An old tree
Yesterday, an old man of my grandfather’s age joined his hands and did namaskar to me. I did not know what to do, as he was one of the teachers who taught my father. He was bedridden due to his old age. He is 88 now. But he is not the old tree I am referring to in the title of this blog. The old tree is much bigger than a person.
My father had some errands to run in our ancestral village Mangrul dastagir which is around 120 kms from Nagpur. It was long since I met my grandfather so, I joined him. After the long drive and the work was done, my father was keen on meeting some people in the village. People who he remembered from his childhood. His friends, teachers, family friends, etc.
First we went to one of his friend’s house. The joy this friend had on his face when he saw my father was something else. It was like two brothers were meeting after a long time. My grandfather was along with us. The respect he got was astonishing. He was regarded no less than a father by this friend. Sitting there, I realized that none of my friends is so close, to consider my father his own. I was jealous.
We moved on to a close by house. We entered the backroom, where an old man was sleeping on a charpai (bed). We settled down on chairs around the bed. This house was of my grandfather’s close friend and my father’s teacher. The person lying on bed were Deshmukh Sir. Deshmukh Sir and my grandfather were teacher in the only high school of the village. As soon as Deshmukh Sir recognized my grandfather he joined his hands in Namaskar. The same namaskar was done to my father and me. I did not know what to do then. I just smiled and tried to settle down. The people around talked about the old glorious days of the man lying in front of us. I had nothing to contribute. I was just taking in the gratitude and sense of history in that very moment.
The next house we moved to was just a few blocks away. The person we were meeting there was again one of my grandfather’s friend. My father sat beside him on his bed. Even after so many years, he recognized my father in an instant and kept a hand on his head as a blessing. My father signaled me. I too went up to his bed. He gave me similar blessings. Stories started floating around of how he took my father to theatre for the first time, how he was an excellent folk singer. It was all a joy ride of the past. How things were good in the past.
We came out of the house and started towards our house. A lot of people were recognizing my father in the car and acknowledging him with a smile, as if saying ‘remember how much fun we had back then’. My father smiled back at each one of them. I was in my own thoughts. I was getting nostalgic, not of the history but the feelings and gratitude around me. These people were attached to the core. The time could not wash away where they held each other. Everyone’s life went on, but the old tree of attachments did not stop growing. This tree has pure memories as its root. These memories of good and bad times has kept the bond alive. The day I spent at the village took me far away from the materialistic and nuclear life we are living. At the end of it, there was a big smile on my father’s face. A little part of his life came back to him and momentarily in his smile also. For us, we should give each other a chance. I realized that a good healthy tree of memories and attachment can bring you a lot of happiness.
We need each other, now and even at our death beds.
My father had some errands to run in our ancestral village Mangrul dastagir which is around 120 kms from Nagpur. It was long since I met my grandfather so, I joined him. After the long drive and the work was done, my father was keen on meeting some people in the village. People who he remembered from his childhood. His friends, teachers, family friends, etc.
First we went to one of his friend’s house. The joy this friend had on his face when he saw my father was something else. It was like two brothers were meeting after a long time. My grandfather was along with us. The respect he got was astonishing. He was regarded no less than a father by this friend. Sitting there, I realized that none of my friends is so close, to consider my father his own. I was jealous.
We moved on to a close by house. We entered the backroom, where an old man was sleeping on a charpai (bed). We settled down on chairs around the bed. This house was of my grandfather’s close friend and my father’s teacher. The person lying on bed were Deshmukh Sir. Deshmukh Sir and my grandfather were teacher in the only high school of the village. As soon as Deshmukh Sir recognized my grandfather he joined his hands in Namaskar. The same namaskar was done to my father and me. I did not know what to do then. I just smiled and tried to settle down. The people around talked about the old glorious days of the man lying in front of us. I had nothing to contribute. I was just taking in the gratitude and sense of history in that very moment.
The next house we moved to was just a few blocks away. The person we were meeting there was again one of my grandfather’s friend. My father sat beside him on his bed. Even after so many years, he recognized my father in an instant and kept a hand on his head as a blessing. My father signaled me. I too went up to his bed. He gave me similar blessings. Stories started floating around of how he took my father to theatre for the first time, how he was an excellent folk singer. It was all a joy ride of the past. How things were good in the past.
We came out of the house and started towards our house. A lot of people were recognizing my father in the car and acknowledging him with a smile, as if saying ‘remember how much fun we had back then’. My father smiled back at each one of them. I was in my own thoughts. I was getting nostalgic, not of the history but the feelings and gratitude around me. These people were attached to the core. The time could not wash away where they held each other. Everyone’s life went on, but the old tree of attachments did not stop growing. This tree has pure memories as its root. These memories of good and bad times has kept the bond alive. The day I spent at the village took me far away from the materialistic and nuclear life we are living. At the end of it, there was a big smile on my father’s face. A little part of his life came back to him and momentarily in his smile also. For us, we should give each other a chance. I realized that a good healthy tree of memories and attachment can bring you a lot of happiness.
We need each other, now and even at our death beds.
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