Home..just a flight away
I was hardly a year old, so I'm told. My grandpa, Dada the then Director of Agriculture, West Bengal was always on tours, flying red-eyed till he retired.
My year old brain somehow conjured that he would fly in my pink helicopter and I banged it hard on the floor, asking him to disembark.
Today I live half-a-globe apart from him, living a dream, Dada and me share; following his footsteps in another College of Agriculture.
I don't know how and when I lost that pink helicopter and with it my juvenile sanity.
I see myself squatting on the floor banging a pink helicopter crying "Dada nam".. after all home is more a memory and reunion a flight away.
