My daddy strongest!

Well not necessarily and in most cases not at all, but talk to any daughter and her father dad, papa, appa, baba, holds a special place in her heart. It is one of the most wonderful things in life, this father daughter bond. I love my father; there is no other word for it.

Things have changed a great deal in all the years that we have shared together. I am going to be 30soon and in all of those three decades, life has been full. Full of love, laughter, tears, anger, desires, dreams, disappointments, achievements, disillusionments, affirmations.... basically "FULL" pretty much covers it brimming wouldn't be an over statement either.

Of my earliest memories, my father was a saviour of kinds, my knight in shining armour, someone who could make things right, make it happen, someone who was big and warm to cuddle up in a cold night.

And his hands could envelop my entire fist keeping it safe from anything and everything. That was my safe haven. In fact it was that for a very long time; much longer than for a lot of my friends.

I remember feeling safe being able to sleep when there was an imaginary monster behind the curtain or a very scary test or a difficult exam the next day or just about any anxiety that I could understand and also the ones that I couldn’t understand. His hand could smooth away anything that could remotely affect me worry me or harm me. It did not matter that he was not directly involved in any of those issues but the very fact that he was there and I was with him made it all seem not too bad and nothing that wasn’t work “outable”.

Even during my teens I fought more with my mother, all the rebellion was mostly aimed at her and not so much at him. He always got the best of me and I think vice versa as well.

Our moment of truth happened much later much much later when I was in my twenties; early twenties, when I moved out into the big bad world. For some reason that I do not remember, I felt alone and scared and overwhelmed with things around me. That was also the time when I was taking some of the most important decisions career wise. I could not see him or find him at the same page as me. It disconcerted me. For the first time I felt that we had to actively communicate, in order to be understood. He didn’t seem perfect. The chinks in the shiny armour were getting prominent. My eyes were waking up to a new knight- who was no longer someone who could make the world go around for me. My knight had very limited powers. My world had expanded beyond his influence. I had left the nest. I had flown and his cover was no longer effective and the safety net was no longer relevant at those heights. I found him wanting I found him limited in his knowledge, his resources, his solutions. He could no longer guide my battles. He was still there but not the way I used to see him. My daddy was human after all. It was a very tough thing to wake up to. I remember writing to him about how I didn’t love him the way I used to. How I had these unresolved feelings in my self that I just didn’t know how to deal with. And I also remember reading what he wrote back. He wrote back as to how I would get over this phase as well. How it was all about growing up and how it was basically about a change in perspective after all. When I was small he seemed big huge even and someone who had an answer or a solution for everything. But as I grew up things started looking different from where I stood. He didn’t seem as tall and big. My questions were getting more and more specific about the world my world was expanding and growing at an alarming speed too; the definitions of it; the boundaries of which were changing day to day.

I remember feeling relieved, that was one of the most liberating things that I think I learned about life then. Love was something that is usually not deserved. Love is something that is given inspite of not because of what you or someone is. My father did not have to be perfect for me to love him. He just needed to be my papa as he was with his own set of quirks and eccentricities and love and limitations and everything. He didn’t have to be perfect to be the best. And so does everything else in life. Since then I have had my share of disagreements about what he does, or believes in, or says but my love for him through it has been strong and unwavering and I think I can say the same for him too.

This freed me to love people and accept them as they were. I no longer had to get them to be another kind. In fact I did not even need to like them a lot all the time. It was perfectly normal and acceptable to dislike them at times and still love them. I think that is why love is such a freeing emotion. It is not dependent on the actions or the worth or the qualities of the loved but of that of the one who loves. Now I know as what I am today, that my dad is not perfect he has his imperfections which are lesser than most mere mortals but not completely absent but he is and will always be the best dad ever.

Crying

Why do we do it?

Why do we succumb to it.

Why is it such a good release?

Is that also escapism?

Is that damage control?

Is it contrived?

Is it real?

Is it easy?

Is it easier?

Is it defeating?

Is it confusing?

Is it frustrating? Especially to see someone else do it?

History and Statistics

In my life there is no subject that has given me more grief than these two subjects. And I don't mean the sleepless nights mugging up before an exam. I mean real day to day life in which you bump into people who justify all their pre-conceived notions and prejudices in the cloak of quoting statistical figures about things in the past. Weather it is about a match between IND vs AUS or it is about making sweeping generalisations about minorities such as African americans, and American Indians and for that matter indians.

And I wonder when are you going to meet or interact with any given population as a population. Don't you always interact with people one at a time or two or at the most a few who even if the stats are correct are nothing but a fraction of the said population and can spread over anywhere in the given Gaussian distribution of most things. How does a particular statistic equip me better in my encounter with a person of any origin? Aren't these historical statistics nothing but an excuse to justify our prejudices or lack of really usable information and unwillingness to admit to it.

Nothing infuriates me as much as sweeping typifying of diversity and quirks and everything that makes life charming and worth living and not just reading about!

Spitting Image

Technically the word means a perfect double or counterpart but visually this word reminds me of India, the roads, the transport, the public places. It reminds me of all spit stained walls and corners and all the things that we litter our immediate environment with. It reminds me of the male of the human species using the whole wide world as a giant urinal! The stench that all but suffocates you as you somehow navigate your way through such dinghy corners, pretty much in the middle of the busiest of streets. It reminds me of dhaula kuan- the shady and busy dhaula kuan.

It reminds of the place which is hotbed of eve teasing and worse, In spite of it being such a busy place in the world; in the capital city of the second most populous country in the world. It is a glaring reminder of the apathy that we the living have towards more of our very own kind. A woman (may be even men) can not feel any safety in numbers cos there is no guarantee about anyone else seeing you as one of them, worthy of notice, of consideration, of help….

