Me and my dad werent always best of friends. If anything else, we probably fought more as father and daughter than normal enemies would have in their lifetime. He had a terrible, terrible temper - the very same one that has been passed on to me, I’m afraid. People would literally be afraid to be near him whenever he used to be in one of his moods. Which was pretty often.
We once had a lousy argument regarding the small kid who was the servant’s sister (who used to stay with us). Something pissed him off and he went berserk. Thats when I sprang in defense of the little kid. One thing led to another and we yelled pretty much hard at one another. Before the rest of the family realized what had happened, I packed up my bags and stormed out of the house. I walked a while before I realized that I actually had nowhere to go. Then I went sobbing to my aunt’s house; thank god she took me in and I stayed with her for two days before we made peace and I could go back home.
He wasnt always all that bad though. He never lay a finger on me or my brother while growing up. Now, the kind of person I am - you’d want to do me bodily harm if you got the chance. In that sense, I am really my father’s daughter. He also gave me a lot of space as an individual. I remember he used to hand me my letters, whenever I used to get any, intact and unopened. On the contrary, my mum used to open them, read and then demand an explanation for each of the sentence the other person had written.
When I first left home to study in Kerala, he accompanied me and by the time we reached Calicut, I remember him whispering to me - Where on earth did you choose to study, my daughter! The distance eventually did us both good since we werent in each other’s faces to scream at one another any more. The love between us just grew more and more because distance indeed made both our hearts grow fonder.
When I decided to get married, he didnt approve of it because of the differences between our religion, caste and what not. Like an adamant brat, I went ahead and eloped because after all, youth does deem itself invincible. The first time me and my husband entered my house, my dad had tears in his eyes as he made us sip milk from a bowl with his own hands, as was the custom.
It has been two and a half years since he passed away. And I miss him terribly. There’s no one left to get mad at and no one to love either. I dont know why but I suddenly thought of him after a long time. Its ironic how you realize the value of the other person only when they’re not around.
0 Responses to “My dad”