Growing Up

I remember I was very small then. Hardly seven, or eight. Dad had gone on a trip to Hyderabad, some office work as usual. For ten whole days. And to me, at that time, it was sheer joy! To live without the stern scrutiny, the impeccable discipline, the freedom to finally be the true brat I was, and not continuously live up to the rumour of being "an obedient kid" was unexpected bliss. Well, everyone in my family expected me to miss him, and I told them I did. Miss him? Oh please, he could stay there another ten days if he wanted. I simply lied to everyone.

Who knew?

My father leaves tomorrow. For home. And the thought of seeing him off disturbs me to an extent I never thought possible. Maybe this is what living in a foreign country, amongst unknown people, with an undecided future, does to you. It gives you perspective. It slaps you where it hurts the most and points a very rude finger to that which is truly important. And maybe you realise you have grown up when you see your parents grow old. I for one, have never shed a tear whenever my parents saw me off. But tomorrow, I am not sure anymore....

But I will smile, and pretend I am okay, and that I can very well manage..... I can still lie.

Letters from my Father...

I try you know, to be calm, to have my head on my shoulders, to be sensitive to everyone around me and their problems, to not over react, or rather, react at all, to smile benignly when all I want to do is smash your head on the wall, not your, his, and hers, and if you disagree with me, yes, yours too...I try! And well, to the utter dismay of my ego, I think I do it pretty well these days. I smile more, I ignore, I bite my tongue and hold back...oh what has become of me :(

I do it only for one person. I do it for my Father.

Fathers and daughters have a special bond. Ahmmm...really? All I remember of my father as I grew up is a stern man with a thick black moustache, whose entry demanded a thick, cloudy silence, with the eldest and the youngest in the house running for cover. To burn in hell was welcome, but to cross his path on a typical day, not really! All the daughter-y bonding happened with Maa, all whisperings of who said what to whom in school, to be wrapped up before Baba came back home. All phone calls hushed and put under cover. But, secrets were safe with mom, right? Apparently not. As I grew up into...well, me, everything reached his ears. :(. And to his shock and mine, he realised I had turned into him! All my life I tried being my mom, without noticing that I had grown into dad.

It irked me at first, well ofcourse, everything irks me at first...but then I grew up. I met weird people, fell into weirder situations, and as I crawled out of them, I realised Dad's way was the best way! You save your ass, and you kick theirs :) And then, he wrote me a letter. And then, another one. As i rediscovered the man I grew up all my life with, I realised I know no one better than I know him. Ohk, maybe a couple of others...but hurrah! my dad was me :)

If there's anything that makes me proud of who I am, cynical, irritable, rude, hyper, short tempered...this is it. And only this!