My father.

I never really had a relationship ( the part-grown-up to a grown-up kind) with my dad. By the time I was in my teens, late teens actually, he was quite ill. His illness pre-occupied all of us as a family. And eventually, he died. When I was about 20.

I rarely talk about him. When he was OK - I was a teen. A difficult one at that - at least by normal middle class standards. I look back and feel, I was ok. I studied hard, conformed and didnt get into any major sort of trouble.

Yeah - to get back. The oldest I was - when he was ok - was a teen. And I remember fighting and hating. I remember being strongly disapproved of, being told about how to be, behave and who to hang out with and so on.

Over the past 8 years, I have learnt to relate to my mother and have a better relationship / equation with her. It is a great gift. I still recall thinking how much I hate my mum and how much I wanted to get away from her. And those thoughts were painful to have. So what I share with my mum today is really a gift I value.

When she or I move on, the regrets perhaps will be lesser and memories of times shared together higher. Certainly when compared to what I recall of my dad.

My memories are so fragmented of him. I remember the difficulties and inconveniences of his illness clearly - in terms of feelings and thoughts. Every now and then I remember incidents - but over time, specifics are fading away a little by little.

Regrets and memories. Regrets - I am sure I have. I still havent figured it out.

Memories - yeah. I have memories of him, or rather remember him in the most unexpected ways.

Chinu's innocent, trusting eyes. One of her eyes seem smaller and she tends to lightly wink it every now and then. They are almost like a doe's or a calf's eyes. Her eyes remind me of my dad. Everytime I look into them.

Indira Gandhi - He had strong opinions about her administration. I don't recall the details. But seeing a picture of her or reading an article about her certainly reminds me of my dad and face when he would talk of her or her governement.

Bharat Sinha of a serial Subah - when I see this actor in any other film, I am reminded of my dad. He disapproved of my interest in that serial - all the drug abuse by young folks! :)

And the latest today - The Man Machine. This is an album by kraftwerks. It was a tape with a bright red jacket cover - a photo of 4 robotic looking men.

We had this small tape recorder/player. There were these few tapes at home. Silsila, Star, Zoom, Satya Shivam Sundaram, Boney M and the Man Machine. I remember these were my dad's tapes.

We had other tapes too - devotional, other movie tapes.

But I kinda remember these tapes as my dad's. Like the James Hadley Chase and Perry Mason novels he used to read. He also read Arthur Hailey, Robert Ludlum I recall.

I just heard "model", "robots", "neon lights" on YouTube. And my dad came rushing into my head.

I used to love the tape and listen to it all the time.

Like I was saying, I get this sharp and vivid memories of him in most unexpected ways. I can recall almost everything of that memory - when its triggerred.