My dad was like a God to me, he was role model for me. Every year on December 22, the shortest day in the year and longest night, I invariably remember my honest father. He died on Dec 15, 1982, I remember precisely. He was suffering from ulcer of the abdomen and he died in the ailment. I loved my father and respected him all his life. His name was Setumadhav but he was popularly known as Seturao all through his life. Well dressed man as he was, he was very particular about his looks. He was employed with Hidunstana Construction Company all his years in the capacity of stores in charge. He became materials manager in his later years. He was expert in calculation of steel and cement consumption and safe upkeep of other goods. He was directly responsible to project managers who were all satisfied with his style of working. My dad also helped lot of people during his working years. Normally my dad was on big projects, say Vaitarna, Rihand dam, Mahanadi bridge work or Farakka barrage works. During the second world war, he was even transferred to Ceylone and Burmah. While in Ceylone he just missed an appointment with death. The truck he was traveling was bombed by Japanese. Fortunately for my dad, he jumped out of the moving vehicle and the next moment it exploded killing everybody on board. The whole camp was bombed and burned by the enemy and my poor dad had to come to Mumbai on a pajamas and shirt. He got married at Mumbai and took his wife to Ceylone. At Trinkomali, that time, everyday the dress rehearsal of bombing was done and my mother and other ladies were very much afraid and some times cried silently. In 1944, I was born that is why I am so quarrelsome they say. A war child!
At Mumbai municipality’s project at Vaitarna, I was a regular school going kid in second standard in school. My memory of Vaitarna is crystal clear perhaps because Vaitarna happens to be my most happy period. In Vaitarna my three sisters were born and my dad got promotion. The party he gave on the occasion, I will never forget in my life. On the lawn the tables were laid and children and elders were invited to partake. Everybody enjoyed the good food and the grand company. There was a grand photo session and our youngest sister Pratibha was centre of attraction that night. All my friends and my father’s friends and their wives had enjoyed the party. That was the last day of my dad’s as next day he received his transfer order. He was transferred to a big project on Rihand river, in Mirzapur district. For me my dad was role model and we imitated our fathers in childhood. Of course I did not like his habit of walking with his head down as if thinking continuously. I also did not like his habit of reading while eating his food. Nevertheless, I loved my dad more and respected him even more.. Such an honest, straightforward and silent dad few ever get. I bow to his memory. Dad where are you?