A Father, A Son

Early to bed early to rise, was something he had never done before in his life. He still remembers when was young and doing schools. His father would return from night patrol duty at six in the morning and wake him up just to sleep on his bed. Though there were two more beds in other room but had been intentionally stripped off their mattresses so that the son couldn't sleep anywhere else after being roused from his bed. By this act, his father intended son to gear up for little jogging and exercise at Polo-ground that had been used for the game of Polo by royal family of the city they ones ruled pre- independence.

He knew his son was a lazy soul but smart too. After stepping into his jogging shoes and locking door from outside, he would walk languidly toward ground with half open eyes. Purposely he wouldn't wash his face and eyes at the running taps on his way. He just wished to sleep a little more and never turn his face toward east as the rising sun might upset his sleepy state. Stroll until the polo ground wasn't long at all and well in his sense he would cross the road and enter into the great polo ground through a huge channel gate that was always kept wide open enough for not more than two people to walk in simultaneously. There he would open his eyes in a way as if looking for something and yes he looked for something: looked for young men doing cricket practice at the only cricket club in the city. If they were not doing the net practice or something at the pitches then he would at once approach the dry grassy pitch and lie down with closed eyes just to open them again when sun would be high enough to upset his slumber. Sometimes he found those young men doing net practice on those well cared pitches with only intention to get into the national cricket team and bat like Sachin Tendulkar or bowl like Kapil Dev. However, he also loved cricket but never wished to be a part of national cricket team. Obviously, how could he, when his love for his slumber was more intense than for such a dream.

Some mornings when those pitches were occupied by the players he would approach the derelict stands and find a corner to lie down where sun wouldn't get to find him for an hour or two. Eventually when he woke up from those ‘LITTLE MORE SLEEP’ he would look at the sky and try to feel the environment just to make a guess – is it 8:00 AM or 8:30 AM or perhaps too late, 9:30 AM?

If certain that it’s not too late, he would approach a running tap at a corner in the ground and washed his face and eyes. Then, he went on to look for a place to sit and watch people who have been doing jogging, exercise and stretching. Sometimes, he found acquaintances and passed them a shameless good morning smile. Watching everyone playing games, doing exercises and all sort of physical activity gave him joy and occasionally he would smile at something or someone with no sensible reason. But he wouldn't sit for too long and after dusting his pants take his stroll back to the house.

There he would open the door and step inside, just to find his father sleeping on his bed. Sometimes, he would lie down on mattress-less beds and wait for his father to wake up. On alternate days, after returning he would check the tap, if running then he filled the empty water storage and sit inside it leisurely to cool the body from all the morning activities. He always hated his father for waking him up and making him go through this rigors morning – as he considered it.

Now several years later, he deliberately tries to wake up as early as possible and gets furious on himself for not being able to do so as often as possible. And, if he does, then he would ask for a nice cup of tea after freshen up and stand in the window to see people who are taking out for morning walk, jogging or exercising, and look back at his empty bed just to see his father sleeping there. But, now he sleeps somewhere far away from his bed, perhaps in a big wooden box, four feet under the surface with a big cross on his head saying, “It’s my time to sleep, you go and live the life at fullest, my son.”

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