They are the mere creative stories written for the contest, nothing is related to my or anyone's real life
My father is a musician. He is very famous and popular. It has been months since I actually met him. Every time he promises to come but cannot due to his busy schedule and fans. Instead we get gifts and precious things, which he brought from different parts of the world. He has to travel all over the world due to his music concerts and all. We (me, mom and my sister), love him alot but as per him there are more people/ fans who love him more than us and whatever he is doing is just for us.
Last time when he came after three months, mom burst into tears and hugged him, while we pepped from behind the pillar. I was shy and scared of him. He never hugged me. We shook hands. He would tell me that I am the man of the family in his absence, and unlike him I was always supposed to be on duty for Mom and my little sister. I don't know whether I was very fond of him like his fans but his presence made Mom ecstatic. I guess that was all I needed. I think I miss his visits.
Mom looks at his photograph everyday in newspaper, laptop and mobile. Even her mobile wallpaper is his photograph. She makes an extra roti in case he surprises her with his visit. I found her sad when she feeds the stale roti to the stray dog. I think crying is part of her routine and now she is as well us are used to her crying. She stares at the gate for hours whenever she get to know about his music program in our city. But hardly he comes to meet us. Mom snuggles with me as she cries to sleep. My nights resonate with her quivering gasps. I don't know what to do to make her feel better.
Last week I showed her the essay I wrote on my ambition in life. I want to be a musician just like my father, famous and popular. She slapped me hard when she read it and them cried louder than I would ever heard her. She hugged me saying she was sorry. I never understand her. I think I should find a new ambition.
Every night she tell us the stories about Dda. I love gazing at her eyes when she does that. they sparkle with joy as the story begins and are flooded with tears while it ends. She does not answer when I say I want to be like him.
Yesterday, I saw Mom unlocking the old trunk. She dressed herself in a white saree. I had never seen her in a shade of white. She looked stunning and sad. There was a crowd outside our house. No one was cheering this time. In between there was a man lying calm and peaceful. He was my dad. Mom broke down at his sight.
Sometimes I see my Dad in dreams. We walk together in the garden. I keep looking at his intense eyes. He bends to hug me and says,"A son is never off duty.".
This blog post is inspired by the blogging marathon hosted on IndiBlogger for the launch of the #Fantastico Zica from Tata Motors. You can apply for a test drive of the hatchback Zica today.My father is a musician. He is very famous and popular. It has been months since I actually met him. Every time he promises to come but cannot due to his busy schedule and fans. Instead we get gifts and precious things, which he brought from different parts of the world. He has to travel all over the world due to his music concerts and all. We (me, mom and my sister), love him alot but as per him there are more people/ fans who love him more than us and whatever he is doing is just for us.
Last time when he came after three months, mom burst into tears and hugged him, while we pepped from behind the pillar. I was shy and scared of him. He never hugged me. We shook hands. He would tell me that I am the man of the family in his absence, and unlike him I was always supposed to be on duty for Mom and my little sister. I don't know whether I was very fond of him like his fans but his presence made Mom ecstatic. I guess that was all I needed. I think I miss his visits.
Mom looks at his photograph everyday in newspaper, laptop and mobile. Even her mobile wallpaper is his photograph. She makes an extra roti in case he surprises her with his visit. I found her sad when she feeds the stale roti to the stray dog. I think crying is part of her routine and now she is as well us are used to her crying. She stares at the gate for hours whenever she get to know about his music program in our city. But hardly he comes to meet us. Mom snuggles with me as she cries to sleep. My nights resonate with her quivering gasps. I don't know what to do to make her feel better.
Last week I showed her the essay I wrote on my ambition in life. I want to be a musician just like my father, famous and popular. She slapped me hard when she read it and them cried louder than I would ever heard her. She hugged me saying she was sorry. I never understand her. I think I should find a new ambition.
Every night she tell us the stories about Dda. I love gazing at her eyes when she does that. they sparkle with joy as the story begins and are flooded with tears while it ends. She does not answer when I say I want to be like him.
Yesterday, I saw Mom unlocking the old trunk. She dressed herself in a white saree. I had never seen her in a shade of white. She looked stunning and sad. There was a crowd outside our house. No one was cheering this time. In between there was a man lying calm and peaceful. He was my dad. Mom broke down at his sight.
Sometimes I see my Dad in dreams. We walk together in the garden. I keep looking at his intense eyes. He bends to hug me and says,"A son is never off duty.".
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