teetotaler, and a man of exemplary foresight and intelligence- started to counsel me about the pitfalls of my newly acquired penchant, as he had, probably, anticipated its eventual consequences. So much so, to understand the subject in detail, he pored over the extensive material available on it in the form of books and other sundry literature.

Daddy, as we used to call him, was endowed with a deep spiritual reservoir, which helped him rise above tumult, and retain clarity of thought and patience in demeanor, even in the midst of despair and crisis. Thus, when there came a stage when everything looked bleak and depressing to me, for Daddy, there was hope and sunshine all around.

One day- from his vast repository of knowledge- he invoked a verse from the Holy Scriptures,

Naam khumari Nanak,

Chaadhi rahe Din Raat

With characteristic erudition, he explained the significance of these profound lines, citing thought provoking instances from history, along with contemporary examples- while inebriation from material intoxicants is temporary, and vanishes at the advent of dawn, those drunk on the name of Nanak, remain high through day and night. That, friends, was the point when I learnt my lesson, and learnt it quite well.

Till then, I was the complete anti-thesis of a pious person, with my spiritual propensities oscillating from being an outright atheist to being an agnostic. Perched on the high post of my dogmatic, and often narcissist, intellectual arrogance, I exuded rather cold vibes towards the self appointed thekedaars of religion (irrespective of their affiliations; for this I have no regrets, and my attitude towards them has remained unaltered most of my adult life, and continues to be that way) and those who displayed over the top, holier-than-thou zealousness towards sundry religious activities, of which no faith has any dearth in our country.

But after listening to Daddy’s pithy discourse, somewhere, deep within me, a flame of divine awakening was lit, in a space I never knew existed.  With a firm conviction, I garnered all the willpower buried deep within my being, and slowly, but surely, brought my life back on track. I uprooted the trees of Bacchus, and nurtured the garden of my relationship with my wife- equipped with oodles of passion, a surfeit of care, a fountain of understanding and a deep well of love- so that fresh pink lilies and beautiful red roses blossomed in it.

And all this was possible because of my father, and his profound wisdom and sacrifice.

Thank you, Daddy!

You are always there with us!