16 JUNE, FATHERS DAY - AN UNUSUAL MEMOIR, OF MY FATHER

I was wondering what exactly should I write regarding my father. He is no more, and my relationship with him was quite a complex one to say the least. Its not really easy writing about him. I'll try, but remember, its gonna be 'very' unusual :-)

While growing up, I feared my father a lot, because, he was way too strict ( unlike most other parents ) – like not allowing us to read comics ( we’d stealthily read them underneath our beds or get it all torn to pieces - he tore them up, and they belonged to our friends/cousins- how embarrassing :o ); not allowing to watch TV ( inspite of having a TV at home, we had to go to our neighbour’s to watch ); make friends or socialise ( for him it was a waste of time, nothing productive - that's why we never even had a phone at home ); no luxury of any sort ( we were not poor, but then hey....aren't those frivolous anyways, so no gadgets or fancy stuff ); or try anything new~ like new cuisines/restaurants etc – he’d force us to eat what was cooked at home ~ can’t recall him buying anything from the market except rice, dal and vegetables – no fruits, biscuits, sweets ever, my mother bought those. He’d not even allow us to worship…infact, as I remember, he had once thrown all the idols out of our house ( scientific tempered, he didn’t believe in idol-worshipping as he was from the Sankardeva school of thought ). He’d rebuke us no end, mostly for silly things. Never gave us any pocket money, my mother was the one who would, phew! He’d force both my sister and myself into one room, where he’d expect us to stay together and not fight ( imagine that – we used to fight like cats and dogs – my sister n me ). Well, the list is long…he had his reasons to be like this….which I never quite understood. Maybe, he didn’t want daughters and wished for a son – and I’m just guessing. Anyways, I’ll never know the answers to that. In the end, by my teenage years, I had started to rebel more and more, and grew quite distant. He had his differences with my mother too, which made me more aloof from him. Anything he said, I’d do exactly the opposite. I don’t remember him laughing with us or sharing a joke ever. We never really had a round table family time. Towards later life, I had moved to live independently much to his disapproval ( oh well ), and didn’t see him much, except when I’d go home for short holidays ( and he'd remind me that I had left home so why did I come )….until his last dying days.

I know, even though I had lots of grudge against him, one part of me admired him a lot too, and had total respect for. He was a self-made man. He was the typical youth from village who comes to the city, studies under street lights and builds his career while helping out his siblings, and anyone seeking his help. He built the house in my native city ( Ghy ), the place that gave us all a sense of security after living in various rented places. He had made his way up the ladder through sheer hard work, and maybe, that’s why he didn’t want it easy for us. And never pampered us in anyway. It was like, you won’t get anything from me, work – and achieve it yourself like I did – that was my dad! I do remember seeing a little softer side of him once, very briefly. It was when I was ill in Calcutta, and he had rushed there when my mother asked him to come. Or when giving shelter and help to many cancer patients in the Bombay flat where we lived, while in Bombay. After me and my sister started living there, that stopped though ( he made other arrangements for them ).

Although he never quite liked it, he was also the reason I was introduced to Bombay where he was transferred to – which later of course became my 2nd home. It was my rebellious nature that made it happen, lol; else, if he had it his way, he’d never allow us to study or live there.
So, like I mentioned, my relationship with my father was not an easy one.

He didn’t expect to see me at the hospital, when he was really ill ( he had kidney failure ). And when he saw me, his eyes lit up and he whispered in his weak voice to my mother – ‘she’s come, Julie ahise’. One night, at the hospital bed, where he lay motionless, with various equipment stuck to his body; I went near him to put a wet-tissue over his mouth and that’s when I saw a drop of tear near his eyes. Maybe, he wanted to say something ….which I’ll never know!

Am I sad that he is no more? Well….death is something that happens to all. So, I don’t quite feel anything when anyone dies. Our d-day too shall come one day, won’t it…? I’m un-emotional about death. Its rather an acceptance.

At 72, in 2017, 24thJan around midnight he breathed his last. Hmmm...so, that's my memory of him. I only wish he was less strict and maybe a lot more friendlier father, and we'd have rocked. Oh Well!!! wishes. wishes... I hope he is happy and at peace wherever he is now…