A pencil and a scrap of paper!: More than a father

Write Over the Weekend inspiration for this time

What if you and your dad wake up one fine morning to find out that your souls have been exchanged? How would it be to live your dad’s life for a day or (more interestingly) for him to live yours?

More than a father....

I glanced at the newspaper. I picked it up hastily, expecting what it would display from the beginning to end, but I had to read it anyway, because 'I am daddy today'! However, as I flipped through it, I found that I had many things to get informed of, ranging from politics to business, except the sports and cinema.

"Your coffee is getting cold", mom yelled.

"What? Coffee. But I want green tea.. ", I spurted out in a flurry, but calmed down myself that mother would be happy for her husband turning health conscious. But, I had been wrong.

"What? What did you say? You think I am a useless fool sitting here and taking orders? Gulp your coffee and wake that lazy idiot up.. It is getting late for me", she yelled again.

I was flabbergasted at the furious response, but I kept quiet, reminding myself that Dad has never encouraged arguments, that too in the mornings.

It required a whole cup of coffee, to calm down the fuming rage that rose to my cheeks.. After all, it was my soul in Daddy's body, I couldn't help the anger. For the very first time, I pitied Dad. Does he keep calm for these sorts of insults? But for what?

Thoughtfully, I peeked into the bedroom to wake him up, fearing that I had to expect a bad revenge, in retort to the worst mornings I had created for him. But to my surprise, he was clubbing the books from the distorted bookshelf. He looked almost ready. I expected to the least that he would have cuddled up in the bed, enjoying the interchange and the adrenalin rush as an excuse to laze down, but he wasn't.. "Why didn't he?", I questioned myself.

I retraced back slowly. Now, grandpa was perusing the paper. "When are the election

results announced?", he inquired me, rising his eyeglasses, for the hundredth time.

I gave him a scornful look and before I could start to embarrass the Alzheimer seized poor Grandpa, the dad-turned-grandson emerged from the room saying, "Grandpa, the results are already announced, Mr. Modi is the new Prime Minister, look there should be some news about him", pointing to the newspaper.

I was bedazzled. Even in my body, nothing makes him deviate from his composure, I wondered. Where does he get his patience from?

Googled

The rest of the day being in Dad's body was too hard.. It required lots of patience, hardwork and adjustments that I couldn’t afford to handle. But Dad looked calm and simple, whichever work he did, despite his form. A day's time envisioned a new perspective towards the great man, whom I used to take for granted.

The next morning, when I wished him good morning and joined along for a walk, I was looking at Dad with a notched brow, carrying so many questions and more of appreciation, but he gave me an understanding smile in return.

This Father's day, and the soul exchange had enlightened me what it is to be a 'father' and I started to love my father much more for what he is. He had won!