Brown pants and a cream shirt

When i'd get up, he'd already be up. I would then get ready for school, while he read the morning papers. He'd leave for work after i left for school. His pant and shirt neatly pressed, and not one day would he leave for work without his pen in his shirt pocket.
He'd come down from work for lunch. We wouldn't talk much. He would then quickly finish lunch, and i would sometimes sit for an hour or so, attempting to finish my meal.
He would then proceed to bed for a quick nap. 2 to 2:30. Then a banana or two, and work again.
Time Management.
In the evenings, when i was out playing and my mother busy indulging in the age old gossip with her friends, i would see a figure from a distance. I'd wait as it slowly approached, and then realising it was appa, i'd never fail to hide my excitement. I'd almost beg with him to play cricket with us. Often he would seem fidgety and angry. But i would always hide my disappointment.
He obviously was tired from all the work.
Hard work.
After his evening tea, he would leave for the 'Gedung-olah-raga' (Badminton court) for a game or too. I would trot along. Sometimes he'd play with me, after his daily quota with the 'seniors'. I would always screw up the subtleties, trying to smash the shuttle cock every single time:-)
Often, appa used to lose a game or two. He'd cry out in frustration. ' Thath Therike' he'd scream out. I would often laugh at this. But later i realised that losing a game of Badminton doesn't mean the end of things.
Be sportive.
During weekdays, we'd go to bed by 8. He would tell us stories about how things were back in India. In early 88, his friend told him that there was an opening in Indonesia. He just grabbed it. Little did he care about going out of the box, or the unstable environment in Indonesia back then, with the dictatorship and communal violence. But yet he went.
Taking risks.
Sometimes even during the night, after 10 or so, a worker would ring the bell. He'd then say that there was a 'masala' in the factory. Appa would do little to hide his anger. He'd quickly put on his brown pant and cream shirt and leave. Sometimes we would follow on our bicycles. Sometimes, we'd wait for more than an hour for him to get back. Sometimes, his whole day revolved around that 'Uniform'. Sometimes, he was called even on Important holidays like Id-ul-fitri. Important, because these holidays were his only free days.
Life's a bitch sometimes.
In the night, after dinner, Dad would watch sun tv. Vivek never failed to amuse him. He'd often laugh until he cried. My sister and myself would often stare in awe, asking amma jokingly if his tears masked his laughter:P. My mother would simply shrug her shoulders. He would then ask me to go fetch him a Bud. Of course, he did offer me some when mom was looking elsewhere.
Have a beer occasionally:-)
One thing he would always do, amidst this chaos of balancing work and life, was make sure we had our fun. Every Friday, and i mean every Friday, he would take us into the city. He always bought me what i wanted. Whenever i sensed a disapproval, i wouldn't care to argue. The last time i visited Indonesia was the time he decided to leave. The company presented him with a Crystal ship, symbolic of his wonderful journey. He commanded Respect in every nook and corner.

A few days back, i was looking through his Cupboard for a shirt. In a dusty corner, there it lay.
The pant pockets carry virtues and values one has to understand in this journey of life. The breast pocket still carries respect. They still lie there. Unperturbed.

P.S-No relation to the above post: I lost my entire Ingmar Bergman collection:(