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Ramki

10 Jan, 12 tweets, 3 min read

Rana's mother insisted he call his father Pitaji. Not Papa, Baba, Babuji, and definitely not Daddy. 'But Ma,' he used to complain, 'this is the 21st century, not pracheen Bharat'. 'That's why I'm not asking you to call him Pitashri', she would retort. +

On the other hand, Sweety's mother, a very modern lady indeed, made sure she (Sweety) called her father Daddy. He didn't mind being called anything. Pop, Dad, Baba, Daddykins, Popsy.. as long as he got his quota of hugs and kisses from his darling daughter. +

Rana grew into a strapping young man. Earning raised (but respectful) eyebrows, when his friends heard him call his father Pitaji. But Pitaji deserved that honour. For he was an honourable man. +

He worked long night shifts at a distant factory 6 days of the week. At home, he was kind, loving, and indulgent during the few hours he was awake. His wife cherished his diligence, discipline, and devotion to her. She fed him well, and made sure he got his rest. +

Every morning at the factory, he'd hand over duty to Daddy, the Day Manager, and head home. Daddy worked all day till Pitaji returned to relieve him. On Wednesday, both of them took a much deserved break, when the factory had its weekly holiday. +

Pitaji took off every Wednesday morning to be with his spiritual Guru, and returned on Thursday morning. Daddy used the day to look in on his farms in the village. Both the households ran like clockwork. Week in and week out. +

You, my good readers, are probably expecting Rana and Sweety to have crossed paths. But no such thing happened. Rana met a Renu. And Sweety, with an alliterative instinct of her own, met Swapan. The respective families quite approved their dalliances. +

Rana and Renu soon had a child. And another. The kids, as could be expected, called Pitaji Dadaji. Unlike Sweety's kid, who called Daddy Gramps. Because Sweety was cool like that. And so was Swapan. +

Things went on like this for years. The grandkids doted on their respective grandparents. Smt.Pitaji and Mrs.Daddy continued to be devoted wives. The factory hummed along efficiently, as the two men exchanged batons every morning and night. +

One Wednesday in 2014, which was also New Year's Eve, Pitaji checked into the room at Hill View Hotel that was reserved for him every week. So that he could be alone. Well not exactly alone. Daddy was there too. There was no Guru. Or farms in the village. +

Wednesday was a day for the two men to be with each other. All day. Daddy sipped room service tea, and enjoyed the view from the balcony. He told Pitaji, 'I've lived a happy life. I'll be more than happy to die today.' And so saying, he breathed his last. And so did Pitaji. +

This story, is entirely fictional. Any resemblance to any real person or persons is entirely coincidental. But the attached newspaper clipping is totally real.

ANTHE.

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