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The Postscript

I was on a call, walking across the dining room of their home, completely engrossed in the conversation with my mother. Their double pedestal 18th century French style 10-seater table lay cluttered with papers, documents, bills,etc. under the glimmering crystal chandelier. As I was walking and my finger carelessly running through rim of the table, my eyes caught the attention of two baronial envelopes with the recipients addressed on them. One read " To Daddy, From Son" , the other "To Son". But what caught my attention was not this, but the postscript just a few inches below the latter note. It read, "P.S: Sorry for my poor handwriting".
Knowing the father in this context, and having read such a postscript, my mind wandered into deep thoughts about this man. It raced back to the memories of the last weekend of June when the blissful days with Her Holiness also brought with it new relationships that will be cherished for a lifetime. Here is a man of great experience in his late 60s. His experiences in life cannot be summarized in a few sentences. A graduate level student of biochemistry from India who came to the US to do his Masters in an area for which he has intense passion. Unfortunately for him, it was then that economic depression of the 80's struck America and there was lack of funds in educational institutions and even the professor he was to work under. Desperate years of work in small convenient stores and warehouses passed when he finally decided to change his field of study to Optics, one that was of higher demand in the job market. With his wife and first child he completes his part time graduate studies from a university, and soon enters the corporate world. Today he is 60 something and as he speaks about biochemistry, I see his eyes glisten with the passion for it and yet there is a tinge of sorrow of having not been able to achieve his ambition for the sake of winning the battle of survival. Further, having had chemotherapy done for treating his colon cancer he has yet again won another battle, one of existence, but what he passively lost in this was control over the motor nerves, control over maintaining a sharp memory, little things such as forgetting the place where he last left the car keys, or simple numbers, shivering of hands while holding a pen or something bigger, general weakness, etc.
This is a man of high academic record from his home country who had once come to America to build a life for his family from the scratch, with dreams of pursuing his fervor for Biochemistry and is now past-retirement, happy in this country that he has adopted yet with certain things lost in life. This is a man for whom I have immense admiration and affection for the kindness and integrity that is in abundance in him. This is a man who has already left an imprint in my heart that will never erase in a lifetime. And finally, this is a man who has taught me many a lessons in life from his own life's story.
All this is what came to my mind when I read his postscript...


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