What
is between him and I?
What is between him and I? Does the title have an ambiguity? Yes it does have. Neither a keen film maker’s wit nor an ordinary film maker’s observation is necessary to understand how I picked this. The terrible beauty of the name, and on whom the article is based on, would definitely weed out your doubts. Before I reveal the need of the article, I want my readers, pals even my foes to listen to a small anecdote in which I will embark the urgent need for an article like this.
It was a month ago, my father and I were having a chat in the shop ( a small stationary shop, but a quite reliance fresh for my father!). I was challenging my father’s habit of turning up late in the shop, after leaving me in the shop saying he needed a few minutes resting. As it had to be happened, I raised my voice and registered my protest. But he made me calm and could manage to bring a transition in the talk. He asked me to enlist the things out of stock in the shop. I went inside the shop and jotted down some names of a few needed things whihc have run out of stock in the shop. Again, in the meantime, some family matters came up for discussion. Father who is very strong on family bonds started advising me, I came down heavily on his attitude of unnecessarily unleashing emotional attacks on me. But as it would not have happened, a man, an onlooker stormed into the shop. He had a mouth full of smile and asked me ‘are you his son”? For which I answered yeah. He suddenly laughed at us (I think he had been hiding that half moon smile to use it on an apt situation, i hate opportunists)
The man took a step ahead and in a hushed voice, said that he was confused if we were friends. putting it more dramatic, he asked “ are you guys really friends?. My father sported a smile on his lips but I was still bewildered, I could only smell something fishy , “Is he making a platform to rectify me, with another lecture series to make me understand how I should respect my father''
But astonishing me, he patted on my forhead saying he had been flattened by our duo play in the shop. He praised our father son duo in the guise of pals. father and I shared a smile together and I already fell for him. As usual, the incident had nothing to deliver than a sudden joke. But after a couple of days, when thoughts invaded sleeps, the incident started disturbing me, why he said so? Am I not that good? Do I need to pamper my father in his fifties? What was all about the incident? Yes, for me rather pampering or respecting my father, I came to the bitter but better knowledge that we have not kept a father son duo but a tight bond which often words fail to convey. But after a couple of days, the incident again landed me into the world of ‘thinkers!’
When thoughts tread wild, some scenes from my childhood popped up. Collecting those incidents, I want to bring out a tribute to my father, the big man, Arakkal Abdul Majeed, the man whom I secretly adore.
Here, through an article, without brushing aside all the odds, I walk down the memory lane, with full of words in my quire, to post a tribute made up of words....( to be continued... )
What is between him and I? Does the title have an ambiguity? Yes it does have. Neither a keen film maker’s wit nor an ordinary film maker’s observation is necessary to understand how I picked this. The terrible beauty of the name, and on whom the article is based on, would definitely weed out your doubts. Before I reveal the need of the article, I want my readers, pals even my foes to listen to a small anecdote in which I will embark the urgent need for an article like this.
It was a month ago, my father and I were having a chat in the shop ( a small stationary shop, but a quite reliance fresh for my father!). I was challenging my father’s habit of turning up late in the shop, after leaving me in the shop saying he needed a few minutes resting. As it had to be happened, I raised my voice and registered my protest. But he made me calm and could manage to bring a transition in the talk. He asked me to enlist the things out of stock in the shop. I went inside the shop and jotted down some names of a few needed things whihc have run out of stock in the shop. Again, in the meantime, some family matters came up for discussion. Father who is very strong on family bonds started advising me, I came down heavily on his attitude of unnecessarily unleashing emotional attacks on me. But as it would not have happened, a man, an onlooker stormed into the shop. He had a mouth full of smile and asked me ‘are you his son”? For which I answered yeah. He suddenly laughed at us (I think he had been hiding that half moon smile to use it on an apt situation, i hate opportunists)
The man took a step ahead and in a hushed voice, said that he was confused if we were friends. putting it more dramatic, he asked “ are you guys really friends?. My father sported a smile on his lips but I was still bewildered, I could only smell something fishy , “Is he making a platform to rectify me, with another lecture series to make me understand how I should respect my father''
But astonishing me, he patted on my forhead saying he had been flattened by our duo play in the shop. He praised our father son duo in the guise of pals. father and I shared a smile together and I already fell for him. As usual, the incident had nothing to deliver than a sudden joke. But after a couple of days, when thoughts invaded sleeps, the incident started disturbing me, why he said so? Am I not that good? Do I need to pamper my father in his fifties? What was all about the incident? Yes, for me rather pampering or respecting my father, I came to the bitter but better knowledge that we have not kept a father son duo but a tight bond which often words fail to convey. But after a couple of days, the incident again landed me into the world of ‘thinkers!’
When thoughts tread wild, some scenes from my childhood popped up. Collecting those incidents, I want to bring out a tribute to my father, the big man, Arakkal Abdul Majeed, the man whom I secretly adore.
Here, through an article, without brushing aside all the odds, I walk down the memory lane, with full of words in my quire, to post a tribute made up of words....( to be continued... )
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