My father’s ingenuity, coupled with magnanimity of uncle helped me replenishing the broken specks in remote hill village.
I owe my reading habit to our father, a voracious reader. He ever inspired and encouraged others to develop reading habit; a trait that has been carried forward to my son and daughter as well. Despite modest income and a large family to maintain, a daily newspaper, children’s popular monthly Chandamama and another spiritual monthly Kalyan of Gita Press Gorakhpur remained on our subscription list for decades. My father began his day with anxious wait for the newspaper. Well before and during morning tea, he would peruse pages of the newspaper till my mom routinely shouted at him, “Is there no office today, it’s already 8.30.” In-between, he would read out, sometimes annotate too, news and information of interest or use to family members.
About two-month long summer vacation of school in that golden era of the 1960s, usually drew us to our native village Khand in Uttarakhand hills near Devprayag. To ensure that we are not deprived of daily dose of news, my visionary father firmed up with the newspaper office for postal delivery after advance payment as procedural. Regular inflow of newspapers, not common in the remote villages even now, increased the guest traffic at home. At times pages of a single paper were shared between two or three persons. Intermittent tea & snacks servings made our days more delightful.
Fond of climbing tree, I often accompanied my local friends when plucking mangoes. Hardly a week had elapsed when one black day, when alighting from the tree with bagful of mangoes hung by my side, I lost control, slipped on the ground from a height of about four feet, and broke my high-powered specs. It was bad on several counts; foremost I shall be disabled to continue my reading, my major passion. Having new specs meant visit to optician in Rishikesh or Dehradun, some 50 to 70 km away, a daunting task. Who shall do it, and how? My father had to proceed to Delhi shortly for duty, only to take us along at end of school vacation. Yet my father was of the mettle making all out efforts when the situation so warranted. He forthright wrote a letter to our maternal uncle who ran an optical shop in Dehradun requesting him to parcel the desired specs ASAP at village address.
And lo, in just a week came the moment of exhilaration! Along with newspaper, the postman delivered us a parcel, a small ply box containing the precisely packed new befitting specks of my actual number. Thanks to my visionary father’s ingenuity and efforts.
When I am in my father’s room upstairs in our apartment now, occasionally I randomly peruse the wisdom trove, the sets of assorted newspaper clippings in his almirah that inspire and strengthen me.
My father left the earthly abode over six years ago. In retrospect, I now better understand his deep concern for core needs of our family. He knew the power of my lenses, partly because it was unusually high, -6D for both eyes. I shall do something or sort for my son if such requirement arises. Given the depth of relationship between my father and maternal uncle, the specs provider, I can understand the supply was on gratis including parcel charges. Over generations, from a small medium-sized shop in Jhanda Bazar under the name Navbharat Opticals, it has grown into a prestigious chain of optical shops in the city attesting that benevolence flourishes by the day.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The initial version of this article was published in Deccan Herald on 22 Feb 2025 under the Right-in-the-Middle column with the caption, ‘A lens to the past.’ Link of the online edition: https://www.deccanherald.com/opinion/a-lens-to-the-past-3416586
…. …. …. …. …. …. …. …. …. …. …. …. …. …. .. …. …. …. …. …. …. …. …. …. …. …. …. ….
