This is for you, Papa

Originally written on November 30, 2005

Papa.

The word evokes a series of emotions: super- strong, wordlessly reassuring, sometimes angry, silently indulgent, ferrying-us-to-school, always there and so mellow.

Papa, with his booming big voice, who would always get handfuls of coloured bead necklaces whenever he went touring, who could carry bags of film spools and vegetables with equal élan; Papa, who could shoulder a VHS camera and the payment of utility bills with equal ease.

Papa, who has aged so gracefully in the recent years that he makes my family proud of him.

I remember when I was little, Papa would be the center of every wedding procession, dancing and laughing and coaxing all his sisters-in-law to dance. At the marriage of my mother's cousin, he had managed the entire kitchen and stores, sleeping arrangements, liquor reserves and had yet found time to enjoy himself wholeheartedly in the event, swollen feet (from working too much) notwithstanding, making him quite equivalent to Superman in my eyes.

Papa- who had the most mercurial temper of all- making it rise to the height of slapping an errant auto rickshaw driver, and then calmly get behind the wheel and ask us where we would like to dine that evening.

My sister and I would run to him for solace from mom, when she didn’t allow us to go for that much-envied birthday party, or perhaps refused us the nth Bon Jovi album. He would give in to our requests even before we verbalized them- making my sister quite something of a cross between a princess and a snob.

Papa- who gave me a whole house when I got married- and purchased the most outrageously expensive wedding lehenga without batting an eyelid, because he had meticulously saved for this day, investing all little pieces of savings in long term deposits and bonds all through his life, while he and my mom made those Diwali outfits last a little longer.

Papa- known for putting his whole into any job-and motivating his team to the extent that they would readily lay down their lives for him. We are still visited by his unofficial protégés whose lives have been made successes by my father. And yet, he doesn’t take credit for anything, only happy in the feeling that he’s made a difference to someone, often leading us to exclaim that he should charge consulting fee by the hour.

Papa- who is as happy with a hundred rupee gifted cologne, as a fifteen hundred rupee quilted jacket- because we have bought him that- and he’s content in the knowledge that his daughters care for him and love him.

Papa- who has always encouraged both his daughters to pursue their careers of choice, often calling us ‘better than sons’ and comparing us to diamonds he’s helped to create.

Papa- who is always laughing and smiling, even when his blood pressure is rising and he’s a little fatigued at the end of the day.

Papa- who is the most down-to-earth and upright person I’ve seen, content with his moongi daal and the occasional sarson ka saag-makki ki roti (I still remember the glee on his face when I served him his favourite at lohri this year), who has battled gall bladder stones and three stitches on his head without uttering even a single sigh of pain, who has been constantly by my mother’s side- fretting over her, teasing her, making her laugh- while striving to make her life (and ours) better all the time.

Papa- whose mercurial anger has melted into infinite caring, whose loud laugh has metamorphosed into an omnipresent smile and whose driving zeal to change the world- and the system has transformed into serving the society by doing little acts of charity.

Papa- who always gets a little misty eyed whenever I return to my own home, and who always wants to buy me everything I already have.

This is for you, papa- you are my hero, no matter what I say or do. I wouldn’t be half the person I am without you.

Mom

Originally written on October 28, 2005

“Ok beta, I’ll speak to you tomorrow...’ thus spake my mom…Mom, who was always there -like a pillar of strength for my sister and me. Mom, who was the driving force behind my father, and the silent decision maker of our home.

I remember with clear precision - just like it was yesterday- when Mom had coached me for one of the many English Elocution contests held in my school, and how she had rejoiced when I had won. She was always there- sitting in the fist row of parents- always cheering me on, whether I was Sleeping Beauty or as inconspicuous as one of the many choirgirls in senior school. Dad might not be able to make it to my prize giving ceremonies, but Mom was always there- with a smile for the teachers at Tea held afterwards. She never uttered a single word of protest as she sat up half the nights embroidering my Sampler for me, as I feverishly studied up World Wars. When it was time for the all-important Board exams, she would lie to my Dad, tell him that I was studying, when I had actually slept off with exhaustion. Even though we fought (rather, disagreed) often (on issues as inane as letting me go out alone for my friend’s birthday treat), I adored her, and I secretly stole a picture of her from her wedding album, where she looked as lovely as a princess, glowing with love and confidence. She healed bruised egos when my best friend refused to shower me with the much-wanted attention, and kissed away my sister’s tears when she fell down and hurt her head. The glow on her face belied the pride in her when I ran to her showing yet another article written by me published in the daily newspaper. She was ecstatic when I won awards and discreetly made them the subject of the next teatime conversation with friends.

Once I graduated from school, mom became more of a friend than a parent, as she listened to accounts of favouritist professors and hid more than a bunch of flowers delivered home by some love struck boy. She egged me on as I pursued multiple courses, fought with my dad to buy me a two-wheeler, and wept solitary tears when I had to leave home for post graduation. She tried to hide her excitement and depression over the miles of ether as she called me when I was away from home, and guessed correctly whether I was eating on time, and if I needed money.

