Memories are those special gems of experience that you cherish. It is true that not all memories are good but as time goes on the good memories are the ones which come back. It was one such memory that came to the forefront today when my husband mentioned a fishing trip. It’s a memory that dates back almost 20 years from date. It’s a memory that involves my dad!
I grew up in a small state named Goa in India. It has always been famous for it’s picturesque beauty and back then it was even more pristine than it is today. My Dad believed in connecting with nature and he did everything in his power to see that his kids felt the same. This particular memory is about my first fishing trip. It’s one that I have always cherished.
My brother wasn’t born at that point of time, so my first fishing trip involved my Dad and his friend. Just the three of us. I can still remember the smell in the air. It was the smell the mud gives off after the first rain. The seasonal monsoons had just arrived and my Dad had sprung his surprise. He said that he was going to take me fishing. He told me that his dad used to take him every year and he was going to do the same for his baby girl. I was five years old then and I was ecstatic!
Getting ready for the trip was where all the excitement started. Three stout bamboo’s were cut down. One was small and sized perfectly for me. My dad used a knife to ensure that all the ruff edges were smoothed out. Next came the can of worms and fish heads. At that point of time I didn’t even know what they were for but I gamely went about collecting earthworms while my dad and his friend got their supplies ready. It wasn’t long before we had everything together. We left for the river in the evening. Dad always believed that the best catch was when the sun was setting.
We had our raincoats on and the heavens opened up. For a five year old it was paradise. I was allowed to play in the rain. My dad fixed my makeshift fishing rod with a fishing line and a some bait. He cast of the line and gave it to me. I can still remember the number of times he told me to have patience and to be quiet. I don’t think I really kept very quiet. As luck would have it, I was the only person who caught any fish that day! My dad grumbled that it was beginners luck. He gamely listened to my bragging for the next few months after that.
That was so many years ago. We had many fishing trips after that. Each one had it’s own unique fun. Each one was different. When my brother joined us some years later, I realized how much patience my dad had had with me. Then again, my brother brought his own set of memories, like falling into the river. That however is a story for another time.
Fishing has always been a family bonding exercise in my home. My father started it and I guess it’s time I followed the tradition when I have children of my own.
This post was contributed by one of our readers, and I really enjoyed it so I decided to post it here for everyone to see.