Friday, June 13, 2014

Horee Baba , for Keya's Baba

Its a thing we started when Keya was born, this practices of writing letters to each other on special occasions. Its usually about the our marriage, your omnipresent laptop in our house, or my current concern over that rickety old study table of yours.

Amid the madness that every day unfolds, amid this demanding life that we lead, amid the crazy con calls you take a home sometimes, amid the mad traffic and bad roads, amid the sickness and nosey boogey, amid the swimming lessons and water spurting competitions what i see in you today is the worlds goofiest dad for our 3 year old .

To the world you appear sensible, sober, reserved, poised and all those fancy jargon's you can think of, but its heart meting to see you run around the sofa , pretending to be a chicken. The glee and the laughter that follows in that 3 year old bundle of hyper energy is a memory that i hold so close to my heart.

Sitting on your rickety old study table , every morning, reading, she is the only one who gives you company. Which 3 year old wakes up at 5:45, picks up her blanket and pillow and plops on the sofa in the study room, all the while tip toeing so i dont wake up. And when i finally do manage to wake up and walk up to the study, i see the two of you wrapped in her obscenely pink blanket, reading books.i know that is precisely the reason why you still want her to sleep with us on our bed, so she wakes up when you do, its all a part of your bigger plot, i see that clearly now.

But beware, i shall go all out to tell her how much her father obsesses over his prized laptop, and runs the moment he realizes you have secretly entered the study, where the laptop is forever on .No wonder she has mastered  the art of sending e mails from our wooden dinning table, and pretending to be on a call , keeping that shiny pink phone by her ear and telling all of us to "hush hush ". Its not fair that you both exchange each others phones and take calls, and i know, when she offers you her phone, saying its ringing, you drop all else and answer that call, with all seriousness. I however because of my inability to suppress my giggles, am never handed that plastic pink phone because she hates being laughed at.

You have come a long way sexy, a very long way from spraining your back the day i tested "positive " at home to carrying that pink and brown diaper bag, slung across your shoulder, the way you'd carry an LV.I have seen you scoop her up and fly her across the room, i have heard you reading out poems to her, accept her broker words, respect her story telling abilities, without a single giggle, i have seen you waking up at night and putting the blanket on her even when we have just finished an entire bottle of wine.I have never heard your voice rise when she sat on your laptop screen, i dont remember you getting angry when she pulled out alphabets off your laptop, I dont remember you shooing her away when the bottle tipped over and the water almost ran up to your laptop (i am surprised at the constant appearance of your laptop EVERYTIME )

As a daughter, she sees in you a friend, someone who knows nothing more than she does, someone who enjoys pillow fighting and gets so scared when she attacks you with the pillow. That laughter, and rolling on the bed with the pillow, the grunt in between the feeling of victory having hit you for the Nth time, that glee on her face seeing you crumple on the bed, after being hit by the pillow..this is what fathers do.They make daughters brave, they make daughters loud out loud, they make daughters feel they can win over everything. Fathers teach daughters about how the world is your playground, romp around, run, scream out loud, blow out your steam, there is nothing that can stop you.They will always be right beside you, always telling you to fly higher and never bother about being afraid.They dream for you , with you and only for you.

He will always be the first man you hugged and you will always be his most beautiful first kiss, i lost that space the moment he kissed you in the hospital the day you were born .

And how do i know all this, because i have the goofiest father in the world too.

Happy Fathers Day G !






Sunday, June 1, 2014

The Story Of A Working Mother

I was 16 when I got onto a train with my Ma from Jamshedpur to Pune.I was born and raised in a city. Where every third house had a friend, or a friends friend or family. I lived in a city where, riding a two wheeler was limited for girls post 8 pm and most of us learnt to ride making sure no passing boy on a bike can access your breasts. We infact mastered the art of walking with eyes on the back so people could not smack your butt on the road as you walked home. Having said all that, it remains the warmest and safest place ever.

When I started staying alone in Pune I was 17, dint feel sure about walking alone, dint know how to shake hands with a guy, learnt the meaning of many abuses after having them hurled at myself by roomies, made friends who tool me to the hospital when I was sick and some who stole money and belongings.Yet, I maintain this city has made me everything I am today,i came here to get my qualifications but,i got a learning.i became who I am today,has taken this city 13 years to make me this way, and I am proud and humbled by every bit of who I am.

I am a 31 year old mother, daughter and wife.These three roles define who I am.These three roles make me chose the life I lead. I would never want to sound like a woman who wakes up at 6:30 and lets her back down after 17 hours, there are millions like me out there. I travel hours a day and then spend another 8 in office dealing tempers, egos and demands, just like so many of you.But when I get back home, I cant carry any of that with me, I am a mothers and mothers don't get tired, they work..in silent, sometimes obvious ways, they are planning dinner, thinking of paying bills, contemplating on opening a bank account instead of buying gold..etc etc.I am the happy cheerful loving wife who welcomes her man back home and quickly goes in the kitchen to whip up tea and something to munch one.I continue in there till the daughters dinner is cooked and our menu is dictated to the cook.Here again I am among, those many luck people who have maids and cooks to do some jobs.

I would  like to think I pretty much manage to strike a decent balance,  not because, I have help and aid but because I love this life. It thrills me to speak to a group of people on the national budget, its endearing to hear people admire my knowledge of the local government issues, its an honor to get an opportunity to meet heads of states and countries. And I come back home happier content satisfied that the sacrifice my parents made, I might just have made them a little proud.I come home knowing there is a man with whom I share my hopes and ambitions,i come home to get the love of a child who will acknowledge the battle I fight every day and come out victorious.

I wish hope and pray we continue creating a world where every child is proud of its parents, where every woman is empowered to work, to create her own identity and be proud of it.

 
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