My Indian Childhood

     Too many years, more decades that I care to count, have passed by since our father moved on to a different plane, but the memories are still sweet and fresh - of his easy and comfortable presence, the person he was, his actions and words, his life in flow, in constant motion and closely connected to the world around him. He was friendly, funny with a witty tongue but always kind, generous, helpful and, at his heart, one of the gentlest and most "real" people I have ever known, even after all this time .      When I look back, I find that some of my most vivid memories of my father have settled around early Sunday mornings during my childhood. These were often times when, if we weren’t going on an already-planned visit to the zoo or the aquarium or the beach, or to visit our cousins in the suburbs, my father would ask if I would like to accompany him on an occasional errand or a spontaneous outing somewhere for some reason or the other. My sisters were little more