Its almost as if you do not exist.

Especially if you happen to be in trouble or seem like someone who might need help. And here I am not talking about someone coming brandishing a sword riding a black horse in a shining armour. It is only about being aware of your surroundings, being vocal, being there.

It is simply as simple as that. It does not take a lot. At all.

Why is it that all we do care about it the next bus to hop on and the next seat that we can get and the next place to go to. Why do we not enjoy or experience and just exist in the present. That’s a common psyche… why why why??

This level of apathy I think also stems from this rat race, this feeling of always being behind and catching up to the future. The future will always be in future the moment you catch up with it it becomes your present. So what you are not doing is essentially your present so why run away from it?

Why not soak in it, experience it? Why not be here in the present? Instead of running ahead at such a pace that you miss the view. No matter how dismal, dirty or filthy it is.

Cos only when we stop to notice, will it ever matter to us to keep it clean or to be enraged or outraged about things and injustices around us?! Weather being done to fellow humans or environment or sentiments….

May be just may be it will make the present worth being in, almost as attractive as the future that is always eluding- by the very virtue of its being what it is.

INternet

I love the internet. This is the place where I meet all the people I will not otherwise. This is my window where I chat with my girls, gossip.... share... crib... catch up... bitch.. anything and everything that I did in person when I was younger and then on phone and now through the internet as the distances have grown.

This is what I go to when I have to look up anything and my dad is no longer in a position to answer all my question due to differences of time and space!! This is where I look up when I have to look up recipes, baking times, translations, rituals just about anything. It in one word is my back up and is my back up for all the people that I can no longer surround myself with in reality.

With it I create my virtual world where I talk to and read from and write to all the people with as much detail that I want.

It is also a window from where I surreptitiously observe all those I kind of know and check out just like I would have had we lived in a same neighborhood.

I wonder if it is something that helps me open up more or something that keeps me from opening up to newer things in life. Since I have my comfort zone and the press of a button, I no longer see people and much less talk to the ones who are right next to me in the room. I am so busy typing away my grievances to a friend in london that I dont notice that there might be a potential friend right behind me if I just turn my chair and tap on another desk.

In the same room we are in conversation with people all over the world but with each other. So does it bring people together or keeps them insulated in a world that they are more comfortable with?

New Year New Thoughts

Why is loss more meaningful or poetic than otherwise? Its a new year and it should come with new hopeful possibilities. Why? New year is just another number on the calendar, just another day. Why is there so much of hoopla around it? Why inspite of your better judgement you get carried away in its promise of renewed possibilities and potential that never really does come through?

Its just another day when you lost or gained. Just another hour. Just like any other regular day.

I wish there was less glamour and enthusiasm attached to it.

Its safe to be pessimistic. Is safety over rated? Is pessimism underrated? Does it not over lap with reality? Isnt reality more depressing than pessimism because of its huge overlap with the latter?

Why Do we need to move on? why can;t we just call it a day and put up our boots. Whats the point of moving on when you dont know where you are going? and more importantly why you want to go there...

Movement is just another distraction from what you need to figure out. Just another way from keeping yourself from thinking. Being busy is the perfect form of escaping from everything around you.

Change

“Hey Mr. do you have some change? You see my car just broke down and I would like to call for a towing service only my mobile is out of battery and …. You know it’s kind of late.”

“I know what it must seem like to you and believe me this is a huge change for me coming to this new place and looking for a place all by myself. I am not one of the junkies who are forever walking the streets with one sob story or another. I really am in a fix and even though you may think that I am just one of them I am not; at least no longer…”

All of that was whizzing past her head as she grappled with my current situation. Just when she had thought that she had enough of this begging or asking for “help” on the streets. It was like she was being sucked into it for no fault of hers. The thing was that if she didn’t get off that road in the next 5 minutes, all that she had worked for these past few months was going to go down the drain. All the meticulous planning…. All those sleepless nights…. All the sweat and hours and savings that she finally had the courage to put at stake was literally going to wash out in front of her very eyes and the last thing she wanted to do was to stand there wool gathering indulging in a fit of self pity at the most inconvenient of times if there was any.

Gathering her remaining wits, she decided to stick to the truth and ask for help, this was not about the next dinner. This was after all about the rest of her life. If she did not make a dash for it now, she would never be able to break free of her life here and seek other pastures green or not but at the very least different.

She peeked into the car with a lone fatherly-looking-fellow and asked for a ride to the next town. She cooked up some cock and bull story about being left behind on some field trip and not having enough money to take the tube.

The man seemed receptive enough, didn’t seem to mind and seemed to understand her plight and was willing to help. In fact he went on to say how he had been tired to driving alone and wouldn’t mind some company on the way.

After the initial chit chat and pleasantries, they fell into a comfortable silence. The guy bought some bags of chips on the next gas station and was nice enough to get some cola for her too.

She had had a very long day and now that she was finally going to be free of a life of drudgery and she was finally going to earn her living… this new found sense of freedom was exhilarating but in spite of all the excitement of the past hour, she felt her eyes closing…

“May be if I sit up straight and put on my shades, the guy wouldn’t even notice that I have taken a nap. After all it’s not nice to be sleeping next to the driver; was her last conscious thought, before she lost the fight to keep herself up.

When she got up the first conscious thought in her head was that she felt sore, like she had done a lot of work and the muscles were aching, the thigh and arms and she also felt a dull thud of an ache in her abdomen… thinking she must be due any day now, she got out of bed. Only then did she realize that this room was not her bed room and she barely had any clothes on. She looked frantically around her feeling confused and trying to piece together what had happened, she recollected the car ride and the coke and noticed a few bills on the dresser.

“Things after all had changed a lot in the course of the night” she thought; and then she heard the unmistakable click of the door lock…