Immortal love

Stories are on streets, stories are on leaves but my story is different, it’s been weaved in yarn sweater. Thirty years ago, my grandma made it for me and today when my daughter wore it, it was still looking new.

Never before in my life, I had ever realized but it’s true that at times, tales of love and care become immortal.

This post is in response to Three Line Tales, Week Thirty-Three by SonyaThe photo is a courtesy to Philip Estrada.


Me and my father

father and daughter

Wendy Suzuki professor of neural science and psychology at New York University shares her experience of dealing with her father’s condition of dementia.

Telling about her traditional Japanese family, Wendy says

“You can think of us as a Japanese American version of Downtown Abbey, without the accent, the servants or the real estate. That’s us. So when the time came, Mom and Dad packed me up in the car and drove me there and – again, Downtown Abbey- we didn’t hug. We just wave goodbye.”

Reading Wendy’s version about the importance of expressing love in life, I thought about my own parents and the way they have raised us. In my memory my father appears as a man who always remained busy in his work. On the other hand, my mother being a house wife spent a lot of time with us and we the kids remained naturally closed to her.

I was in my third grade when I started facing difficulty in mathematics and the day before my exam my father proposed that in order to help me in preparing for my paper; he would take me with him to his office. But, there was that wide gap between us that I as a kid was reluctant to go with him and with some mixed feelings of reluctance and fear, I tried to make some protest but to no avail.

I remember my mother reminded me that I must listen to my father and try to write my solution neatly, for while solving my division sums I was in a habit of creating mess on paper.

Those were the days when my father hadn’t started working from home yet. So, being an IT consultant he visited many offices on that day.

All day long, I remained with him and while working on computer and in the midst of solving queries in program, he would find some time and would write sums for me to solve on my notebook.

Writing a question in his neat handwriting, he not only taught me how to solve a problem but also taught me to write neatly.

On that day, I observed my father closely. He wasn’t that much strict. For, wearing the cloak of seriousness my father was hiding a kind and considerate heart.

He was worried about my studies and when I scored A+ in my paper, my mother was happy and my father appeared extremely satisfied.

Going back to Wendy’s story, her father started to loss his memory and Wendy thought of a plan. With little bit of hesitation, she would start her conversation with these three words of “I love you” and her parents would respond in a similar way of “I love you too”.

The day her father recalled his last conversation with her was the beautiful day for Wendy. She was sure that the mere words of “I love you” had brought change in their lives.

That was Wendy’s experience and my experience of life has taught me that parents not always need to use these three words. True, the words can make difference but then action bring people close to each other.

Today, my father is still a same kind of person. He’s quiet by nature and for most of the time remains busy in his work. He likes to maintain discipline and he wants the house to remain clean and trying to keep his things in order , I and my siblings enjoy doing his work. For, he doesn’t express but we’re aware that he loves us all.


Dear Papa

dear papa

Dear Papa,

The warm and bright sun tried its best but it failed to make me smile. Today, I was missing you and was crying a lot.

Everyone was trying to make me laugh but I only smiled and wiped my tears off when mama whispered in my ear that she was baking croissants for me.

The croissants were so delicious. I didn’t count but I believe that I ate lot of them and only stopped when a servant came with a huge package.

Mama opened it and I couldn’t believe my eyes. Papa, it was a doll house. Do you remember that I was asking you to get me one? But, I’m confused. You have told me that every package contains the name of its sender but there was no name written on it.

I was asking mama and she was smiling. Perhaps, it’s a gift from fairy; for, mama thinks that I’m behaving really well these days.

Papa, I’ve learned my tables. I’m brushing my teeth twice a day and I never forget to clean my room.

There’s a lot to tell and much to share.  I wish you could saw that large cake with my name written on it.

Mama says that you’re busy in serving the nation. I don’t know what she means but what I really know is that that I only want you to be here with me.

Mama is calling me to bed and I need to stop writing now.

Love you papa

Yours daughter

Jerry: The bravest man

© 2015, Barbara W. Beacham

© 2015, Barbara W. Beacham

Not knowing what to expect, he made his way into the dark of forest.”

Jerry, was known as a man of strong nerves and when everyone was assuming little Daniel to be dead, he proposed to look into that forest.

The younger son of Bob the truck driver was missing. Every nook and cranny of the town was searched but to no avail.

So, Jerry took two men with him but on reaching at that spot, they refused to move farther and holding torch in his hand, Jerry decided to enter alone.

Deep in the woods the owls were hooting and cupping his hands, he was shouting Daniel’s name.

Suddenly, he heard someone sobbing. Moving his torch in the direction of the voice, Jerry saw the white face of Daniel. Sitting beside the tree, the kid looked frightened.

Jerry took him in his arms and rest is a history.

It’s been a long time and Daniel while narrating this tale to his son never forgets to conclude.

“Never get afraid of darkness. You must learn to take risk.”

(166 words)


This post is a response to Mondays Finish the Story. The first sentence is given and we are suppose to write a story between 100-150 words.

