An Honest Confession

It was a usual Saturday evening with nothing usual about it. Streets deserted, shops closed,flags fluttering over cycles parked in a row.At the end of lane ,could be seen an old man walking away with a long stick in his hand. For a moment, I was dumbstruck.He resembled someone I knew.But I was in no mood to reach him .

It had never happened that my Dad missed watching my performance. He wouldn’t have if that flight had not got Cancelled. There were bandhs, fights , closures India wide. Well !! I had overheard Mom speaking on phone :
“This Ayodhya thing was surely not a welcoming stint.The aftermath had to happen. Riots had happened then and after 60 years, nothing to change, no better”

Then I remembered once Granma say Ayodhya was Ram Janma Bhoomi. “What happened to Ram??” I asked her inquisitively. She picked me in her arms and carressed me saying “Nothing baby”. It must be Ravaan who created all violence then, I thought and settled. But the thought kept bugging me .I walked impatiently towards the temple lane, which is usually secluded and aloof , to ask Shri Ram all the questions rolling in my mind .And here he was.
This old man, 100 years old , was haunting me. Walking on and on in dangerous and venomous lane .

Stop!!! Stop!! Stop!!!

No reply came.

Stop You!! You………GrandPa….. Yes…You.

He turned back.

“ Grandpa!!” he extolled ,in his shaky, shivering yet divine voice.

I was mesmerized by the spark emanating from his face.

“Are you an angel…an Old Angel!!”

“No baby.I am afraid!! My name is Mohan.”

“But you appear to be so sad. Did your Dad too miss attending your function like mine”
“No baby!! I only have children ” , he said , with a giggle running through his face.
Ohh!! Is it?? How many?? How come??......and I kept on shooting questions like a quizzer. He answered some and laughed out the rest.

I fell in love with him instantly and told my agony and why I was sad.

Then when I asked him why he was sad, I sat dumbstruck. “Baby” , he said “I had made a family where I was the Father, all my children lived in a home called India like brothers and sisters.They worshipped different Gods,some Ram and some Allah, some Jesus and some Guru Nanak. They wore different clothes, celebrated different occasions. But they were One Family.”
“Today they are fighting. Humanity is fighting!! Anybody who is killed is my own.My child!!. Shan’t I be sad?”, he sighed.


I knew nothing. With the blend of emotions running heavy on my heart , I looked at the big clock on Temple entrance and exclaimed “ Its Quarter to 12 now. And before I am too late , Wishing You a Happy b’day Bapu ,The Father of my Nation”
And I had no gifts for the Father.


PS:Saturday 2nd Oct 2010 was Gandhi Jayanti