Musings On A Father's Day Poem by Aniruddha Pathak

I dared not tell him a quaint little tale,
Forget a bold idea like bunking school,
Nor yet playing past under pouring rain,
To be son's friend at fifteen was no cool.

But as dad I sure drifted in-between—
Oft trying hard, be stern, more oft failing,
Like teachers who still care, and coaches there,
Now to be soft, and still as oft slipping!

I recall, it was mountain-like tall task
To get approving nod—much less his sign
On school report card howso good it was,
For, his own once had a rainbow-like shine.

Then came time when my son's had gone downhill,
‘Your only chance now is a barber's job';
We'll see dad, his smile not much did reveal.
My surest shot he returned with a lob.

My dad knew me well— a matter of pride,
Career was no great concern in those days,
He would advise but still let me decide,
My son has had his own liberal ways.

It may look easier at this time now
Than it was during those hard-boiling days,
Thanks be to hard lessons that once I'd learnt,
And all discipline deployed ere now pays.

With pride I recall time my son declined
Some luxuries he deemed as needless aid,
Be it AC or a drop to college,
I knew then that he'd grey cells in his head.

World winds had not wafted to my dad's port,
But he could well see his great grandkids' time,
To them he'd have looked a tyrant of sort,
Yet, quick he cast him in a changing clime.

He complained of no conflicting age gap
Though lived long—five generations to span—
Bullock carts till sound-bursting planes began—
And preferred to wear no grand-old-man's cap!

I hope not to live so long, nor think wise,
Just long enough body easy can bear,
Long till I hold on to my free bird's air,
Yet, I know destiny such dreams defies.
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Written on Father's Day:June 20
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Musings | 05.06.10 |