The book that never was
I remember the ebullience in Dad’s voice as I called up at 5:00pm one Sunday evening and suggested translating our family-history book. It was in Bengali and I wanted a larger audience using Engish on the Internet. I hadn’t really figured out the nitty-gritty, but that could be conveniently left for later. I suggested enlisted didi’s help as she was good in both the languages. Dad’s failing eyesight would have failed to put up with this vigor, I assumed.
So it was all set. I would come home for vacation and our Bengali—>English translation project would ensue.
It didn’t really happen that way. Years of nursing for someone had taken its toll on his already ailing heart. Well, cardiac ailments are generally hereditary and Dad couldn’t defy the tradition. By the time I was home, he was gone…but not before buying a notebook for our project.
The notebook was probably pressed into less glorifying use soon after. But the urge to complete the project burns within me. Maybe someday…before I follow a certain family tradition!