I miss the times I would be out on errands with my father on lazy
summer days.
I'd sit in the car making faces at passer-bys not being afraid of
looking into their eyes and not being adverse with them looking into
mine.
Not being afraid to tell or ask for the truth or to see the truth of
your many faces- as all that was ugly in the world resided in a list
that included broccoli, dog poop, and early bedtimes. Bellybutton lint
was fascinating and your past didn't really matter as long as you
would come and build a leaf fortress with the mulch in the woods
behind my house.
Dad would sip his coffee contentedly from a styrofoam cup while on
cruise.
And I would accuse him of drinking and driving.
Sent from my iPhone
2 of them wept:
bachpan ke din.
skating in the terrace..cycling on the roof. making stories about the people passing down below. imli toffee and pakola. clifton ki rides and bhuttay ke danay. horse carriage rides thru saddar at 10 in the night. tikka from run down restaurants. innocence. safety. stars and smiles.
janay kahan gaey woh din..
when fear could be chased away by your mother's smile, and trust in the inherent goodwill of people was not questionable.
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