If
I remember my childhood days. The days of learning in school, chasing after my younger brothers and sisters, playing cricket under the beating sun against the neighborhood boys and being able to embrace my life as it prospered. But as I grew from a scrawny young boy to a fresh young adult, I enjoyed mathematics, physics and the understanding of structural architecture. Engineering, a job reserved for the illustrious and high British scholars before the Satyagraha movement, was now available to any student who could bring high marks on the Technological Passing Examination. The grueling exam, approximately 4 hours long, covered a span of subjects from my most hated, English and British History to the easiest, mathematics and sciences. …show more content…
For a whole month, I donned a simple white outfit as I completed rituals in the honor of my father. I greeted guests graciously, mourned for my father along with family and friends and was treated as a pious son as if I never left and was always favored by my father. I remember forming my father’s cremation pyre and was given the honor of initiating the burning my father so his soul may safely merge with the gods. In reality, that burning was not an honor, but a stinging reminding of the pain I felt when my father would not account for my wishes and I attempted to force me into obedience. I believed that I suffered and my father prospered from my suffering. But, I soon discovered that my belief was not the …show more content…
Soon, I packed my suitcase days prior to my departure. But, as I rifled through my clatter, I came upon a letter dated on 1958, the year I had departed for England. I could make out my father’s penmanship and his scrawny cursive. On the front it read, “To My Son, Mohan Bansal.” Quickly opening the letter, I began to read.
“Dear Son, I write this on the day you ran away. I am not surprised at your bold decision to explore a different country even when I told you no. I am sorry,Son. I am sorry at my crude remarks. I don’t think you should take over my business unless you want to. I just feared your safety. And with that rashness, I lost you. I am sorry. I hope, one day you will forgive me.”
A glistening tear dripped out of my eye. We had only wanted the same thing:Forgiveness. If only I had picked up the phone. If only I had not tried to ignore. If only I was not afraid. If only I could turn back time. If only.... I burst into tears. If only I had listened where time was given. My father never wanted my obedience, but only my success. He had wanted to keep me protected. I realized his hard service of keeping together a family as the head. I was to do the
I remember my childhood days. The days of learning in school, chasing after my younger brothers and sisters, playing cricket under the beating sun against the neighborhood boys and being able to embrace my life as it prospered. But as I grew from a scrawny young boy to a fresh young adult, I enjoyed mathematics, physics and the understanding of structural architecture. Engineering, a job reserved for the illustrious and high British scholars before the Satyagraha movement, was now available to any student who could bring high marks on the Technological Passing Examination. The grueling exam, approximately 4 hours long, covered a span of subjects from my most hated, English and British History to the easiest, mathematics and sciences. …show more content…
For a whole month, I donned a simple white outfit as I completed rituals in the honor of my father. I greeted guests graciously, mourned for my father along with family and friends and was treated as a pious son as if I never left and was always favored by my father. I remember forming my father’s cremation pyre and was given the honor of initiating the burning my father so his soul may safely merge with the gods. In reality, that burning was not an honor, but a stinging reminding of the pain I felt when my father would not account for my wishes and I attempted to force me into obedience. I believed that I suffered and my father prospered from my suffering. But, I soon discovered that my belief was not the …show more content…
Soon, I packed my suitcase days prior to my departure. But, as I rifled through my clatter, I came upon a letter dated on 1958, the year I had departed for England. I could make out my father’s penmanship and his scrawny cursive. On the front it read, “To My Son, Mohan Bansal.” Quickly opening the letter, I began to read.
“Dear Son, I write this on the day you ran away. I am not surprised at your bold decision to explore a different country even when I told you no. I am sorry,Son. I am sorry at my crude remarks. I don’t think you should take over my business unless you want to. I just feared your safety. And with that rashness, I lost you. I am sorry. I hope, one day you will forgive me.”
A glistening tear dripped out of my eye. We had only wanted the same thing:Forgiveness. If only I had picked up the phone. If only I had not tried to ignore. If only I was not afraid. If only I could turn back time. If only.... I burst into tears. If only I had listened where time was given. My father never wanted my obedience, but only my success. He had wanted to keep me protected. I realized his hard service of keeping together a family as the head. I was to do the