Saturday, March 24, 2012


It is almost 5 years since that cold morning when I took you to the airport. It is not easy to navigate in a foreign city such as Paris especially for someone who doesn't speak French, but you were always self-assured. One hasn't ever seen you flustered. You could find your way out of any maze. But you insisted that I buy a return ticket and drop you directly at the terminal. Mom waited at Gare du Nord, she had to catch a train to London that morning.

I remember the delirious laughter from the previous evening, probably drug induced, for you had trouble sleeping, and the sleeping pill made you funny! The morning of your departure however is a bit of a blur in my memory. When Mom wasn't around, we mostly talked about economics, politics or cricket. Or you sermonized at length about something and I listened absentminded. So you would expect that is what happened on our way to the airport. But that morning you might have been quieter - for you had had a premonition. Perhaps you feigned your lack of assuredness so I would go all the way with you to airport to see you for the last time. At Charles de Gaule you appeared small and defenceless - how strange it seemed, the small boy whom you led around by his finger, who listened to everything you said for you were always right, was now showing you the way, carrying your bags, asking you to stand so he could check if the flight was on time. I told my mom when I was child, "One day I would be bigger than my father". That was not thought through, Baba. I am still your little boy, and that day you were only testing me to see if I could find my way in this world alone.

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