Saturday, February 6, 2016
I remember him in a story I was told when I was a child. He journeyed with his father across continents from his ancestral land in India to the colonial empire England. He was a young man, faced with the challenge of a new and different world and on the back of his success in settling on strange territory, families would come and plant seeds so that their children would reap new opportunity. He was one of the first to set foot where people of his kind were not easily welcomed. He strived, with the company of his father, working hard, facing obstacles and persevering. I remember an old black and white photo. He is in a park, his neck tie is swung around and hanging from his left shoulder, he has a ball in his hand, a lollipop in his mouth, he has just been playing with his children and nieces. Time stands still for him, he looks happy in the photo. It was a moment in life captured for eternity, before he left the scene, returned to the life of a factory worker, earned for his family, forgetting that he could be more, leaving those decisions, about a better life, for his children to make. I can share many stories, I choose these. In this life he was my father. I was his only daughter. I hope that he is at peace. This is what I want for him.
