My father and I, we had a beautiful relationship. I remember when I was a kid he’d wake me up to go to school he’d walk me to the bus stand. When I was fairly little and almost enjoyed going to school, we’d have about ten minutes of father daughter time before the bus arrived. Mostly, we’d play games or have a thumb fight, but I remember this one day where he found an eyelash on my cheek and told me to wish upon it, and my wish would come true. As a young kid who had everything, I think I told him he could use my wish.
As I got older, I could barely get ready in time to catch the bus. We’d have to sometimes run to catch the bus, while other times he just had to drive me to the school. I’d get scolded about it a lot, but those were the times when I got to know him. I’d put on music and he’s start making fun of the lyrics. If I ever put on a remake of an old Hindi song, he’d sing it in the most beautiful voice ever, and I’d forget the new, hip version in a second.
Even when I reached college, I’d sometimes ask him to pick me up. By this time my taste in music had evolved and I’d put the old original Hindi music of Rafi, Kishore or Jagjit Singh and we’d hum the songs together. He’d sometimes request his favorite ones and I’d almost always oblige.
Some of my favorite memories I have with my father have been in his car. Be it road trips or the times he’d drop me to school or pick me up from college, the times in my dad’s car have always been filled with jokes, laughter and soulful music. But most importantly, the feeling that I’ll always have him with me, as a part of my journey, that he’ll keep me safe and always know the way. Today marks four months of living without that comfort and I miss it so dearly.
Thoughts 