Getting up at 6 am had never been easy. After I finished schooling, I had imagined a lenient timetable for college, getting up late, wearing super cool dresses, attending few lectures and partying every other night. But when banerjee uncle asked if I could take him to morning walks- everyday, I had agreed without hesitating. He had winked while stating 'morning walk'. He had not been able to stand on his legs since last 8 years. An unexpected paralysis attack! The walk for us meant me firmly holding the bended handles of his wheel chair from behind; giving it the required pressure for a gentle movement of the wheels, matching my steps with it, on the lanes of our neighbourhood park. I knew he liked my company despite the age gap of 40 long years. We shared a common interest philosophy. Philosophy, at the age of 19, unbelievable but yes! And I owe this to the pile of philosophical books my father brought from grandpa's residence after his death three years ago. One evening I picked one of those casually and could not put it down. Soon I had flipped through several soul searching books and had consumed lot of knowledge to give me a positive outlook towards life. My friends used to make fun of this. They had started giving me names like 'holy saint' 'guru-guy' and 'mr. Mahatma'. My being inclined towards the ways of life did not mean I was circling beads or practicing meditation or sitting through the temple prayer sessions. Though I would not have minded doing that if I felt they could give me peace. We can have our own ways of finding harmony and we can follow them unless it harms others. I, anyway, was not much different from my friends. I still was a normal college guy flirting with girls, partying late nights, watching action ; romance movies, following cricket religiously and possessing latest gizmos. My interest in philosophy had added something to my life, but had not subtracted anything from it. Banerjee uncle had been the sole listener of my thoughts. Being a bengali, he was a hardcore reader himself. I looked forward to every morning 'walk' of ours to have a new discussion on connection of souls, the supreme power, the purpose of life etc. I could not comprehend as much as he did but I tried. I knew I had to grow and experience life on my own to understand and form my viewpoints. He would share his opinions. I would raise several questions on superstitions, religious beliefs, idol worship, caste and discriminations, spiritual gurus. He would not preach me or try to feed his words in my mind. I was left to make my own judgments. These morning sessions continued for three years till I completed my graduation and decided to move to london for masters. Banerjee uncle was not upset. He was happy for me. He said that new places, new people and new environment will add a lot to my knowledge and will give me new perspective towards life. I knew I was going to miss him. I used to call him daily from london, tell him about my new college, new friends, my room-mates…everything. I would often send him emails, pictures and after several efforts from his end, had even managed to get him on video chats occasionally. It was after around an year, that my father called up on a winter morning, to inform about uncle's heart-attack. I had lost him. I had lost a friend. Today, at the age of 36, I run a textile firm in the same city where uncle and I had spent several morning hours. And I take a walk in the same park, starting sharp at 6 am, recollecting all we had discussed, all I had learnt and all I have been adding to that learning with my growing experiences. By: neha mishra 