On The Banks Of Periyar...

It was another Sunday morning, and we were playing Cricket. As expected, in a few minutes time, there appeared Bhargavan, with his big fishing rod, followed by his little son Nandi. We stopped the game, as they crossed the pitch and headed towards the Periyar River. Bhargavan was a compounder in the government medical college and his son studied in lower primary class in a government school. I have never seen anybody else from their family, just the son and his father. I always used to wonder how the child followed the man like a disciple. Both were happy and comfortable in each other’s company. By evening, they came back happily, with the day’s catch. Nandi always carried an aluminium pot which would be filled by evening. I have never seen him playing with the children of his age-group, as for him Bhargavan was the world, and the encyclopaedia of the art of fishing. 

Bhargavan always had the patience to clarify every repeated doubt, his son asked. They used to talk a lot, about fishing, world, school, hospital and so on. This scenario repeated every holiday, but they never missed a Sunday. We could hear the loud cheer of Nandi, when his father used to catch a fish. It was delightful to watch how by evening Nandi walked proudly with the catch, in front of his father, who would be puffing out his Beedi behind.

Even after the 10 long years from then, we still play cricket, wait for Bhargavan and Nandi to cross the pitch as they head towards the banks of Periyar. The only differences I could make out is that, now Nandi pedals a cycle, with a grey haired Bhargavan sitting behind comfortably with his Beedi, and now they don’t carry that pot, instead a black bag, as it seems the wave of development had caressed them too.

It’s a wonder, how even time stood still, watching a sweet friendship between a dad and his son.


(Linking this to Ultimate Blog Challenge)