19th June 2016
Well someone recently said a statement, which had a few
words in it like “The way your dad fusses over you…” – and I interrupted them
right then and there and diverted the topic to other avenues. I didn’t want to
defend my dad’s behavior or want someone judging him. I didn’t expect anyone to
understand it. I can’t expect anyone else to even feel 1% of the love my dad
feels for me. Nor anyone can.
I just delivered 2 babies, together, 4 months ago. Before
delivery and after delivery I was fortunate to live some days with dad and mom
together, after marriage (8 long years) and then some few days with dad, after
mom left for the long ashram stint. And you know what, it felt wonderful to be
cared for (for a change).
Papa probably never realized as I continued being my old
rotten self with him, as usual (I have a problem expressing love to people
especially very close to me). But every time he asked me what I wanted, what I
desired and went to places to get stuff, just for me – it welled me up. If he
even got a hint that there was this one thing I liked, he made sure the stock
was never over in the house. Eg. I had to have protein powder in milk that
tasted really bad and he made sure that there were strawberries in the fridge
always to help me love the milk. Simple
things like that. Who does that for anyone, nowadays? Certainly no one had done
that for me in a long long time.
Sometimes and maybe nearly always as a woman in this
country, especially after marriage you’re expected to be the primary caregiver.
To elders and youngsters alike. You learn through a series of experiences that
small little delights of life that you savoured you’ll need to provide for
yourself or give up cause no one will go out of the way for you. No one will.
Even if you ask for it, mostly you’ll hear it’s out of their way. So why ask
for it? – Do I sound cynical?
It’ll be extremely rare if someone is even considerate
enough to look at you from the perspective of a living being, who could need
love, understanding and pampering too. And when a someone sees, just their
empathy will be enough. As they’ll understand you from a look of ‘being there’
themselves and maybe disburse a few sentences of advice to deal with the world,
very precious sentences, sometimes.
No one will put you before himself. No one will invest their
life’s savings to give you security. No one will sacrifice his own joys for
yours. No one will save the best for you. No one will do things outside his
comfort zone to give relief to the tired you. No one will try do without
important things for himself to indulge in luxuries for you. No one will be
there, really be there in a way of standing there beside you and holding you
when you’re going weak. Except Papa.
Thank you Papa for making tea in my house for my guests when
I had too much too handle (I know you’ve never done that for anyone before).
Thank you Papa for the strawberries, the protein rossogolas, the wheat crakers
and other little things you got for me to eat, when I was allowed very few
things. Thank you Papa for coming to
Gurgaon in my last few pregnancy days so that there’s someone to drive me to the
hospital, if need be. Thank you Papa for leaving your work and running to hold
my babies when they cried, every single time. Thank you Papa for thinking about
me. Thank you Papa for doing everything you can to make me happy. Thank you
Papa for finding happiness in my happiness. Thank you, Papa for things I never
thanked you for or ever will.
I love you and thank my stars for showing me this kinda love
in my lifetime.
And I respect you all the more, cause despite all you’ve
done for me you’ve never told me, “See, this is what I’ve done for you”. You’ve
never expected a ‘Thank You’. You’ve never expected anything in fact.
Nor have I ever done anything.
I will probably never even show you this post. I'm that bad.
I will probably never even show you this post. I'm that bad.