Mohini and I spend a fair bit of time alone with each other. The evenings usually involve a walk, visiting the Gurudwara (Congregation Hall) to listen to kirtan (hymns), meeting with our friends and entertaining the occasional guests followed by a quiet dinner.
As we grey, we spend half the time looking back and reminiscing. We recalled a new year we celebrated many years ago.
"Dad, I want to welcome the new year with you and Mom. Can we accompany you to the party you are going to with your friends?" asked our son Mohit. At that time Mohit was 13 and our younger son Pavit was 11.
"Of course not", I retorted. "You better go along with your friends, that is who you should spend your new year time with."
Mohit looked sad and crestfallen. I did not bother too much, after all, I was making a man out of my sons. They had to learn to be strong and independent. I felt smug about my fathering efforts, as I left for work.
That evening my wife Mohini asked, "What did you say to Mohit? Why can't the boys come with us? I have spoken to our friends, they are quite comfortable if our boys come with us to the dinner and dance. Please let them come."
"No my decision is made and please don't argue with me", I said curtly.
Do you have any idea what is going on in that young boy's mind and heart?" she asked.
"Don't make a sissy out of him", I chided her.
She sat me down and tried to explain to me as a woman often has to explain to her man just like she would to the eldest child in her family.
"Mohit said, Mom, very soon I will be busy, with my friends in college and then my professional studies in Engineering, my working career then, my marriage after that will consume much of my time. We have only these few years for the four of us to spend quality time together. I want us to spend it with both of you so that we can relish it all our lives. This is why I want us to be with you both. We will never have this time again. So please keep us close to you, while you can."
My macho arrogance had blinded me and had stolen my empathy and love. It had made me both senseless and heartless. Could I not have had the same conversation with my son as Mohini had? Why had I failed to hear and feel what he so dearly felt?
Tears welled in my eyes and I wanted to kick myself. How could I make it up to them? I went to his room and there he sat reading a book. He said, "Mom explained everything to me. Dad, it's ok, that you cannot take us with you. You and Mom have a great time. Pavit and I will chill out at home and watch TV."
I walked up to him, raised him from his chair and embraced him, real tight, and then kissed him on his forehead. I said, "I am sorry, I refused you in the morning. On second thought, it would be a great idea if you came with us."
The four of us went together to the New Year's party. We sang and we danced and laughed until our bellies and bodies ached. We then danced and laughed a lot more. It was a fabulous, unforgettable fun-filled evening.
Our sons have grown up and are now married, and both Mohit and Pavit are fathers now. Everything has happened almost exactly as he foresaw it.
As they grow they seek to conquer their world and themselves in their unique styles, differences and divergences are but natural. There is no point in regretting what we are missing rather we are grateful for what we have and once had.
We rarely gather to celebrate festivals or attend functions or events together with our children now. They devote nearly all their time to work, their wives and children, and enjoy more with their friends.
Nowadays when we all go out together, we still chat, share learnings and dreams and laugh a lot, but it is somewhat different with a lot less zing. The love is strong and that magic is still there, but not so overpowering anymore, not so intense and certainly less insane.
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