Daddy

He was, and always will be, my first love. 

He held me when I was little, and played ridiculous, humiliating games of pretending to be farm animals only to see me laugh. He hugged me, and protected me when I got scared of nightmares. He sang me lullabies, and helped me sleep when I couldnt. He pretended he couldn’t see me and made me felt wanted, needed by yelling “Oh my God, where did she go??” during Hide & Seek (although I was in plain sight. I used to stand behind the door and close my eyes, and think I was invisible). His voice would make me cackle at first, because he couldn’t find me. And after a few seconds, I would go rushing out to him because even at that age, I did not want him to worry. His trips abroad made me feel lonely. And when he would return, I would burst into tears – tears containing all those feelings I had bottled up inside me when he was gone, tears that wouldn’t stop because I had missed him so. I used to feel so possessive of his love, that I couldn’t bear it if new guests who had entered our home spoke to him, or even looked at him. Everybody had to win my approval first.

When I was eight, and was laughed at by everyone at school for having buck teeth, he was the one who told me I would win the Miss Universe title one day. When I stood second in class, he pushed me further, saying that I was his girl and that I would do him proud. And each time, no matter what place I stood at, he brought me chocolates, and proudly told everybody he knew that his daughter was a genius. When I bled from cuts and scrapes, he would put ointment on my wounds and hold me tight to make me feel safe. When I was punished by mom for being naughty, he would make me laugh and give me the strength to feel better again. 

When I got sick, he carried me over his shoulder and made sure that doctors give me their undivided attention. When I got into fights with bullying boys at school, and got into trouble with teachers, he would patiently hear my side of the story, and then defend me to the school administration. He gave me the strength to believe in myself. He taught me my worth, and stood by me through every hopeless breakup with boyfriends.

To me, he will always be my hero. Throughout the years, we have had our share of tiffs and disagreements. But I will always love him fiercely, and to me, he will always be the ideal man. Today, whenever I face criticism for being too independent and for not behaving like a damsel in distress, I feel my Baba standing next to me as I tell them to go to hell, because I know that I am right. When I speak up against injustice, or wrong-ness, I feel a voice in my head - Baba's voice - that I am doing the right thing. 

When I help people I don’t even know, it’s because of my Baba – the person to whom everybody would always go to when in need of help. When I feel frustrated, and have this crazy desire to just quit, I hear my Baba telling me – You are stronger than that! You are my kid! And when I see other girls whose fathers try to control every aspect of their lives – be it career or love – I feel angry. Angry, because I don’t understand. And I don’t really understand – because my Baba had never, ever stopped me from following my heart and my dreams.

I love you Baba. Thank you for being so wonderful. Thank you for teaching me my worth, and to know the difference between real men, and jerks. Thank you for loving me so much, and at the same time, to let me be free. I love you more than words can say. You & mom are the greatest loves of my life, and my best assets.

The Divine Meter

Dealing with pain is one of the hardest things in the world. While physical pain does have remedies – pain… when emotional, is certainly, one of the most difficult challenges ever faced by modern man & woman.

A very famous and wise person had once quoted “No one will ever understand you unless they go through the same pain”. This is perhaps, one of the simplest, and yet, most understated quotes every said. When we look around us, we see that everybody – man or woman is in some kind of emotional upheaval. Sure, the intensity may differ – while for some it may be a minor itch, for others, it feels like an abyss from which there is no return.

But it is there. Look at the quiet bespectacled girl quietly typing away at her desk. To you, she may seem the epitome of stolidity. However, deep inside she may be suffering from loneliness, an unhappy marriage, in-law troubles, or low self esteem which is unaided by the fact that her husband is having an affair. Your friend’s boss – about whose bitchiness your friend can never stop complaining – might be suffering from the pain caused by a rebellious child who has taken to bad company and whose grades are slipping each day. The fact that she also has to work for the sake of her own career not only gives her a headache, but also sends her on guilt trips.

So how do people cope with pain? For some who are lucky – family and friends offer a solid support and relief. Talking things out with those who understand you and love you – no matter what – can be like the nectar of life. Some others are equipped with the god given gift of compartmentalization. Such people lock away their pain in a little box at the back of their mind, and instead devote themselves wholly to other outlets – such as work or exercise.

The rest of us, who are not as lucky or as good at compartmentalization, go through trauma. No matter how hard we try, pain keeps attacking us over and over again – like a sadist who waits for his victim to recover a bit. Just when he starts to believe that the torture might be over – the sadist gives yet another round of agony. Pangs of pain – gut wrenching, stomach clinching, mind numbing, and heart snagging emotions - attack us when we are least expecting it. It could after a spa session, while waiting for the train, after lunch time, after a few drinks, between just waking to the point of being completely awake. And when it hits – we feel powerless. Hopeless. We feel like drowning victims who after a point of struggling futilely, realize that it’s better to just accept the situation and let the water take us under.

I am trying an experiment these days to deal with tough situations. I have accepted that life cannot be perfect – that there will always be ups and downs. Instead of viewing it as a sadist hell bent on torture, I view such pain causing events as a divine emotional rating meter. Just like seasons – a scorching summer is the only way people can truly appreciate the value of torrential rains. Thus, if we couldn’t ever feel pain, maybe we would never truly be able to appreciate the value of true happiness. So, I thank god with all my heart. Giving us pain is probably his way of reminding us that good things in life – like family, best friends, solitude, sound health, love – are truly divine gifts, and should be appreciated from the bottom of the heart. And so, with the knowledge that feeling pain is an indication – a preparation to be able to appreciate wonderful things in life, I rest down my pen.