“AAAH!” Riya, my wife's loud wail made me shudder. I rushed to her side. “Take me to the hospital,” she gasped, holding her belly.

“What! Now? Aren’t you due next week? Why don’t you lie down for some time?” I squeaked, pressing my sweaty palms.

The angry look she flashed was all it took to get me going.

Oh God! The car has gone for servicing. It would take another 10-15 minutes to book a cab. Hailing an auto during peak hours is almost impossible. My heart palpitated wildly as my mind went blank. I rushed out.

My eyes fell on the scooter parked adjacent to the door. “Papa,” the word escaped from my quivering lips.

Hauling her up with one hand, I helped her to the pillion seat.

“This scooter will stand by you like a loyal friend.” Papa’s words echoed in my ears.

 Her constant wails and her discomfort made my body go cold. The scooter helped me whizz past the traffic.

“A little delay would have put her life in danger,” the doctor stated grimly.

The whole pregnancy process had taken a toll on us. I hoped against all odds that it would end well.

I looked on haplessly as she was wheeled into the labor ward. I missed Papa. He knew how to soothe my frayed nerves.

 My thoughts flew back in time.

“Papa, let’s sell the scooter. We are wasting money, time and again, to get it repaired. I am planning to buy a car and need parking space.” I had broached the topic for the nth time.

“For you, it is just a scooter. For me, it is an important part of my life. You seem to forget it was your mother’s gift. She chose blue, her favorite color. It has since then been my lucky charm. My job at the bank was confirmed; she conceived you and we bought this house. It was a part of your growing-up years too, Anirudh. Now since it is old you want to replace it. Even I may seem old and useless to you. “Papa had scowled.

I had nothing against the scooter. I was picked up and dropped at school in this scooter. Papa would hum his favorite song as my arms wrapped around his big belly. This was the only time he would shed his layer of veneer. Each time he parked the scooter he caressed the handlebars as if to show gratitude.

But now it was old and rickety, occupying space and making a big hole in our pockets. So, the best logical solution was to sell it off.

“One day you will understand its true value,” he would hiss under his breath.

After 2 years of my mother’s passing, I married my college sweetheart much against my father’s wishes. Sometimes I feel, my mother was the glue that patched up things between us. After her death, the crack seemed to get bigger and bigger.

One fine day, without his permission I brought in a prospective buyer. This infuriated him. “How dare you sell my scooter!” Those were his last words. He collapsed clutching his heart.

His death was a bolt from the blue. I knew my dad loved his scooter but to this extent, I had not realized.

After his funeral rites, the first thing I did was to get the scooter overhauled. It looked as good as new. Seeing it sparkling bright and occupying a place of pride in front of the door broke my heart. Papa, Ma, the scooter, the house, and I made a perfect picture. Today both Papa and Ma are missing from the frame.  

 How I wish Papa could see his companion, his scooter. He would have enveloped me in a bear hug. The last time he hugged me was when I received a job offer from a prestigious engineering firm. Why does one realize the value of a person only when he is gone forever?

Exactly on the date Papa had died, Riya informed me that she was pregnant. I didn’t know whether to cry or to laugh.

The creaking of the door of the ward broke into my reverie.

“It’s a boy!” beamed the nurse, handing me the little bundle.

The big eyes, the aquiline nose, and the cleft chin were declarations enough that Papa was back for his scooter. Placing my little one in the cradle, I walked out.

I gently caressed the handlebars of the scooter.