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.

Back with a Bang!

The other day, I met a colleague of mine after a long time in the office restroom and asked her the ostensible question, “Hows life?” “Life is uncertain”, she quipped and I couldn’t agree more with her.

When I say “back with a bang”, I’m not only back from a 3 months hiatus from blogging,but also from a setback in my family and thus life. Each one of us loathes setbacks and tries hard to erase them out of our memory’s labyrinth. However, we forget that it is these setbacks that teach us valuable lessons and life skills. I look upon setbacks in my life as milestones: significant points of development in ones life. From an understanding and awareness of our own strengths, weaknesses and potential, to seeing a different side to us, to sifting the wheat from the chaff; as in telling fair and honest people from the black sheep (people who put on facades) and so on.

It was a lazy afternoon on Jan 2nd 2009, a day after ushering in 2009 with all pomp and splendor; Christmas and new-year hangover was still running high. I was on leave and trying to get a quick siesta at 3 pm. I was making the most of my break from college and work. My eyelid were heavy and was falling asleep but was intercepted by phone calls from office and friends. The day turned awry and continued so for about a week. My dear brother, who suddenly became dearest, met with a fatal accident, when he fell off from Hunk (bike), while returning home from college. He survived benign head injuries, broke his arm and battled for his life, for about two days at Yashoda (hospital), Secunderabad. The day he didn’t return home, the house was wearing a deafening silence. I was upset and restless. On the day of the accident, when he was being flitted in and out of CT Scans, tests and X-rays, a ventilator was manned and maneuvered in tandem. A little lapse and it could cost his life. He was lying unconscious and at that moment we yearned to see him awake. Today, 2 months down the line, he is not only alive and awake but also enthusiastic of his newfound life. We had lost and found him. He was discharged within a week and the ordeal was over as we did not throw up our hands in despair. The two sustaining human resources: faith in God and hope prevailed and brought him back.

Even now, as I pen down this post at 10:40 pm, we are waiting for him to return from his brief outing with friends. He is hale, healthy and all set to give his final year graduate exams and the three of us are back to our routine regimen.

The key takeaways are-
i)Reinforcement of the fact that family comes first and is above the other priorities of life.
Love for my brother has grown tenfold today. He is the first person for whom I have wept for two days and nights.
ii)I value and honor my parents much more than I used to before. We take our parents for granted and often holler at them. We think it is our birth right to do so. Now, I do not howl and scream anymore when I don’t get my way (I often do). I try to see sense in their counsel.
iii)The rapport and bond as a family only fortified.
iv)My faith in God is now seamless and boundary less.

I owe my gratitude to and pray for my extended families, cousins and friends who stood by us like a rock and prayed for my brother. It was indeed a great beginning to ring in the New Year!