About a Man

He is a BSc in Chemistry with Physics and Biology as subsidiary subjects and an M.A in English language and Literature and a B.Ed with teaching methods in English and Science. His dad wanted him to be a doctor. But he didn't want to study that hard.

He was a stud in his younger days. He has sported numerous styles of beards right from the French goatee, to the clover shaped (from the pack of cards) beard, and also, the Elvis Presley sideburns and even bright red, blue and I think even dark green bell bottoms in his fashionable prime.

He always carried himself really well. When he went to the army headquarters to visit his younger brother who was in the army, the jawaans (soldiers) always saluted him and not his brother.

He was one of thirteen kids and his dad's favourite (In his 'unbiased' opinion). His dad took him along wherever he went. His dad always told him that when you marry don't look at their economic status. The family should be good and suitable (background-wise), the girl educated and they must have faith. In the Almighty, of course. That is all you need. He followed his dad's advice. Sadly his dad didn't live to see his wedding.

A long time ago, when he was of 'marriageable age' and they were looking for suitable girls, he set out one day to see some 'prospective' brides. (He was looking for the singular for himself, of course.)

The third girl he saw that day stood in front of him in a saree. Her hair had been tied in haste and was still dripping wet. She had just come into the house after her bath in the pond. (In reality, she rushed out of the pond and into the house on hearing their car pull into their front yard. She must have wrapped herself in a saree in a fraction of a minute). In her nervousness, she grabbed a baby and went in front of the party from the boys' side to 'present' herself.

He took one look at her holding this random baby (each leg saddled across either side of her waist) and at that moment he saw her holding his babies in future. And the decision was made. She went on to be his wife.

They settled in Pune.

She gave him two kids.

First, a son was born. Eleven years later, a daughter. According to him, his children are made up of grapes and apples. He even knows the percentage they (the apples and the grapes) constitute of their children's makeup. 80%, to be precise.

Initially, only he had a job. He taught English in an all boys' school. He taught me to love English too. He loved the Classics. He was a voracious reader. The literary greats. Charles Dickens. Shakespeare. George Bernard Shaw. Jane Austen. The Bronte sisters. Mark Twain. And so many many more. I got my introduction and subsequent addiction to the Classics from him.

But a few years down the line, for the economic situation at home to be more comfortable, his wife took up a teaching job too. She taught Science and Mathematics. In a different boys' school. His son went to a Jesuit school and his daughter to a convent school run by the Sisters of Jesus and Mary.

He dropped and picked her up from work everyday. He dropped me and picked me up from school, on his scooter, every single day of my entire life at school, except this once. I waited and waited after school. And I thought he forgot about me. I thought they forgot about me. I was obviously wrong. They had been detained by an urgent parent teacher's meeting.

And then two hours later my mum came. (She left the meeting to be with me) She and I played basketball in my school's basketball court till he finished the parent teacher's meeting. My mum was in a Saree and yet, she was pretty darn good. At the game, of course. After the meeting he took my mom and me home.

For many years, as a side business to being a school teacher, he supplied Cloves from Kerela to wholesalers in Pune. The merchants called him 'anna' (big brother). I learnt about Grade I, II and III of cloves. (Grade I was of the best quality. The head of the clove was still attached). During that time, he bought loads and loads of dry fruits for us. The figs, (my favourite) he brought specially for me. Then the Indian Government imported cloves from abroad and the prices fell miserably. Never to rise to be a profitable business ever again. Many farmers went bankrupt. The suppliers also suffered. So that put an end to the supplying business for my dad.

At home, from the time that I can remember, and even to this day, he does the slicing and the dicing. And mum does the cooking. She prepares the batter, he does the frying. She does the sweeping, he does the mop. She washes the clothes (she hates washing machines (the one at home is only used to wash bedsheets), he rinses them and puts them out to dry. She draws up the list of what needs to be bought and he goes to market to fetch everything on that list. If he can't find exactly what she asked for, he checks if the substitute is acceptable with her and if yes, brings it home.

