I was trying to do some spring cleaning while an old letter fell on to my lap from the book case. It is a letter from my father, written about fifteen years ago. I started reading it. It is a long letter . Here he was talking about his childhood and about all the people in his life who made an impact on him and helped shape his character.
There were several beautiful stories which I plan to share with you little by little. Today I am going to pick the one about my grand father.
The year was some late eighteen -something. My grandfather was hit by a car while he was out on his morning walk. It was very early in the morning, there were not too many people in the streets of Calcutta. But two people witnessed that the driver was a British guy and he did not use his horn .
My grand dad had to lose two of his fingers in his right hand for this accident.
People, especially his lawyer friend urged him to sue the driver. The case was quite simple to win , ready with witnesses who also were upset with the driver's attitude.
My grandfather could not care less. He said, "I am an old guy, short of hearing. The sahib has no grudge on me to harm me. It's just an accident. I don't have the time to waste my energy on anger."
Rather he started practicing writing with his left hand and gave all his time and energy on writing for anti malaria projects. Soon he became the editor of that anti- malaria magazine.
Today, it's my father's birthday. He was a great guy. Most of all he was my dad. He gave us so much. What did I give him? All I can do is pass on the legacy to his grand kids who unfortunately may not be able to read his works. His books are written in Bengali.
Not only that, I wanted to share it with the whole world . My only request if you happen to land here please do drop me a comment. That way I'll know that you came to visit me.
