A tribute to my father

My dear father,

You died 30 years ago. Who knows where death takes us? Suspending disbelief on matters of the afterlife, let me say thanks to you on Father’s Day on the off-chance that somewhere lurks the spirit of our loved ones.

You taught me how to see the funny side of life, how to remain honest despite temptations to be otherwise. By your decent living you showed me how easy it is to be decent. But above all, you taught me the art of story telling: how to narrate a tale with a terrific punchline, how to keep the audience guessing and curious about the potential outcome.

Although you lacked the thrift that you tried to inculcate in me, you did warn me about the potential consequences of the profligacy of my youth. You told me that if I didn’t think of my financial future, I would end up with nothing but a load of empty boxes in my old age.

For years you made me write a one third précis of the daily newspaper editorial and corrected my language despite your busy schedule. You inculcated in me the pleasure of reading, the passion for literature. You bribed me 100 rupees to read Mahatma Gandhi’s autobiography when I was just fourteen!

So thanks for everything. I couldn’t have asked for more.