My kaleidoscope!
My childhood was a kaleidoscope, and you were at the heart of every color and pattern.
From home to school and back home again, every moment was spent with you. You were not just my father, you were my teacher, my playmate, and my guide. We shared not just a house, but a classroom, a stage, and a life.
I still remember our little mimicry sessions, where we’d imitate relatives and burst into laughter. Your presence would light up every family gathering. The poems you wrote, the plays you directed, we, Aai and I, were always the first ones to watch, to smile, and to clap.
You never quite perfected it, but every morning you’d patiently braid my hair into plaits before school. That was love, steady, and full of effort.
Our vacations were always together because we belonged to the same school, you as a teacher, I as your student. It was a bond few get to experience. The classroom never really ended, because the lessons continued at home, in the form of stories, values, and wisdom.
You invented so many indoor games, back in a time when there was no YouTube, no online tutorials, not even Google. I especially remember the matchbox game, you’d flip it and the goal was to make it land standing upright. It was simple, creative, and so much fun. You taught me chess too, not just the moves, but the strategy, the patience, and the power of thinking ahead.
And yes, it was you who lifted me up every single day so the wound I had from that accident could be cleaned and dressed. You stood beside me, hand in hand, every time the bandage was changed.
You introduced me to Marathi dramas, poetry recitations, films, and garden strolls. You wrote my speeches and prepared me for elocution contests. Then on the final day, you would lovingly accept my wish of you not attending it because I felt too conscious. That was your quiet strength, very supportive without conditions.
You taught me how to manage money, how to deal with banks, and how to handle life. Our Maggi and bread roll sandwich parties, just you and me when Aai was at work, were tiny, fulfilled celebrations. The taste still lingers on my tongue.
Our evening walks weren’t just about exercise. They were about sharing stories, talking about life, and learning values I didn’t even realize I was absorbing.
I can’t remember a single conversation with you that didn’t leave a mark. You had this rare ability, either to make people laugh till their stomachs hurt or to say something so simple and heartfelt that it settled straight into the heart.
That last night, in the final hours before you left us forever, when I was sleeping near your bed, head resting close to you, you gently patted my head. That soft touch said it all: “I am here. I’ll always be here. Take care of yourself. And remember, your mother is an incredible and extraordinary woman.”
And so, you remain,
In every braid I make,
In every sandwich I toast,
In every poem I write,
In every truth I live.
And trust me the ‘the last pat remained’ in the form of a daughter’s memories of love, learning, and letting go.
