O’ Father

My father has always been one of those larger than life human beings with an insane smartness and exceeding passion for the work he does. I have never seen my father without a book in hand and I have never seen a day go by in which he wasn’t reading or writing something. Though retired now, he was one of those teachers whose classes were always over-filled, whose students had this uncanny and ethereal love for him, and his craft was and still is his religion. 

If you get him talking about philosophy, then welcome to our home. Because that discussion will take ages to get over, you will be famished and end up having a meal at our place. And trust me, you won’t get weary because he has that eccentric effect on people. My sister and I grew up with names like Rousseau, Freud, Aristotle and many more thrown in casual conversations. We knew the theories of psychoanalysis, realism, rationalism and other such concepts much before they were even taught to us. Our house was always filled with his students coming and going. Lively discussions about philosophy, sociology and other vocations packed our thoughts incessantly. Being home, eternally felt like a fortress of powerful knowledge engulfing you. Everyone who knows me knows that I have two names, Godhuli and Sophie. My pet name being Sophie because my father treasured the writings of the French Philosopher Jean Jacques Rousseau, particularly the book Emile and had named me after Emile’s imaginary wife Sophie. Likewise, my older sister was nick named, Lucy after William Wordsworth’s Lucy poems. You see, my father sprinkled a tiny bit of knowledge in our names itself. 

Apart from being this uncompromising academician, he is also a beautiful singer. He never got professional training, but he sings astoundingly well and always encourages me to pursue my passions. He writes poems, is a storyteller and is one of my inspiration when it comes to writing. He is the first and finest reader, critic, fan and advocate of my work. He is even a brilliant orator and I yearn to address like he does. No one. Absolutely no one, can captivate an audience as effortlessly as my father does. He used to be part of a theatre group during his college days and used to perform to his heart’s content. Nowadays, he happily settles for watching others perform. Sadly, both his daughters couldn’t pick up his acting proficiencies. 

He is funny and sarcastic. He is sweet and scary, maybe, not so scary now. He worships cricket and doesn’t know how to play cricket. He prefers fish over meat. He is a tad bit sentimental but masks it well. He likes to offer his daughters’ the first bite to eat from his plate before he starts. He is the happiest when everyone at the house is engrossed in studying. He loves his mother. He appeals to his wife with innovative sweet little nick names. He is a sucker for sweets and chai. He smiles genuinely and laughs from within his soul.

People who know both of us, say that I am like my father. The way I sit, the way I talk, the way I smile sometimes, and my impatience can be somewhat similar to his. However, I know for a fact that I am not even partially as good as he is. 

I try though. I always try.