We were small then; we mean we-the-three-brothers. Every night, we would go to our dad, and ask him for a story; we would tell him what kind of story we want; sometimes, we would ask for a jungle story, sometimes a story of a prince and princess, sometimes for a story of a rat and rabbit; well, he never said no, and would always tell us a story like a professional store-teller.
I still remember how he would raise hands, change his tone, expressions on his face with every line of his story. So, his was never a plain story with words; he would come up with everything to make the story feel like real and fascinating.
Resting our heads on dad’s huge chest, we would listen to him until we feel impossible to keep our eyes open; dad would then kiss our foreheads and cover us with a bed sheet.
One of his stories that i remember is of a prince who gets on a mission to find her princess; he goes into a jungle, a deep jungle, and finds a Yogi there; the Yogi would give the prince a magical ring and a mat that flies in the sky. With the help of this ring and mat, he’d get into the cave of the demon who kidnapped the princess; he would then fight bravely with the demon and gets successful in freeing his princess; well, with this sort of ending, we would always sleep with a smile on our face.
Today, we’re grown-ups; and, no longer go to our dad for stories. We-the-three brothers don’t often sleep together; we’re kind of busy in our lives, with our offices and friends.
Dad’s become a bit old; but, he is still passionate about life; still looks happy whenever he sees us happy. Mom says, all through his life, he tried different things, different professions, but kind of failed in everything; but, i know one thing for sure, he was a winner in storytelling; and, he is always a winner as a dad.
Love you, dad:)