Sunday, February 7, 2010
A chance to make pa read to me...
Baba has seldom taken up a book and read out a story to me. he had always taken up the excuse of being a bad story reader.
All that I can remember was those sultry summer afternoons and the stories of demons and witches( Thakurir ma r Jhuli). Yes, Baba would read a few of them to me when I was barely 5 years old.
Years rolled on, and the next opportunity came when I suffered from serious bouts of tonsillitis. I still remember the thrill in his eyes as he narrated the fast moving tale from "the treasure island".
And yes once again when life seemed to be a burden...I had lost the urge to score better marks in my fourth standard class tests. He would read out the lovely story called "Iti polash" (regards, Polash).
And today, once again, I had the golden chance to make him read to me...was ill the whole afternoon and evening...and the old man stay beside me and read out two of his favorite stories...just like all those kids who listen to their parents and grandparents' bed time stories, I fell asleep not knowing what happened at the end.
When I woke up, I found myself tucked up with a blanket and the book lying beside me. I opened it and read the last few lines...feeling like a grown up once again. My father's story telling had turned me into a little girl for a few hours after many lonely years.
If you wish to know what made me write this post...here is the link to it.