“It’s not a dragonfly and neither a bird, but I enjoy the purring sound that the rocket makes as it tears raggedly through the dark night. Gopi, Chintu and Kitu see it spins and while it loops and reaches the Moon, let us clap our hands and celebrate .” Pappu was sleeping with his knees close to chest and as I observed him mutter all this, he suddenly let out a squeal, “Ah! Have I stumbled over something?” Pappu attempted to crawl on the bed and flashed a smile and with a sign of surety expressed, “Voila! There rests my parachute with the shrubs. Let me quickly grab it and show it all. But what is this soft piece that feels like sponge?” My son was visibly excited and he scratched his ears twice and said, “Who’s saying hmmm…?” He yawned and then warned, “Let me alert you that it’s my parachute. If you still want to hmmm, then carry on...” I laughed at his innocence and ruffled his hair. Suddenly, he screamed with joy, “Hanu, what are you doing here? Today is Diwali and is a very special day for you. Isn’t it?” He looked at me from the corner of his eyes and I gathered him in my arms as his 22-carat smile made the Diwali morning very positive. Very often he used to question me, “Papa, our life is around seventy years, so can’t we meet god even for a minute?” I was dumb on most occasions with no answers. There was one unique quality that compelled everyone to dish-out footthumping music whenever Pappu chanted the . Diwali was very special as I had always observed something different with Pappu on this day. Usually, there appeared a mark of indentation with some special designs where he slept. Surprisingly, they had similarity to the small bunch of hair on his lower back— all tied neatly since birth. We could never open it and neither did we attempt after he complained of fever every time we did so. Celebrations were in full swing and while I was busy clearing my junk emails, Prabha (my wife) was preparing sweets for kids. Pappu’s fingers were dancing over the keyboard and he was eager to chat
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