Spend a couple of hours with the father. We all (Bhaskarji included) have a few of drinks and my Dad as usual, just keeps pulling me leg.

The only person who hasn’t wished me today, calls. When I am in this kind of a mood, he knows the best way is to tell me some story. Sometimes, he’ll tell me how rats steal eggs. It’s all some piece of information, that has nothing do with anyone.

He starts talking about some random place and why it’s called that and so and so forth. My attention drifts from this to that, sometimes here and sometimes far, far away but one finds it soothing to listen to people, talk. ‘Tujhe pata he na Diwali he?’ I interject. ‘ Haan!’ he replies. ‘ Thank you!’ is all I can say.

Even after an hour, I’m restless. I reassure him, that I am fine and I need sleep. But sleep…

Anyway, poetry and music can get me through most nights.

‘Rone ko nahin koi, hasne ko zamaana he.

Aasoon to bohat se he Jigar lekin

Bindh jai so moti he, rah jaye so dana he.