Sunday, 29 September 2013

5…4…3…2…1


5…4…3…2…1


Dad was at the gate. She trembled. She panicked. She racked her brain for some excuse. But, as always, her senses failed her at the crucial moment. What would she tell him when he asked her for the one thing he cherished most, his prized possession, the Camlin pen a gift from his father? She had always yearned to write with that pen. Only this morning he had given it to her so that she could write her board examinations with it. It was his blessing. But now it was lost. She knew she would have to tell him the truth. He would scold her, think her irresponsible. Yet, she would tell him the truth.

He came, tired  from a hectic day at office. Yet, he smiled. The smile on his face gave her the strength to approach him. She knew she had to get over with it. Before he could open his mouth she blurted the truth. The pen was lost and so was a dear memory- his father's memory. He looked at her in silence for a few seconds. Yes seconds, yet to her it was like hours. She waited for the worst. Finally, he pulled her down beside him. He wanted to know how she had fared in her exams. Any tough questions? Anything she thought she had missed?....... He spoke to her at length. Yet, not a word about the pen. She could not take it any longer. Tears welled up in her eyes. She once again expressed her anguish at having lost his pen. He smiled, patted her on the back, told her to forget about the pen and move on and get ready for the next day's examination.

True, the pen was lost, but not his father's memory. It was there close to his heart and it would always be there. It would never be lost or stolen. His father was gone, his pen was lost, but life had to move on.......

That day she learnt a lesson. We lose a lot of things, a lot of people over the years. But there is no point in brooding over them. We have to move on.... 

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda