I feel I have not written that hi fi English and the like at your snaps
sometimes I remember kiran snap s and my writing s on it , I wonder is it me really.
probably I do not know whom I love most , is it you, anu or kiran
may be your snap s evoke a lot too different world or so to say the scenario but I am really finding not proper words to express my self in this line.
probably I could have never remembered my Dad in that equation which I wished ; without you
I know you are not my Dad
No body can become my Dad except he himself
whose sweater is with me
you see love
simple words evoke what hi fi find difficult to tell
Any how
During Dad time submersible tube well technology was not available
Initially it was a digg out well with old style iron bucket s and a live stock to pull the pulley and the hub to fetch water outside its called rahat in chaste punjabi
I remember Dad maintained a huge number of live stock , buffaloes cows and the like. Buffalo w was a prized possession. Dad himself milch ed the animal farm you can feel like. He devised his own methods to look after such assets , He used to send Desi ghee to practically to all his near and dear ones. I have yet to know his nerves of affection and warmth. I was often surprised by the love his live stock gave to him or say offered to him you can feel like. He used to have some friends in dogs but not pet dogs as per modern terms of the meaning. He was too comfortable to first give some of the loafs to them while having his food.
One such eventful day.
I remember it was summer days may be June only. I was a kid of say 3 yrs or so. Mom made vegetable of brinjal by roasting it in tan door then crushing by hand and then mixing it on fire with onion and ghee etc its called bharta in chaste punjabi. Mom made roti at her tandoor which was fired by the charia , I think I told you this word earlier too, Dad put three to four cots big ones in the angan after showering the sand with water. It was a full moon day. Moonlight looked as if modern Taj Mahal of love you can feel like. Then he asked me to bring some ice which was nicely kept in the husk drawn from his farm produce. I was told how to break it with a hand iron piece or you can feel like a poker of old vintage. I picked two pieces and went to Dad and offered my pittance he politely took it and washed it slightly with the water from the jug already kept by mom, Then he made a little small pieces to pour it in another big container that consisted of lassi the pakki one which is made from milk and sugar you can feel like.
I remember I have not eaten that taste of the food after that.
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