All that he knew was that he was going to make a lot of money when he grew up. His mother told him so every night, when she gave him that one precious glass of milk, which she wouldn't allow him to share with the others. He was going to be her hero. He was the son who understood her predicament. The predicament of raising four children, when all her husband had was a small sweet shop which just about allowed him to provide the bare neccessties of life. Bare. Everything in those days was bare. cupboards, clothes which were threadbare, stomachs which were bare, empty.
He was the eldest. The responsibilities of a house peopled with three younger siblings, ageing father and hapless mother, he had started shouldering from the age of seventeen, when having passed basic school he migrated to the Big City, Mumbai, in the mid nineties.
He was yet to fulfill his mother's dreams, but he looked every inch the hero. His charisma, the honesty that shone from his eyes, the vulnerability of demeanour, endeared him wherever he went. His half brother, who had meant to exploit him, found himself taking him under his wing. Wings. Thats what he thought he had when he went flying through the streets of Mumbai, delivering the cans and bags of imported eatables his brother dealt in.
The money that he earned, every paise of it, was faithfully sent to his mother and indeed with her prayers he prospered. His never say die attitude took him far. Far away to Ethiopia. Where the promise of more beckoned. However passport issuess saw him deported back to India . He learned along the way that life wasn't always fair, people weren't always unselfish. He bore the knocks that were meted out to him and went on.
He realised that thru him other people had prospered even more, his pretty wife bore him two daughters, no sons. And so he laboured on. The proudest day of his life was the day he sent his aged parents on the longed for pilgrimage of Haj. The saddest day of his life was the day when, in spite of all his efforts to save her, his mother died . the happiest day of his life was when his beautiful wife gave birth to an angelic daughter after seven long, despairing years of life.He guided his siblings thru their life. They never forgot him in their adversities, always did in their joys, for he was the rock on whom they relied, but took for granted.
His children were the joy of his life. He treasured them all the more because they came to him late in life. The one so pretty she took your breath away, the other, so like him, he never missed the son he never had.
Yes. The journey had been long. Long with myriad hues of love and joy, pain and sadness. But he was happy at last. Happy in the final reckoning. Wasnt that was life is all about.
He was the eldest. The responsibilities of a house peopled with three younger siblings, ageing father and hapless mother, he had started shouldering from the age of seventeen, when having passed basic school he migrated to the Big City, Mumbai, in the mid nineties.
He was yet to fulfill his mother's dreams, but he looked every inch the hero. His charisma, the honesty that shone from his eyes, the vulnerability of demeanour, endeared him wherever he went. His half brother, who had meant to exploit him, found himself taking him under his wing. Wings. Thats what he thought he had when he went flying through the streets of Mumbai, delivering the cans and bags of imported eatables his brother dealt in.
The money that he earned, every paise of it, was faithfully sent to his mother and indeed with her prayers he prospered. His never say die attitude took him far. Far away to Ethiopia. Where the promise of more beckoned. However passport issuess saw him deported back to India . He learned along the way that life wasn't always fair, people weren't always unselfish. He bore the knocks that were meted out to him and went on.
He realised that thru him other people had prospered even more, his pretty wife bore him two daughters, no sons. And so he laboured on. The proudest day of his life was the day he sent his aged parents on the longed for pilgrimage of Haj. The saddest day of his life was the day when, in spite of all his efforts to save her, his mother died . the happiest day of his life was when his beautiful wife gave birth to an angelic daughter after seven long, despairing years of life.He guided his siblings thru their life. They never forgot him in their adversities, always did in their joys, for he was the rock on whom they relied, but took for granted.
His children were the joy of his life. He treasured them all the more because they came to him late in life. The one so pretty she took your breath away, the other, so like him, he never missed the son he never had.
Yes. The journey had been long. Long with myriad hues of love and joy, pain and sadness. But he was happy at last. Happy in the final reckoning. Wasnt that was life is all about.
Perfect..for a man who has seen it all..for a man who has never flinched..for a man who has worked all his life to see his children happy..for a man who has been there and done that ages ago..for a man whose strength never faulters..for Nanaji..the greatest of all times..
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