An Ode To Father

 I was a shrewd child. A maverick by birth. Being youngest among the siblings, I had a devil-may-care attitude. Reckless and fierce I would often put my parents in an embarrassing situation as I had mastered the art of dropping a clanger. But I had a thing for adventurism too. So much so that if a Mark Twain lived nearby Tom Sawyer would have had a strong female competitor. Besides this Sawyerishness, I had a hint of Robin Hood also. I would rob from the kitchen gardens of the rich and give it to....Neah! I would eat it all! That is why I said ‘a hint’ of Robin Hood.  As far as my way at my School is concerned, I am sure my kindergarten teachers remember me as an epitome of mischief, a child who was acerbically quick-witted and uncontrollably canny. I was brazen-faced and my remarks would leave them stupefied. Poor mother would always have to listen to my seditious stories. I call them escapades though. The standard childlike purity would bore me to tears and I always did things at my own sweet will just that the results were not saccharine but tart.  My neighbourhood would dread my evil spirit as I was always equipped to bulldoze whatever came in my way and being impenitent was my pleasure! I was a devil by default and I would thoroughly enjoy my mischievous sprite. Specifically I had a theatrical childhood full of antics and I loved to clown around. I was born to be an outlaw but I couldn’t be one.

 Howsoever out of the line, I have always been an apple of my Father’s eye. I am his “Darling Cherub”. As an individual he is princely profound and lavishly liberal but at the same time he is an austere disciplinarian. At an appropriate time he figured out my outlandish behaviour and he knew it was time to cage his ‘Darling Cherub’ and that is what he exactly did. To his advantage, I was a rebel with a difference. I was not indisciplinable so it was easy for him to clip my wings and curb my eccentricity. He is an opulent charmer and knows very well how to cast a spell. He was determined to set me straight and thus the devil was cooped.

Father is a feminist, an effortless libber .He has seen women being abused and he detests the fact that most of them, in spite of being gifted and artistic, don’t say a word in their defence. When I was a baby, one of his young female colleagues committed suicide as she had a failed marriage and could not handle the stress. The incident had a deep impact on him and he became worrisome about his daughters. An anxiety had germinated inside his system and he did not want to think of a situation where his daughters would succumb under pressure. He thus took charge of our lives and decided to train us, make sure that we grow up a cut above ordinary women and he knew what exactly he had to do. As a Professor of English he was confident about the maxim, “Reading maketh a complete man” and as a father he strongly believed, “A well read woman is a dangerous creature”. He might have had a dislike for my devilish attitude but he didn’t want to obliterate it completely. He thus started the makeover charismatically and he had results.

A Sun-day now was a Sad-day. On sunny spring Sunday afternoons when all my ‘Merry-Men’ would be basking in the glory of the Sun, I was made to read Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Talk about adding salt to injury! Reading a book was double Dutch to me and I hated the ambience of the room where Father and Sister would be enwrapped in their respective books and I, on the other hand would always be struggling to concentrate. Talking about my Sister, she is a born genius. I believe she was born before her time. At 10 she could speak Elizabethan English. She knew all the Shakespearean tales and she sang all Wordsworthian songs. She has always been a voracious reader and has read a lot of literature. As a child too she would read a novel and a course book with the same ease and I would watch her in awe. Nonetheless, we never had sibling rivalry but unknowingly she was the cause of my misery as Father wanted his ‘Darling Cherub’ to be mature, firm and unassailable like his elder able daughter. Undertaking her duty as an elder sister she would try her best to read the Russian folklore to me while I kept looking outside at the birdies, fledging on a shoot of the plum tree. How I would desire to be one among them and fly away to a distant land where there were no books! But that was like asking for the moon and I would thus pretend to read and also act innocent as if butter would not melt in my mouth. Intermittently I would snooze. Lo and behold! Elegantly attired as an Arabian ‘Hoor’ I would verbalize ‘Open, O Sesame. Open, O Sesame’ and scuttle to play outside as the door would be swung open .A strong blow either by Sister or Father would wake me up.

Days and months had gone by, my Sundays were still lacklustre and Dad too wouldn’t give up. At that time I ostracized his stubbornness but now I am glad he was persistent. One bright sunny afternoon while staring at one of the tiny story books, I realised that I enjoyed going through the animations. The sketches started to dance in front of my eyes and I laughed in conjunction with the laughing caricatures. I started to insist that my sister read to me the stories of The Tsar and she always did. I would now enjoy going through all the available books and I knew what I wanted to read.  The change had begun. The devil had been tamed and Father could sense the alteration. His little girl was growing into a sensible one. I,now, clearly understood the power of being well read, the essence of holding the treasure of literature close to one’s bosom and I could foresee the change my new-found love would bring in my life.  I started to hate playing outdoors and would instead enjoy a game of carom with parents and sister. The neighbours couldn’t believe their stars as no more property damage would happen and no one would infringe their well maintained kitchen-gardens. I was now prolific and would not damage anything. The teachers were the happiest lot. They started to pamper me, not because they had been longing for me but they dreaded my canniness and never wanted the feature back. They were happy that I had mellowed down and so was I.

 Time passes very quickly while the change goes on at its own pace. By the moment I finished college, a lot of water had flown under the bridge. I would take books from the library and read as many as possible. I was not erudite though. I would spend a lot of time dribbling on the basketball court and hitting hard on the badminton yard but I knew the importance of being widely read and never missed a chance. All glory to God, I stepped out as an entirely different woman on completing my edification. Strong but not boorish. Daring but not impish. Naughty but not devilish and contemporary but not offensive. I fell in love with the ‘New-me’ and I still am. I learnt to stand up for myself, speak for myself and have my back straight, come what may. I might not have achieved much but as much as I have I owe it all to Father. The man who taught me to be on my feet and be so ,gracefully. The man who orchestrated my education and conveyed to me the difference of being educated and being literate.  The man who transformed me from a child who hated even the most colourful story books to the woman I have grown into, a woman who cannot live without the feel of paperback. The man who taught me and my sister to stand against any kind of abuse and not to be in a situation where we will have to compromise on our being. The man who will stand by his daughters when they stand upright against social evils.Unquestionably, the best man in my life, Father today is a happy fellow and so are his girls. Having trained us well, he can take pride in being the architect of our lives as his daughters are now brutally independent women marching the corridor of life fearlessly.

Thank you Dad. Cheers!