Pappa

Pappa turned 75 day before yesterday. Glorious 75. Glorious because he is healthy and happy. Healthy enough to play a round of golf everyday, happy enough to socialize, go on picnics...............Nothing can give me more peace of mind when it comes to him than the knowledge that he is healthy and happy.

My parents live alone, my brother and I in two different places. Their being healthy means a lot.

I feel happy when I think of Pappa, happy because I know he is fine. When I talk to him, there is so much to catch up on - how his game was, any pars, who he played with. What their plans were, were they going to a friend's or relative's house or were they just staying home. We discuss the latest happenings in our world, we talk about the fish he bought. We talk about just about anything. I cannot imagine things being any other way. The childhood phrase 'my daddy strongest' still holds true for me - true even when he is 75 and me 40. He will always be my pappa and I will always be his little girl!

Pappa taught me to earn my privileges right from when I was very young. He was in the army.  We always had many helping hands at home. We called them 'bhaiyas'. Technically the bhaiya/ sevadar/ batman is detailed for the officer, to ensure that he is fine, that his uniform is set, the shoes polished, the decorations 'brassoed'. However, generally these bhaiyas end up doing many things in the house, one among them being polishing all the shoes in the household. I remember there was an instance when I was dressed to go to school and had unpolished shoes on. Pappa asked the reason for my turnout and when I responded that I was wondering if bhaiya would polish my shoes. Pappa didn't say a word. I went to school with the unpolished shoes on. After that day polishing all the shoes - Pappa's, my brothers and mine was my duty. I really had no choice. White shoes used to be 'blankoed' those days, it was a messy affair, I hated it, yet I did it. I learned how to polish black shoes and how to use a flannel on them such that they shone to the point of reflecting! I learned that for brass to really shine it works best if you apply 'brasso' keep the object/decoration in the sun and then rub it gently with a very soft cloth - preferably flannel. I also learned that to get the black shoes and the brass to shine the hosiery vest worked just as fine if there was no flannel. Above all I learned something called dignity of labour and also more importantly that just because something is my father's be it a material good, money, privilege it certainly does not imply that it is mine as well to enjoy.I learned that I had to work hard to earn it all.

I remember the first songs Pappa taught me - Bachelor Boy and Que Sera Sera. It would be a sing along session. Even now when I hear these songs I associate them with Pappa and they continue to be very close to my heart.

If there is one thing I could hold back it would be time, time in terms of Pappa and Mamma growing older. But each time I see him after a gap of a few months I realize that time is ticking. He is greyer, eyes sunk in deeper, hearing a little more strained. There is nothing I can do about it, I'm helpless!!

It is a frightening thought. I cannot imagine a time when I will not be able to pick up the phone and say "Hi Pappu'.

Like Mother, Like Daughter

(I wrote this in August 2004. It still holds true!)


Years come, years go. With each passing year there is a myriad of impressions added to my life.....and......a lot many years have now been added to my life.

There are so many things and instances that remind me of my bygone days. Days when as a schoolgirl I would look up to mamma with awe and then, came those days as I grew older, when I questioned many of the things she did and even tried to reason with her! That 'reasoning' period in my life was when I thought of myself to be old! To me, most of mamma's actions were beyond reasoning - I just did not seem to understand why she would do the things she did!

Times sure have changed. Today, when I see myself as a homemaker, a wife, a mother, there is so much of mamma that I see in the things I do.

One of the many wonderful childhood impressions is of gardens. Pappa being in the Army, we always had the opportunity to live in independent houses with garden space. Phlox, Gerberas, Asters, Salvias, Sweet Peas, Zenias and Gezanias(mamma calls it 'Sweet Sultan') were always part of the garden. Over two decades later, when I had the opportunity of garden space at Lonavala, the flowers I chose were the very same ones mamma had grown in her gardens! "Colourful, beautiful", is what she would say and, "Colourful, beautiful", is what her daughter says.

At night, mamma had this habit of asking my brother and me what we would like to have in our tiffins for school the next day. Unending school days had left us at a loss for ideas. We would answer, "Anything mamma". She did not like that answer one bit. Today, when I ask my son  the same question at night, and when he answers, "Ooph! Mamma!", I can't help but think of our tiffins.

Staying with tiffins, my brother loved carrying rice and the entire paraphernalia that went with it! Mamma would wake up early in the morning and cook fresh food for his tiffin. I would keep telling her to cook it the previous night but she always had this nagging fear of the food getting spoilt by lunch time. History repeats! My son enjoys taking rice to school (the bread pakoda I sent today came back as it is!), and his mother cooks the food in the morning.

Before boarding the school bus and while alighting from it on the way back home, the person I used to see was mamma. Now, putting my boy onto the bus in the mornings and receiving him at the bus stop in the afternoons forms one of the happiest times of the day for me.

Mamma as a habit doesn't sleep in the afternoon. She calls it 'my time'. That's when she stitches or bakes or paints. Her daughter too doesn't sleep in the afternoons and when her son calls her a tailor or a baker or a painter, she knows where it is coming from!

I have known mamma to wait for pappa for lunch or dinner. I also clearly remember telling her that she ought not to stay hungry for pappa's sake. These days, the very same daughter who told her not to go hungry waits for her husband  to get home so that they can eat together.

Life is full of ironies!

Almost every action of mine is in some way in line with the way mamma's actions have been. Be it opening the gate for my husband in the morning or ironing my son's undergarments and night suits. I still talk to mamma about so many things, get ideas when I want to stitch something or bake or, want to plant flowers. For every action of mine I know the roots were sown when I was the little girl who always watched her very closely, whether it was with awe or with question marks!