“You are not like your father.” This is a statement which I have heard many times in my life. The college where I have studied, he was a professor there. His students were my close fiends and they have wondered that how different he is from me. They still wonder that how can his son be so different (in a negative sense).
I never argued and I will never do. It is impossible to be like my father. He is a person to admire, respect and to love. The people who has judged our difference are not wrong. Actually they are very wrong. When we think of difference, we consider how they behave, how they talk, how they think but never consider the inner soul of them.
In my life, only me and my father knows, how similar we are. I have grown up crawling over his book, playing with his specs and ashtray. I used to stare at my father when he read a book for hours. I realized that there is something very interesting about books.When I was a child he used to tell me stories from books. I have learned recitation from him. I have been to parks to play cricket, I have been to swimming by holding his hands.
Today when I have grown up, our worlds have changed but converged at a point. In college days when I started loving poetry and writing, it came from his books of poems. I first read Jibananda Das from his book shelf. I first touched Capital in his collections. I know the smells of books which I am addicted to is all about my father.
We have spent nights by discussing Marx, Poetry, Rabindranath, Plays and what not. Today when he is in Kolkata and I am in Delhi, fighting for my existence, he tells me whatever good article he reads. I have learned the thoughts of politics from him. I write and I hope that people will read my language. This language is a gift of my father, I have learned my language from him. I have learned how to write simple English. I am not something great but little what I am today is his gifts.
The first time when I got a byline in a news paper, I opened the paper and saw that in every line of my article he is present and telling me “write short sentences.” Today is a Saturday and I believe sitting very far from him “I am not like my father, I am all about him.”