Not many people realize that parents are those precious entities that need to be constantly cherished
WHEN I was a kid, my school was about two kilometres away from our home and I used to walk all the way to the school and come back home everyday like many other students. I vividly remember running alongside a narrow road kicking away shrubs and turning over every stone that I saw. I used to have a strange imagination. I would pick up a piece of stone — round, diagonal, square or of any other shape — imagining it to be a gem or a diamond. I would rub the stone vigorously to make sure it was a precious item or a piece of gold, or something valuable that I was looking for. The hunt went on and on and I never felt tired of it.
That’s the nature of an innocent child. Such children always try to trust and believe everything and everyone, always hopeful, always bright and never get disappointed.
Now I have crossed 40 and my father is in his early seventies. After many years of existence and going through numerous ups and downs in life, I have realized that my father is a real gem. I do not just love him; I adore him passionately. To me, he is the light without which I would be groping in the dark and probably lose my sense of direction. Even at this age, he is so young, full of humour and optimism, and is always ready to accept challenges and always there when you need his advice and help. He often says, “ Practise truth and love with a sense of responsibility, and you will succeed.” He exudes grace, charm and an individual style.
But a few weeks ago, something strange happened, which suggested that these days his memory is not as sharp as it used to be.
My father and I have this habit of checking the calendar on a regular basis to keep track of his appointments, activities and whatever things he intends to do. My top most priority is to conduct his business as he desires.
One day, we checked our calendar and found that he had to visit his doctor in the afternoon. I grabbed a bag on my way to the car, thinking I would return or exchange it if we went down that way.
“By the way,” I asked, “where are we going, dad?”
“I don’t exactly know the place,” he replied in his matter-of-fact style, as if he had given me the complete address. “Okay, who is your doctor?” I asked.
Well, I don’t know, because the hospital authorities change them every time I go into the doctor’s chamber.”
“Where do we go then?” I asked.
“Never mind, just move on, I’ll tell you,” he was as sure as always.
That’s how the adventure began. “Take an immediate left and then go straight,” my dad said authoritatively and I obeyed.
On our way, dad and I tried to figure out where we were going. After a pause, he flung a question at me, “Where did you go yesterday?” “When? In the morning when we went to the clinic or to the X-ray lab?” I asked.
“I was inquiring about the area,” he replied.
“Well, it was on the other side of the main North Nazimabad road,” I explained.
“Yes, now I remember, that’s the area. It’s located on the right-hand side corner building.”
“Where?” I asked again.
“It’s simple, my dear young man, the area we are going to,” he explained humorously.
“Okay,” I said and we kept on moving.
I got into another lane, turned right. “Now, where are you going,” asked dad.
“To the doctor’s,” I replied.
“Oh, no, that won’t do it, did I say North Nazimabad. This is not the place.”
“Well then,” I became a bit irritated.
“Then what, just keep going and I’ll let you know,” dad asserted.
Every few minutes I kept asking where to go. He would direct me and I’d keep on driving slowly, in no hurry; but time was running out and we had the appointment at 3.30pm. It was about time. After every few minutes dad would doze off. In fact, he wasn’t really paying attention anymore.
After a while he said, “Keep going, may be it’s behind the mall.”
I went to the back side and found nothing, took a U-turn and drove until we reached the place from where we had started off. Slowly, but surely I had begun to realize that my dad, once a man of sharp senses, was losing control and his memory was getting weaker. All of a sudden both of us started laughing hysterically, so much so, that my ribs began to ache. “Stop and ask someone where the clinic is,” dad suggested.
“Do you know the name of your doctor, dad?” I threw a question at him.
“No, but there can’t be many clinics around here,” dad again passed his judgment.
Then I saw a medical store and stopped. We explained to the druggist about the situation. He knew of no doctors in that vicinity. My dad was dejected. “I am really sorry, I am so confused,” dad lamented
“Never mind dear dad,” I reassured him, we would go back home and get our appointment renewed.
At supper we consulted our calendar. I called up the doctor and made the appointment for the next day, apologizing to him for what had happened. I made sure to note the complete address so that we did not repeat the mistake. My dad was as happy as always.
Despite all this, for some inexplicable reason I find strange satisfaction obeying whatever dad says or orders.
Dad, over the years, has been a faithful husband, a loving father, and a responsible person. He is precious like a diamond. I think it was a good experience for me that dad could not remember where he was going. It provided me with a chance to serve him a little more assiduously. “Well, I am glad you are here to help me,” dad had said, feeling proud of me.
The moral of this story is: don’t look for diamonds in the streets or in jungles. It’s in your own home, only if you have the eyes and senses to spot them.
Not many people realize that parents are those precious entities that need to be constantly cherished