I still remember the day I was picked for my first ever job, on the first day of placement. She had told me that money wasn’t important, it was following my dreams that were paramount, and so, when I landed with a plum, but not so lucrative job in Advertising, she was the one who told me that I should never lose sight of my dream.

At weddings, the pride in her was evident as she went around introducing me to fat aunties and balding uncles, who pulled my cheeks as if I was still a 5 year old, showing off the blue saree I had bought her with my first salary. Before such events, while we were dressing, she would look at our reflection in the mirror, and see a younger version of herself, and would sadly exclaim that all her beauty had faded.

Much later, she was the one who silently approved of my then boyfriend (while my dad chattered nineteen to the dozen), and who critically examined him for any faults. Satisfied when she didn’t find any, she proceeded to fall in love with him as if he was the son she never had.

She shopped with magical fervour for my wedding, making tedious to-do lists in her neat little handwriting, balancing between my dad’s extravaganzas and indulging herself only so much as to satisfy every little whim I fancied. When I set up my own house, she thought of everything I might need, and bought me little knick-knacks that only an experienced homemaker can foresee.

Looking back, I think I now realize why people thank their mom and dad while on stage, receiving awards. I could have waited to thank my mom till I received some award, at a socially appropriate setting, where a bunch of people would have heard this and forgotten it…but I wish to thank her, right now, right this moment.

Mom, how could I not have won those Elocution contests, because it was you who taught me all the nuances…Mom, you are still as beautiful as the day you married dad and your beauty will never fade in our eyes, Mom, you are still cook the best kheer and alu-puri in the world, Mom, your being there will always be more than everyone else combined…simply put- Mom, I love you.

Thank you for being there.  

Cogs in the wheel

Life is all about adjustments and sacrifices. It's a great cog wheel, and our experiences and memories are merely smaller cogs which fit onto that great big one. That one big cog is immalleable- unmovable- it just keeps rotating- and we- our experiences- the smaller cogs- adjust ourself to the destined fate of life. 

When we are children, our parents fashion our cogs- making sacrifices on our behalf- so we don't need to adjust. But once we assume responsibility for our actions, we mature, our cogs get larger- and aligned directly to that one huge cog of life.

At all points of time- the serrations in the cog wheel- we have the power to weld that larger cog to fit ours- altering the course of our life. Some of us choose to, majority of us merely click with what's predestined. 

The 'Just Married Please Excuse' contest entry

I've been a follower of Y's blog for long, and I am super thrilled for her book. I followed it's progress for a long time and I'm happy that it's finally out and doing well. A big Congrats, Y, and here's my entry:

Like all just married couples, my husband and I shared not just evenings of fun, pizza and red wine sprawled in front of the TV, but also some potentially life-threatening moments. Allow me to explain.

On a particularly exhausting work day, we both were looking forward to our signature pepperoni-thin crust with cheesy dips and a bottle of red on the side. The Love of My Life (LoML) had already called in for the food while I'd showered and slipped into my most comfortable grey pyjamas with the yellow bunnies. I switched on the TV, and helped bring the plates and glasses to the dining table. While placing the bottle of tomato ketchup, it slipped and the glass bottle landed squarely on the LoML's right toe who let out an agonised howl, which seemed like the painful fracturing of a bone.

Scared and stammering sorrys faster than you could say pepperoni- I made him sit on the sofa, and ran inside for some ice, my heart hammering in my body- 'What if I'd actually fractured his toe? What a way to end the day! What a way to start our life.. What kind of a wife am I? How could I hurt him- how could the bottle just slip? O Lord, o Lord!' spinning fast in my head. While I plonked myself on the rug and gently applied ice to his by-now-bright red toe, I couldn't help but cry- accompanied by his painful moans- and one sad tear splashed right onto his toe. I think that was the point when the LoML decided he'd had enough fun and stopped pretending I'd killed him. He wiped away my tears and gingerly checked his toe- he was fine- it was just a bruise- Thank God- just exaggerated by his larger-than-life shrieks of pain. 

That didn't stop him from bringing up the incident at many family reunions- when Roli Mami almost fractured Mamu's toe- was one of the after-dinner favourites.

Years later, when my one-year old daughter dropped her heavy wooden toy block on the LoML's toe and he let out an agonising yell, my daughter thought it was a joke and started giggling, and she repeated the action several times over. The LoML bravely repeated the howl just to see her laugh and when she finally got tired and walked away with her doll, he whispered softly in my ear- 'like mother like daughter'...

As good as it gets

That's how I feel after LASIK surgery conducted this Tuesday. Despite the claims of being able to see clearly immediately after the surgery, I was a tad disappointed as my vision continued to be blurry and foggy. Now, 5 days later, it's improving, slowly but yes, it's a relief to see the world completely without blurry corners! Strangely I'd thought my transition from specs to no-specs would involve a huge leap of change but I quite expected the clarity. I don't grope for my specs because maybe I'm too terrified to fall into deep sleep and lose my bearings lest I hurt my eye.  Maybe I'll appreciate the full impact a few weeks from now when the world will see my eyes, not my specs and when I'll be able to apply eye make-up- currently relegated to the bottomest drawer of my dressing table!