Daddy's Little Girl

Most people start with ashes and as life turns old, things turn gold. They beckon all the beauty and serene, rise and shine. Leave the old lives behind. And then, just never look back. So heroic their progress seems. So apt, so desirable and so deserving. I envy them. I belong to those ditched cast of people whose past never leaves them alone. Not because of it was dark and dreary, but because it was beautiful. It was flawless. Had I made and drawn my life myself, I still wont have changed a thing. And then one day at a time, it all changed.

I started with everything in my fists, just I never knew how to hold it right. And then I lost it all.

I have this lovely memory of going swimming with my Dad for the first time. I was very little, tiny really. And I had seen a swimming pool before, just never been allowed to get inside one. My mother was there, my little brother. I didn’t have a swimming costume so my dad just made me wear those little boy shorts and told me I’m good to go. Now, I could’ve been a little girl but I had seen TV and had some idea how women dressed. And I was so embarrassed. So the tiny me, shyly came out of the changing room, hiding behind Papa and covering my chest with my hands. It was so hilarious (to everyone else there) that my mom almost slipped in the pool laughing it out. And I had no idea why everyone was laughing. I thought they’re laughing because Papa has such hairy legs. But when I realized they were laughing at me, I bolted right past Mom, covered myself in a towel and never spoke to anyone the whole day. Till in the evening they bought me a new red swim suit and a swimming cap. But they laughed still.

It was so special. When I was little I used to sleep on my Papa’s chest. When I was little I remember how Papa once told me that he wished he had another girl like me and not my little brother. I remember my grand ma telling me that when Mom was pregnant they had only thought of a name for a girl, not a boy at all. I remember how he used to gather all the kids in the family and play games with them. I remember being jealous when Papa paid too much attention to the other grown up kids of the family. I had always wanted to be like my Dad. I used to applaud anything he liked and rejected anything he didn’t. No plain milk for Dad, no plain milk for me. White shirts to bed for Papa, white shirts to bed for me. Since I never had White shirts, I used to just wear Dad’s. It made me feel even more special to wear his clothes. It made me feel how I was his favorite in the world. I used to get my hair cut like his. I even tried to shave my face once, just to be like Papa. I would’ve done anything for him. Pity, I’m the person who took everything away.

We were so happy, my mom and dad were the best parents in the world. They were strict about somethings, for example sleepovers. But for everything else, they were amazing. We had a cozy little place, great dinner conversations, so much to tell each other, we were happy to just be around each other. And then it all went wrong.

My broken relationship broke down everything. Sadly, irreparably. The problem is he loved me too much. So do I, and that’s why it hurts. I cant forgive myself. Papa has a heart of a little girl, and I wish I could take it all away for him. Get him a better world. Woudnt have made so many mistakes. He still wanders in those troubles and I feel helpless when I can’t get him back to be in the present tense. I feel responsible and guilty. He just never was the same man again. And I miss him. I miss him terribly. And I cant see you suffering like that Dad. I wish I could go back to being the same stupid midget I was when I hid behind you for everything, and I swear to god, Dad, this time around I’ll listen to each word that you say.

Just come back to me. Please. Just the way we were. Lets all go back to dining room. Just once more. Come back to yourself. Come back to me. I miss you around me.

Meri Ma

When I meet new people, which is a lot, I love meeting people. In my opinion they’re the only original non-spoilt-by-brands-and-advertisements and non-plagiarized source of ideas left in our Ctrl-C Ctrl-V world-o-rama.

Topic deviation, shit, ADD, now back. So when I meet new people, I was saying, I always ask about their families. Their parents, siblings, the way they’re bought up, home culture and the like. It interests me a lot. And I always end up feeling a little lost. On – what is –really- the right way to bring up children? The way my parents bought me up? Or the way everyone else is? I’m aware this is a massive generalization, but that is exactly what I intend.

My parents had very few rules, and the ones they did enforce had nothing to do with discipline. The one rule I’ve known and followed all my life, till today, is that we eat together. No matter what. You didn’t have to agree with anyone, if you don’t really accept the idea in your heart. Even if it’s the-dad or the-mom. You’re open to argue, at all levels, at all times. Every advice is well, just an advice. No one expects you to fully follow it. I was told “you shouldn’t be out so late”, as opposed to, “you cannot be out so late”. And I had the right to not follow it.

My mom always let me make my own mistakes. And they let me pay for it. I cant even fathom how hard that must have been. To know in your heart that your little daughter is being such a fool but not lose her by saying it to her face, and let her fall in front of your eyes, sit down-spirited, with a broken heart. And again, still not show a face of I-told-you-so. When I look back today, I know, there could not have been a better way.

No topic in my parents’ house is off limits. Really, I have spoken of condoms on my dinner table. And I can swear in my parents’ presence. Yes, in Hindi too. I must also add here, that if any of you think I’m from a super rich bollywood family, you got it all wrong. I come from a typical middle class family, my mom’s a housewife, she comes from a small town in Maharashtra and my Dad’s an engineer, and my little brother is well, annoying and goofy, to say the least. So what really stood them apart from all the others trying to be friends parents is that they as individuals were the most receptive to change. Changes around them , in ways of the world and in their children.

I had my first beer with my Dad, and the next 30 following it too, before I started going out with my friends. It’s not that they encouraged Alcohol. It’s just that they respected and treated us as adults, when we needed to be. Respected my choices. I think it was that freedom given to me, which makes me feel responsible as an adult till today.

This post is not about how lucky I am to save my money for alcohol and just drink from my home’s refrigerator, or how I can make dirty jokes on dinner table and my parents don’t even blink. It’s more about how I’m NOT two different people when I’m home and otherwise. It’s about how amazing I feel to be accepted just the way I am, just the way I’ve chosen to be and make of myself. There is an infinite amount of reassurance you get when you’re accepted lovingly by the people who know your shortcomings the most.

I plan to get married soon, and I want to have kids one day. I just hope that when my kids grow up they look back and feel the same about their parents as I do for my Mom and Dad.

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ON A VERY-VERY DIFFERENT NOTE
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I’m no hurry to have kids yet. Shaadi tak theek hain yaar, bachche jyaada ho jayegi mazaak mazaak main. Aur ye bhavna main khaasi tarah se vyakt bhi kar chuki hun. Ab haal hi ki baat le lijiye.

Meri Ma ne Naani ban ne ki mannat maangi hain, mujhe kal hi pata chala. Mera vichaar ye tha is par ki ‘Maa, Naani ban ne ke liye shaadi ki kya aavashyakta hain, who toh aap yun bhi ban sakti ho’ :P

Is par, ek atyant hi Punjabi tone main ‘badtameez’ kehke Maa ne phone kaat diya. Hehe.. Maze hi aa gaye.

Ab itna senti diya hain, toh nahi ruk paungi, sun hi lo.

“..Ye Zindagi Hain Mom Ki,
Tu Mom Pe Lutaaye Ja.. “

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Jai Raam Ji Ki.