Living presence

“Queens are born in April” my father used to say proudly, making my young mind imagine myself with a crown. Yes, for every father his little girl is a princess. In the darkest days when I feel inadequate and unworthy, I remember whose daughter I am, and I straighten my crown – (unknown author.)

A father promises his daughter, among so many other things, that he will never leave her, not in a million years, his love is so vast. Yes, most fathers even after passing away physically do leave traces of their presence behind. Sometimes, you can feel it strongly. During lovely moments, their presence will surround you strongly.

I was interviewing Prof. B.N. Goswamy, India’s most distinguished Art historian, who received the Padma Sri and Padma Bhushan for his immense contribution to the field of Art. He is a major cultural figure and a living master of Indian Art history

At the end of a very inspiring interview, followed a small tête-à-tête, I learnt that Prof Goswamy also got selected for the Indian civil services. After a small stint, he left to pursue serious research in the field of Art. I mentioned to him that my father too was from the 1954 IAS batch. His eyes lit up and he asked me, "don’t tell me you are talking about Narayan Rao, that tall dark handsome person from Andhra." When I smiled and nodded, he instantly exuded so much warmth and affection and conversed as though he was talking at his own daughter. When I told him that my father passed away at the young age of 52, due to renal failure, I could see the glint of pain and empathy in his eyes. When I touched his feet before leaving, he put his hand on my head and said “ Khush raho beti..’ My eyes welled up. Did I imagine, even for a second, before stepping out from my house to do the interview that I would find a father figure in a world renowned art historian?

Though there were few more such poignant moments, another meeting stands special, when I, by chance, met in a huge conference, my father’s childhood friend – as she held my hand loving affection held my hand and started reminiscing tender moments of their friendship, I became, in my imagination, a cuddly child in my father’s arms again.