9:32 pm (one evening)
The Yahoo messenger alert beeped...announcing the arrival of another message. It's a holiday tomorrow, I will have ample time, so I didn't check it out right away. After some updates in my Facebook page I turned off the Wi-Fi and finally called it a day.
7am (next morning)
Woke up to a not so sunny day. Such mornings gives me a lot of blues, more so if it a no work day. Pulling myself out of bed, I got involved with the chores I love, tending my flower pots and looking for the birds and bees...with a warm cup of tea in my hand.
After breakfast I got back to my phone and on turning on the Wi-Fi, the messenger alert beeped again to remind me of the unseen message.
I opened the message and read "Your father's name was Bupai (an Assamese word for boy), right? Deben Acharya. I was prompt in replying "yes". And then a reply to my reply came, "I will call you. Please share your number. I want to talk to you". I shared my number and waited for the call.
My father:
I lost him at the age of 4 years plus some months, and all that remains of him in my memory is his face and his upper torso. He was wearing a white shirt with black polka dots and looked a little absorbed in thoughts. Besides that, everything I know about him is what I have heard from my mother, sisters, family members, the village folks of Baligoan (in Jorhat),his friends, family friends, his fans and well wishers....and people I meet randomly, who connects to me, only because I am his daughter. He has been my inspiration and the spirit behind my unending motivation to go on, whatever may be the circumstances.
And I am always yearning to know more about him from any source, it's like my sunshine...something that gives me renewed momentum.
The Phone Rings...and I see an unknown number and receive the call.
I hear the soft voice of lady, saying, "I really wanted to connect to you. You are the daughter of Debendra Nath Acharya of whom I have such fond memories. She introduces herself and recalled how she met my father in Shillong (Meghalaya), when she was a little girl. When I asked the year and how he happened to visit their place, she said she did not know, as she was too young. She only remembered that he use to take her in his lap and sway her to and fro to the verse "Ai Giri Nandini, Nandita Medini, Vishwa Vinodini, Nanda Sute."(the Mahisasura Mardini Strotam).This came as a surprise to me as I have been listening to this Strotam from many years, and is one of my favourites.
Her visual memory of him wearing a white Kurta Pajama that is still vivid in her mind and his face, which she said resembles mine. This memory of my father is so much imprinted in her mind that she recalled it as her most unforgettable moments.
Later she heard that he had gone for his studied to Imperial College London. She also heard about his marriage to my mother, our stay in Duliajan and about his sudden demise.
While we talked, we understood that the Shillong connection happened through our families that resided in the same village, Baligoan in Jorhat, Assam and were neighbours. Probably he had visited their family who resided in Shillong at that time.
The present:
We talked about our families, work, and the daily bits, and hung up, with a promise to catch up soon.
*It is often said, everything that goes away, comes back in some other form...
Nothing finishes forever, an invisible thread binds it all...to the universal soul.
At times this thread is visible, at times, it is not, but it never ceases to exist.
The Yahoo messenger alert beeped...announcing the arrival of another message. It's a holiday tomorrow, I will have ample time, so I didn't check it out right away. After some updates in my Facebook page I turned off the Wi-Fi and finally called it a day.
7am (next morning)
Woke up to a not so sunny day. Such mornings gives me a lot of blues, more so if it a no work day. Pulling myself out of bed, I got involved with the chores I love, tending my flower pots and looking for the birds and bees...with a warm cup of tea in my hand.
After breakfast I got back to my phone and on turning on the Wi-Fi, the messenger alert beeped again to remind me of the unseen message.
I opened the message and read "Your father's name was Bupai (an Assamese word for boy), right? Deben Acharya. I was prompt in replying "yes". And then a reply to my reply came, "I will call you. Please share your number. I want to talk to you". I shared my number and waited for the call.
My father:
I lost him at the age of 4 years plus some months, and all that remains of him in my memory is his face and his upper torso. He was wearing a white shirt with black polka dots and looked a little absorbed in thoughts. Besides that, everything I know about him is what I have heard from my mother, sisters, family members, the village folks of Baligoan (in Jorhat),his friends, family friends, his fans and well wishers....and people I meet randomly, who connects to me, only because I am his daughter. He has been my inspiration and the spirit behind my unending motivation to go on, whatever may be the circumstances. And I am always yearning to know more about him from any source, it's like my sunshine...something that gives me renewed momentum.
The Phone Rings...and I see an unknown number and receive the call.
I hear the soft voice of lady, saying, "I really wanted to connect to you. You are the daughter of Debendra Nath Acharya of whom I have such fond memories. She introduces herself and recalled how she met my father in Shillong (Meghalaya), when she was a little girl. When I asked the year and how he happened to visit their place, she said she did not know, as she was too young. She only remembered that he use to take her in his lap and sway her to and fro to the verse "Ai Giri Nandini, Nandita Medini, Vishwa Vinodini, Nanda Sute."(the Mahisasura Mardini Strotam).This came as a surprise to me as I have been listening to this Strotam from many years, and is one of my favourites.
Her visual memory of him wearing a white Kurta Pajama that is still vivid in her mind and his face, which she said resembles mine. This memory of my father is so much imprinted in her mind that she recalled it as her most unforgettable moments.
Later she heard that he had gone for his studied to Imperial College London. She also heard about his marriage to my mother, our stay in Duliajan and about his sudden demise.
While we talked, we understood that the Shillong connection happened through our families that resided in the same village, Baligoan in Jorhat, Assam and were neighbours. Probably he had visited their family who resided in Shillong at that time.
The present:
We talked about our families, work, and the daily bits, and hung up, with a promise to catch up soon.
*It is often said, everything that goes away, comes back in some other form...
Nothing finishes forever, an invisible thread binds it all...to the universal soul.
At times this thread is visible, at times, it is not, but it never ceases to exist.
