An Ideal Father

Picture 1 – This is my Hero (My papa of course) and this is how he looked in his heydays. It’s one of the pix taken from my parents wedding album.

Picture 2 – 25 years down the line, this is how he looks: Tanned, wrinkled, partially bald, the moustache is lopped a little – the many signs of his descent into senility.

This father’s day (21 June 2009), I was mighty happy to celebrate it with my papa and the rest of the family (mom and bro) on a Sunday. It goes without saying that fathers and daughters share a very special relationship. A relationship that is probably non-defining and certainly unconditional. And this is precisely the relationship that I share with a person who is very dear and important in my life – My Father.

Besides his full time Job, my papa was also a cricketer who played matches for his department (Posts & Telegraphs). Cricket was his first love and he relinquished it after I was born. He was always there whenever I needed him – Be it for my first dance show in school when I was 4 years, the driving license test or when I needed him to drop me to my MA class on time. A disciplinarian who believes in character to comfort and puts values and virtues on a pedestal. Paradoxically he is also a doting father who fulfills my every dream and wish and quite lenient. In my circle of friends, moms were liberal and dads were much stricter; but at my home, it was vice versa.

Today the concept of a ‘hands on dad’ is getting head on but my papa was always one. He would always make it to all events and occasions and whenever he couldn’t due to his work, he would feel guilty. I could never fathom the mystery as to why boys are drawn to their mothers and girls to their dads. I’m aware of the Oedipus complex expounded by Sigmund Freud. But I don’t concur with Freud. It’s something else.

Being the only daughter and just one younger sibling, I lap up all the attention from him. To me, he is the best and an ideal father, who corrects, comforts, instructs and provides for the needs of his children.

Writers are Rebels and So Am I!

As a literature student, now, an MA in English, I dissect a writer’s life, works and therefore his/her oeuvre. It is tacit and goes without saying that every writer is a rebel for a reason and perhaps a cause. Writing is an effective channel of expression and every writer expends it as a vent to convey and communicate his/ her thoughts, feelings, opinions and perceptions.

One such writer who thrived in prolific confessional poetry is Kamala Das. Her poems were prescribed for our fourth/final semester exams: “An Introduction” and the “Old Play House”. What inspired me to write this post is the news of her death; she passed away early this week. Both the poems are poignant as they portray the raging conflict between her opinions and those around her. She wrote in times when women were beginning to enter the portals of schools and universities. Das tells in her poem “An Introduction” that people (could be her parents, extended families, neighbours etc) around her, asked her to refrain from writing in English and said “don’t sit on the wall, don’t peep through window, be Amy, be madhvikutty (she is a malayali and that’s her pet name)”. This is precisely how girls are conditioned and silenced. She confesses how growing up was an unpleasant experience for her as it added to her insecurity. She broke the stereotype and revolted by cutting her hair and wearing her brother’s clothes.

Irrespective of a girl or a boy, we all do find ourselves at loggerheads with our parents and the world at some point in time. Most often than not, one can feel the heat when points of view do not match, when you feel a proclivity to some norm fabricated by your parents or the world around you. I’m born to orthodox and conservative parents and there is a lag of about 30 years between my parents and me. So, one can understand the intricacy here, though, I believe that it’s a boon to have seasoned parents; as they have seen the world more than you have! They admitted me into the best educational institutions: Rosary Convent, St Francis and Osmania University College of Arts and Social Sciences and ironically didn’t expect me to be opinionated and make my own choices. “Minu (my pet name) don’t laugh loudly, don’t wear this, don’t talk like that”; was the rhetoric doled out to me. I’m neither hesitant nor apologetic to say that I was a rebel when I was in my teens and often couldn’t see eye-to-eye with my parents on most matters. I took a bold stance and candidly confessed that I will live life on my own terms and will not let anybody live my life. Things gradually changed and today I make my own choices, opinionated, bask in my freedom and live life on my own terms, and my folks, are happy and proud of who I’m.

At college, we as a batch both in Francis Junior and degree college rebelled against the dress code: salwar kameez; and retorted by wearing casuals. Some other rules charted by the college wouldn’t make any sense. In junior college, we assiduously created a chart, wrote few catchy, pejorative sentences and pinned them up on our notice board. We never revealed our identity though and had the principal guessing if it was the Sciences, Maths or Arts group. She was such a pain in the neck. However, most conjectured, it could be us, as the sciences and maths group will not have ample time and the guts to manipulate. It is college damn it and let us be as we are! While pursuing MA, the entire class forayed into rebelling. College days were so much fun! I wish I could turn the clock and go back in time. Those beautiful moments today, have become most cherished and sweet memories and will remain green in our minds.

Shakespeare, the romantic poets: Keats, Wordsworth, William Blake; Elizabeth Barrett Browning were all rebels who produced finest pieces in literature. Though they were a host of them, I put only few names coz this post is only getting longer. So folks, feel free to add other writers who you think were rebels of their times.