Nostalgia of Nimie.

Gulmohar tree, blossomed flowers each year in their garden,The fragrance would fill the air, to remind the change of the season,” Sun shall soon turn into real hot gigantic ball.” The tree was the biggest of all the exhaling oxygen creatures. The bougainvillea, quietly clung to the beautiful boundary fence, shedding flowers in pink chandeliers, just another silent competitor.

But Gulmohar carried a little air about itself, because it was the first one to be planted in the Sharma’s garden. The Posh industrial township, in the remotest portion of Madhya Pradesh was a life in its own genre. Somewhere in the middle of urban and rural. A two bedroom house, with a garden and huge backyard was like the extended house for the three children growing at their own pace. Nimie, was the middle one. She loved to dance, struggled in maths, played with her dolls and would desperately wait for her father to come home, after office hours.

As a seven year old, she felt this sudden energy bombing in the house, when her father came home. He would cuddle with all the children. Nimie couldn’t even reach the waist, so she would cling around his legs, rattling ” papa, papa”. Non stop chattering of the children with their father would fill the house, while the mother would be relieved taking care of the cooking and other chores.

Sharma ji, as everyone addressed him was a self made man with the intellect at sky level and humbleness at the ground level. A very charming man, who loved his work and more than anything else books. Each time he would travel for work, there would be a separate bag full of books, ” books of all kinds of encyclopaedia to story books from Russia” He simply loved to read, Reader’s digest subscription invited all the exorbitant books from “how to read and write better” to “Animals from the all over the world. “

Nimie would closely observe her father, how he talked ,expressed, his philosophies, beliefs and how he looked at life. The school projects, charts, 3d models were done with his dextrous hands and it always turned into some master piece, appreciated from teachers to the principal. The first car, he bought was Fiat, Premium Padmini!!, sounds so filmy!!! In 1990, Nimie was so thrilled but hated that his father never missed to give a ride to the neighbouring children.

Having two daughters was a liability during 80’s. The middle class stuck to values and education and put aside all the luxuries to let their children fly, to find their own cloud. He often said, whenever you learn or do something, ” do it effortlessly” , it should be effortless effort, simply enjoy, love it, it won’t feel like any effort.

Nimie, loved all the Sanskrit shloka’s he recited very often, the fluency in Sanskrit and its deep meaning with the relevant philosophies can be related to this millennium age as well. One day, Nimie came home to her father and confided she had a crush on some boy in her class. He smiled and simply explained what happens biologically in mind and body and how one should try to differentiate what a real love is and what is hormonal. Now, when she wonders about this, How many parents would give such honest answers to their children during those years.

The rains during those years invited, picnics next to the river dams, the lush green hills, home cooked food topped with laughters and jokes of the family was beyond any price. Their father would often share about his own failures, how he managed in a clutter of siblings maintaining his individuality. Doing chores at home, helping mother and a very strict brahmin father, who won’t spare him for any mistake in academics. His own child hood stories, inspired all of us. He had no intention as posting himself as a hero, but a life long curious learner. The long walks and Sunday brunches still knock the olfactory. Someone said it right, its the experience in the life that enriches than the expensive surroundings…

A great father is someone, whose presence itself creates a rainbow of life, which children silently absorb and let that rainbow shine within them for the rest of their lives.

——Turf of Sunita——