Rest in peace, Daddy

Dear daddy

I have been trying to come up with a clever, light and witty post to kick start the new year. Something that will bring a smile on one's face for a few minutes. But everytime I sat down to write it, I had a vague feeling of being dishonest with myself. All I really want to do is talk about you, appa. I am finally ready to do it. And I will not be able to do anything else till I get it off my chest. All of my memories - the good, bad and ugly ones. The good ones that I try to cling to, in fear that I may forget, which would mean I have nothing left of you. The bad and terrible ones which continue to haunt my dreams in the night, making me wake up in tears even now - 4 months after you are gone.

If I had to find one word to describe you, it probably would be - optimism. Boundless, endless optimism which helped you claw your way back out of so many tough situations. Foolish optimism which made you believe you were invincible despite all those deadly cigarettes you smoked. I dont know what you were thinking, poppech.

My earliest memories are of sleepy mornings when I would wake up from bed and find you sitting on the kitchen floor reading your Hindu and drinking that all important brew- coffee. How many cups of coffee did you drink in a day, poppech? 10? 12? All the fights between you and amma when she would get all dolled up to go somewhere and you would say, .'oru vaai kaapi thayen'. And she would need to go to the kitchen again and she hated it.

I remember how much your amazing sense of humour and your utter irreverence against everyone and everything. About how everyone from the postman to rangi to the poor, hapless vadhyar had to succumb to your razor sharp wit. About how your sisters and mother pretended to hate the way you teased people but always ended up bursting out laughing. The utterly tasteless bathroom jokes you shared with your nephew which used to make the rest of us want to puke, but used to give the two of you such great mirth.

I remember how big your dreams for me were. And yet, how gracefully you let me be the person I wanted to be. I wonder at your big-heartedness which allowed you to never, ever superimpose your expectations over me.

You were, and still are, the best husband I have ever seen. Unfailingly devoted. Extremely supportive. Sensitive to amma's smallest needs. Proud of her tiniest accomplishment. Indulgent. Generous to her family. A great giver. When we first found out amma was diabetic, you were so devastated. And when amma lost her mother, you thought she would never, ever get over the grief and worried endlessly over her. And, how disturbed you were about her health in the last few years and, now that I come to think of it, it used to be our sole topic of conversation the last few years.

You shared a great rapport with the husband, daddy. It was a bond that went beyond the usual FIL and Son-in-law bond and something that I was so proud of. You welcomed him with grace and generosity into our tight-knit family which made the transition seem so effortless. You treated him like a long lost son sometimes and a buddy some other times. You loved it that you had one more male who can rib the ladies of the house with you and treated him to all insider information of our famous shopping gaffes and family jokes and soon it felt like he had grown up right alongside me. Now when I talk about athai patti or Achuppa who passed away many, many years before he even entered the picture, he still gets it. And that's because of you. You used to give him endless advice on the stock market. You were, in many ways, our financial mentor and I used to be so proud that the husband used to consult you before making any major decisions - not as a father-in-law but as a man whose financial judgement he respected. You took us by our fingers and taught us to walk the path, gently and one step at a time. You used to pack our stuff for us, filling countless jars with pickles and sweets and murukku and chips everytime we came to Cbe as though we were two underfed children incapable of feeding ourselves. And you used to fill covers with amma's various podis and label them carefully as 'Rasa podi' and 'Sambhar podi' because you knew I did not know the difference between the two.

You were the most indulgent grandfather a child could ever have known or hoped for. Indulgent to a fault. You spoilt kuttan till it drove me nuts. You used to make your most important clients listen to his endless gibberish on the phone without a trace of embarrassment. 'If they don't like it, I dont do business with them', you told me when I tried to take him away. You allowed him to write with his crayons on freshly painted walls and even amma, who is no less an indulgent grandparent than you, was forced to put her foot down. I remember your excitement at the idea of picking us up from the station everytime we would make the trip from Bangalore to Cbe. Of how you used to wait at the station from 6 am for a train that did not come before 7. Of how you used to fight with mummy to be the first one to lift kuttan out of my arms. Of how you used to drive home all the while glancing at kuttan, till the husband would laughingly tell you to pull over and offer to drive himself.

