Thursday, January 26, 2012

Little girl in the veranda

Holding her dad’s finger, she walked in awe, ogling at the bright colours and shapes. Her tiny feet adorned with anklets, resonated joy. Her laughter soothing like sound of chimes. With pure innocence she shouts aloud babaaa, and points at a beautiful necklace, displayed at a jewelry store.

Definitely, girls have an eye for bling. And her baba, who was dressed in a solid white shirt and khakhi trousers, glanced up on her daughter’s choice, her love at first sight. Baba, smiling at her, with a though of her wedding day in the back of his mind, nodded and coochie cooed her that the day is still far away…

Soon I drowned into a pool of nostalgia and was drifted back in time, to my childhood days. I was her age, circling around the verandah at the glimpse of my father. Maa tells me this incidence often that when papa used to come back from his distant braches as he was posted outside our hometown then, Mathura; I use to shy away, giggle and run around the verandqa with ultimate joy. He used to smile and laugh at the sight. All his fatigue of travelling long distance was forgotten. He would call out for me with his arms wide open, and after a little jog around I used to run towards him, excited for his warm embrace. Happiest moments of our lives! Though I can’t recall the details but can still sense his lovely embrace that assured me that I was safe.

How strange it is, over two decades down the lane, the same girl now runs towards another man, her soul mate. The change being that the father himself hands over his daughter to her man. Her anklets reverberate joy, now in her new house. But her hero still remains her papa, and it is a fact that every girl somewhere sees a reflection of her father in his husband.

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