Every time they cross the road, they have an argument. He wants her to walk beside him so that he is in the way of oncoming traffic and she inevitably, always does the opposite. Then they have a minor quarrel and he gets her to change sides so that finally, he is her shield from the oncoming traffic.

He loves his meat. Every meal of every day must have something non-vegetarian. If nothing else, at least an egg. At least the smell of an egg, he insists. (and he isn't kidding!) I am a pure non-vegetarian because of him.

Ever since I was little, he always said, "If it was acceptable for men to have long hair I would have worn my hair far lower than my bum". As it wasn't, he got me to grow my hair. Actually washed my hair every single day till I was eight years old. And combed and plaited my hair every morning before I went to school till I was 13.

His favourite sister cut my hair once and he was so miffed that he didn't talk to her for two days.

He switched to his trademark 'Safari suit' attire when his shirts and trousers started disappearing from his wardrobe and were mysteriously found on the person of his teenage son.

He retired in 2001, the year I passed out of school.

Ever since, he spends at least an hour in prayer everyday. He has read the Holy Bible in its entirety a couple of times. He and his wife attend mass daily. Almost every single day.

He is really protective of his family. Especially the women from all the male predators out there. On family outings (especially extended family outings) he is the self appointed 'watchman'. Guarding the women from prying eyes. Shooing the lecherous men away.

He is instinctively wary of any of his daughter's male friends. He scared a random boy on the street who was looking at his daughter nearly to death once.

He is a strict father but he never stood in the way of his children's dreams and aspirations, their education and career. He made sure that he provided them with the best opportunities. Made the finances available for them to take advantage of what the world had to offer. They studied at prestigious institutes. The son didn't spend nearly half as much of their money as the daughter did. He neither complained of nor objected to her 'lofty' plans.

He has lived his entire life for his family. Caring for them, providing for them, loving them, living for them. Of course, none of this would have been possible without the support, the love and the dedication of his truly amazing wife.

They sacrificed so very much for their children including all their personal wishes, ambitions, aspirations and desires in order to create an environment wherein their children could achieve each of theirs.

He lost an eye for me. Because of me. But never a harsh word did I hear from him about that. Not once has he ever complained. He says, "I can see perfectly well with the other eye so I don't feel like I miss anything at all. Really".

He calls me his DDD. DDD stands for Dearest Darling Daughter.

He is the best father a child could ever wish for. And she, the best mum!

But this post is about my dad.

I woke up this morning because of a terrible dream. I was in tears and very shaken by the dream. I frantically called my dad and he assured me that all is well. More importantly, that he is just fine.

I sincerely pray to the Lord Almighty to bless him and Mummy and to keep them in good health for years and years to come so that they may reap the benefits of their hard work of so many years.

And also, so that my brother and I can continue to benefit from their guidance, blessings, prayers and sheer presence in our lives.

I love you Papa (you too Mummy!)and I miss you very very much.

Thanking you for being you. I wouldn't trade you for the world!

The blog.

Its the 12th of July and this is only my second post in 2009. I can't believe it. Many things have changed. Many have remained the same.

Part of me has changed. The rest has remained the same.

I still love writing. I still love reading.

But I have stayed away.

Willingly. Unwillingly. Unwittingly. Knowingly. Unknowingly. Consciously. Subconsciously. Somehow. Inexplicably.

Fact of the matter is I have.

Maybe I didn't want people to be privy to my life. My thoughts. My feelings. My opinions. Or maybe I didn't want to say things out loud. In case I realised it myself.

When you put stuff down on paper (or on a blog as in this instance) it becomes real. Meaning it has been expressed. It is out in the open.

Maybe you want that. Maybe you don't. You're not sure.

And sometimes the silence helps. Heals. In heaps. It hears.

Or maybe the option is D)None of the above.

Or you simply forgot.

About the silence. The speech. The expression. The opinion. The thoughts. The feelings. The voices.

The blog.

P.S: I'm still Oliver and I still want more.