Story: A walk to remember

© 2015, Barbara W. Beacham

“The A & B building was made entirely of driftwood”

On their way to home, she used to stop at that spot. No matter how much he tried, his little angel never moved.

Looking above, she tried to spell and whenever she spelt the letters correctly, her father’s heart got filled with joy and he used to take her in his arms.

With the passage of time father lost his vigour and his daughter moved on in her life and then the day came when she wore her wedding dress.

He cried on that night.

Two years later, once again the freshness returned on his face.

On that day, he wore his special dress and ignoring his walking stick he moved towards the door to welcome his guests.

Behind, the letter was placed.

Dear father,

I’ve never stopped dreaming about our walk. In my dreams that driftwood building is still fresh. I missed that time and guess what little Elizabeth is quite excited to meet you.

Your’s loving daughter

(159 words)


This post is a submission to Mondays Finish the Story by Barbra. Thanks Barbra for this challenge. I love this photo 🙂

It happened one night…






The wind blew furiously and soon it started to rain. After a hot day, the cold breeze brought much-needed refreshment and we all became very happy.

I was in a kitchen, making a tea for my family, when I heard a pathetic chirping of a bird. Our flowering shrubs had been home to many birds. So, I got alarmed by that voice and asked my sister to come with me.

What we saw outside was a baby dove huddled against the wind. The poor bird was probably blown away from its nest.  The little bird was frightened. We got worried and the whole family gathered outside. Everyone proposed his or her own idea, but my father gently took the bird in his hands and carried him inside.

My mother placed a basket in an inverted position and my elder sister wrapped the bird in an old shirt and carefully placed him on the sheet of paper.

Children were especially very excited. They kept sitting around the bird and continued to examine it. At last, when it was very late, my mother scolded them and asked them to go to their beds. The morning was bright and sunny. So, after breakfast, my father took the baby dove outside and gently placed him on the wall.

The window of our drawing room opened in a garden. So, we all gathered there and started to look at the bird. I must admit that never, in my life I had ever seen such a touching scene.

There it was a pair of a light brown colored “mourning dove”. The father and the mother doves were grooming their chick. They were cleaning his feathers and gently pushing him with their beaks.

The golden sunshine was filtering through the green leaves and was gently caressing the happy doves. It occurred to me that the cOO oo-woo-woo of the dove was no more plaintive. In fact, it was a happy song of the delighted heart of a dove. The bird who was earlier mourning the loss of his baby was now singing the happy song of reunion.

That beautiful scene is still fresh in my mind. I can never forget that care and love of a dove for its chick.


My Experience of Teaching!


Life is all about experiencing new things. These experiences become one’s personal stories of success and failure. I believe that these stories of ups and downs and these narrations of rise and fall are worthy to be told.

This reminds me of my teaching experience. Those were the days when I was scared of experiencing anything new in my life. My parents were aware of my weakness so they forced me to start teaching at school. I tried to make protest but to no avail.

I still remember my first day of nervousness at school. I was selected as a junior Maths Teacher there but my “confusion” was depicting the fear of a “little school girl.”

With no prior experience, teaching boys was a hell of a task for me. I can still recall that naughty boy of my class who loved to laugh. He had an amazing ability of burst into giggles and that too with no apparent reason.

There was also a “slow writer” in my class. That laziest boy of my class was always able to bring tears in my eyes. In those days, I desperately longed for that “cherished moment” when he could complete his work in time but, that moment never came.

The boys are generally considered to be full of energy but I would regard that class as a “basket full” of energy. While I was busy in writing on board they whistled and flew papers in class and they were quite clever in covering each other that I never succeeded in identifying the real “culprit.”

In those days I returned home exhausted, I lost my appetite and dark circles appeared under my eyes. I longed for an opportunity to leave that job.

And, finally that time came when I had to leave my job for pursuing my studies. I can never forget those sad faces of my students. They were crying. I was also shocked by their response. They took my autograph and presented me with their beautiful drawings and hand made cards.

Life has been a journey and while cleaning my shelf today, I came across those beautiful drawings and cards. These tangible evidences of love and care remind me of those ‘chatterboxes’ of my class. The process of remembering those “innocent faces” brings tears in my eyes. I silently pray for their success in life.

In fact I owe to them for giving me a chance of an experience which I will always remember. That “life changing” incident of my life had taught me some great lessons. Today, I’m not afraid of experiencing new things in life as I firmly believe that “The purpose of life is to live it, to taste experience to the utmost, to reach out eagerly and without fear for newer and richer experience.” 

I still enjoy recalling that experience and today  it’s difficult to believe it really happened.

I wonder if you guys have got something similar to share. Love to have your comments.

Happy reading:)

My student made that beautiful drawing for me.
My student made that beautiful drawing for me.
This is one of my personal favorite.
This is one of my personal favorite.


The The beautiful handmade cards.
The beautiful handmade cards.