My DADDY Strongest

22^nd December 1989 was a day that changed mine and his life. Mine because-well, that was the day I chose to be born (Yes, I chose it. I was a premature baby) and his because- he had been waiting for my arrival for quite some time. The man was bespectacled and held me in his wintery, withered hands, unsure whether he could be an ideal father. Well, we will later find out that he could NEVER be one- because he never had played by the rules as a son, as a husband and it wasn’t going to be any different this time. My mother was happy- but she was selfishly mirthful. Why so? Because she was happier about being a mother than about having a son (Please don’t fret over it if you don’t understand it). But he was happy to have me…(and that one day I would make him proud and (since we are Sindhi) I will earn a lot of money. See, there are two things written in stone: 1. The world WON’T end in 2012 & 2. Sindhis LOVE money, however cool or unconventional they may be read Vishal Dadlani/Ramesh Taurani)

I wasn’t proud of being born into a family that had a name that people confused with housefly. So he decided and gave me a name that is now common, but he tried and I like it. My mother was unimaginative and honestly admits to having thought of simpler, commoner names than my current one. So in this naming match-we had a clear winner-Dad, whom I grew up to call Pappppa (not papa). And it wasn’t a surprise to the world when it became the first word that I learnt. My mother, I believe, would have been crushed by the betrayal of her only child. When the world starts with Maa/Mom/Aai and the variations, I broke the custom. Daughters are supposed to be Dads’, but then once it happens in a blue moon that a son & father redefine the traditional nomenclature.  It was happening once again.

My mother’s role, however, cannot be disparaged. She was instrumental in bringing me closer to my father, telling me to be like him- honest, intelligent, and most importantly, a good person. She, herself a vivaciously innocent person, always took the back seat. I gave in to her persuasion-idolized my father, and became a Papppa’s boy. Anything that happened in my life, was known to him and the rule still holds true.

In this saccharine sweet relationship, we have had our melancholic moments. The fights over the TV remote control always ended up in me slamming the door and going into bed early; quarrels over my short temperament (which I, ironically, inherit from him) where he suggested I see a shrink; arguments over my career choices that he dictated (although, I never gave in). It has been a full circle.

Remember me talking about him not being an ideal father? Well, he never could and will never be able to. Because he is a FRIEND, that too a damn good one! It hit me one day, that he never imposed rishtey mein toh hum tumhare baap lagte hain ritual on me. Never did he make me feel like a dumb teenager about to make the worst choices in life. He let me be! And in fact more than that, he respected me, my thoughts and my ideas. He was the guy who told me “Don’t study so much!” during my exams, “Don’t give a damn about your assignments!” in college, “*******” something about my boss that I cannot write, “Tell me what is your problem, I can help you find a solution. Am I not your Best Friend anymore?” a day before his birthday.

That reminds me I have to wish him today... To many more fights- Happy Birthday!