I enjoy doing that, while We walk back to the Parking lot holding each others hand. He comes out with lot of stories spent during the day in the school. Most of the times, it is a good day and is narrated to me. Some times it is not a good day and other times it is so so. At times he will not like to talk of the day at all as to how it was spent. I simply understand that it was really one of those bad days. By the time he reaches the car, I am able to extract the exact cause behind his bad day. Hold on, I would not disclose it here.
On every Wednesday, the school terminates early and I am to get a cup of 'Jamba' juice with strawberry-banana flavor for him. He never forgave me last year when I forgot to bring my valet to buy him the juice. He reminded me innumerable times not to forget next Wednesday.
When Gobind was promoted to third grade, I suggested as he had grown up now, he should reach directly to the parking area where I do not have to walk all the way to pick him from the class room. He agreed and started walking to the Parking lot. There were a few problems like spotting me and my car but we sorted it out and some how carried on.
One day I was running late as I was to be away to attend to my work and was late to reach by 15 minutes or so. As is the practice, a phone call went to the Mom who immediately contacted me to collect him from the office. So this guy came all the way to the parking lot and not finding me there, was sent to the Principal's office after walking again all the way back. He looked cool when I reached the office. But he was furious inside all the times. From then onwards Gobind will never meet me at the Car Parking lot and even today refuses to come there. Now I have to walk all the way to Black top and wait for him to come out of his class room at a snails race. Holding hand in hand, he spells out the days happenings to me.
Today, as I brought him back home, I opened the back door of the car to release the child lock, he handed over his school bag to me to carry the same inside the home. I casually asked him if he was giving the bag like giving it to a servant. I further asked him if I was a servant to him.
No, no, you are my grandpa, came his prompt reply. I was relieved that at least he respected me in his heart though. In the next breath, he continued and said, "The servants are very expensive, grandpa".
Still I continue to love my master, my Gobind.
© preet mohan singh., all rights reserved
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