in Bengal daughters are very much loved and adored by their fathers.they are often lovingly called as Maa[mother],as if the father is a little child ,to be taken care of,scolded and loved by the tiny mother .....
it is an unique relationship.i have tried to capture the mood ...hope my readers like it and strengthens the bond with their lovely daughters.



the new morn


She was sitting on the floor ,
with all her tiny cups n saucers ........making tea.
'' baba .....o...baba....again you are sleeping?
pouting her sweet lips two little hands tugging a sleeve of my shirt,
as i was dozing in the warm morning sun in my chair.
with the newspaper in my hand.


'taste the tea' she commanded ..
tea made of muddy water...
pride in her eyes ,
sweat glistening on her forehead.
i pretended to sip the tea,
she was hovering like a mother hen over her only baby .....


'hurry up baba we will go to the market'
excitedly my little Maa said.
i smiled .....
hand in hand we went to the garden.
she picked up lots of different leaves ,
pebbles and dust lovingly, to cook for her son....
in her small pots and pans.


''baba....oh ...baba cant you sit still?'
she was serving dust rice,pebble meat and leaves
vegetable on a plate taken from her mom's treasure.




'after lunch we will go to the seabeach '
now she was thinking of going out ...
different coloured dirt and dust ,
made a rainbow on her dress.

i smiled lovingly...my little precious ...
sea is not far....
she ran against the wind ..barefeet laughed n
giggled.
sat on my lap ..told me all her stories all made
up...
where the prince and the princess,
goblin and the wizard all became one.
curly hair covered the tired ,angelic face...
tiny little fingers hold on to my hand.
my Maa is feeling sleepy.


as i hugged her in my bosom n looked afar ,
the sun was slowly going down the horizon,
dusk is setting in ,
a beautiful fragrance engulfing us.
another year passing by,slowly very slowly,
my little angel,my two year old daughter ....
will see a bright new morn tomorrow.....







a tribute to my father




shree