To baba - to be a rock and not to roll !!

Those big rough hands which once cradled me and didi now hold my son. Those tales which once fired my imagination - Pirates and of great adventures at sea, of Moby Dick and Fidel Castro, of Lucy lost in the blizzard and tales from the scriptures will soon regale my son. Those lines and wrinkles on his face like ancient rivulets tell stories of struggle and hardship, of the many paths taken, mistakes made and triumphs enjoyed. Albeit weakened but those eyes have witnessed history of this nation and of his own family. History, which he still recalls with great accuracy. Spartan-ish disciple, hermit like disregard to worldly trappings, Stoic optimism and ice –cold patience defines him. Bent maybe but never broken .. that’s my baba !