My Dad

Last Sunday I found myself at a friend’s engagement. Where I bumped into a whole lot of unconnected people, including my almost cousin’s ex-girlfriend. Someone I have never known well but known for like half my life. After exchanging salutations she enquired about my sister, parents etc. And then again about my father. She went on to tell me how she thought my father was “good looking”. Good looking is not something I would use to describe my father and so I was like “good looking??” She offered. “Handsome” and I was like “really” and then to save our selves from further embarrassment we both quickly agreed on “great personality” and she added that she admired him greatly. While all this made me stand tall J it set off a spiral of thoughts in my brain.

About the spontaneous associations I have with my father and how the same have evolved over time.

My earliest memories go back to when I was four and I would hear my dad sing in the shower. I believed he was a great singer and could make it as a playback singer, only that the career may not be worthy of him. He could also be a great actor, newsreader etc etc. This was around the same time he would take my sister and me shopping every Sunday followed by a dinner with family friends. At this time our relationship was extremely simple. I called him papa. He the indulgent father and me his favourite child (we share our birthday)

Next came the teenager years. When to the rest of the world, including my sister, he seemed like the strict parent who wanted his daughters home before eleven. No matter what. But to me he seemed reasonable. He would spend time letting us know his reasons. How he trusted us but not the world.(And me at thirteen bought this!) He would have conversations with us till late into the night. Over topics ranging from his teenage years to ours, our family’s history to the Beatles. Conversations, which at times became monologues. And much to mom’s dismay he didn’t see much value in teaching us the value for money. So we had credit cards in our early teens and most other things we fancied. He was strict yet reasonable, and remained indulgent. I think this is the time we started calling him dad.

Then came the early twenties. A trying time for my family. And I saw a different side. He remained strong but became gentle. They say the hardest steel is born from the hottest furnace. He stood by my sister. She was going through a hard time. She needed him. He was there for her. Whether she was right or wrong. She became his favourite child. And I relented with pride.

Recently my brother joined the business. And I anticipated some friction; some need to smoothen out the way. But he surprised me. He completely let him lead the way. He was the proud father of his twenty-four old son. Without the son having to prove anything. That’s what he surprised me with.

So my sister became his favourite child. My brother the worthy heir. And I turned twenty-eight.

I have strong opinion. Which he is not always interested in knowing. Which bothers me some. He monopolizes all my time with mom. Which is annoying.
He commands attention. He makes no requests.

We still share our birthday. This year I casually mentioned I didn’t want to be in town for the same. Without knowing why he made sure we were at the Ananda’s.

He remains the person in my life who can and does make the impossible possible. He is not my pal. He has the guts to be a father. He is my dad.