I never, ever imagined what a life without you will be like. It all happened so suddenly and took us all by storm that I barely had time to breathe. People tell me you had the best possible death. That you were hospitalised for those 2 weeks only so that we could spend time with you and then you came home and were able to die peacefully with your family around you. Maybe its true. But all I can think of is those last few minutes and the look in your eyes as they quietly closed. One minute you were lying there, laughing, joking, still weak from the hospital but incredibly strong willed, and the next minute you were gone. Just like that. And I dont think it is a coinidence that your last words to me were, 'I'm very comfortable'.

The memories continue to haunt me. And I am left with the need to be strong, both for kuttan and amma's sake. Life continues relentlessly, stopping for no one. I, in the meantime, am reduced to tears at the merest hint of a memory. Life has become an endless conversation of, 'appa would have said this' or 'appa would have done that'.

My biggest challenge would be to keep your memories alive for my son. To make him know that he was the recipient of a love greater than anything else, from a man who was willing to give him the world on a platter. I have big shoes to fill. But the responsibility of being your daughter is one that I do not take lightly.

Rest in peace, daddy. You were the greatest husband, father and the most magnificient grandfather I have seen. And you did a fine job of living and loving. I am honoured to be your daughter. Love you.

Yours forever,
Your daughter

My first award....

comes at a time when my blogging frequency has been at an all-time low. Thanks Noonie for this award. Good to know that something I started on a lark has reached out and brought me a bunch of friends from around the globe.



These kind bloggers aim to find and be friends. They are not interested in prizes or self-aggrandizement. Our hope is that when the ribbons of these prizes are cut, even more friendships are propagated. Please give more attention to these writers! Deliver this award to more bloggers who must choose more and include this text into the body of their award.

There are so many people in the blogosphere whom I want to pass on this award to. But here are some of my favorites.

JLT
Abha and her amazing CubbyR
Poppins

Just a few names that came to my head first. There are loads and loads of bloggers I love to read and get that warm, fuzzy feeling like we have been friends forever whenever I read them.

Tales of puppy love

Let it be recorded here for posterity that kuttan has had his first taste of puppy love. Meaning to say that he has just found an ardent, faithful and extremely beautiful admirer in the opposite sex from his own class - let's call her S.

The conversation between us went like this...

Me: So what did you do in school today baby?
K: I played with S...
(Pauses)
Amma, andha S enna chumma chumma kiss panra.. (S keeps kissing me)

The husband, deeply engrossed in the 'Classified' section of 'The Hindu' (we really, really believe in getting our money's worth) removes his nose out of the paper for the first time with a glimmer of interest in his eyes.

Me: Really? Why?
K: I don't know.

And the conversation is forgotten soon afterwards.

I went to pick him up from school in the afternoon and sure enough, as we get ready to leave, I see S hovering adoringly around him while my stupid, tasteless son is busy monkeying around with another boy. And then as we are just leaving, she helps him put on his shoes!! ( Whoa girl! Lesson one: Never, ever wear your heart on your sleeve.) Kuttan looks at me with the long suffering look of someone who's enduring something with great difficulty while I take in the sheer cuteness of the scene. And then she says bye with a nice, sweet kiss. My heart just melted and was in danger of puddling around my feet and what does my son do? Grimaces and wipes his face and nonchalantly walks off with me!!

The boy shows every sign of following in his father's footsteps...ah, well, another long story and one that I will probably never tell..:D

Why I was away...

Its ironic that I wrote about how unpredictable life can be only a few posts ago....It seems like a million light years ago since that time, a different era and it feels like I was a different person then.

I lost my father to a massive heart attack nearly 3 months back, 5th of September to be precise. Its been almost 3 months since life changes irrevocably, never to be the same again. I have stayed away from blogging because, somehow, even now it seems like putting it in words will make it too real, too permanent. The wound is still too raw and the pain is still too fresh for me to write anything coherent about daddy just now.

I will probably write about it sometime. But for now, I will continue to write posts about regular normal stuff...and go on pretending that all I need to do is press the beloved Coimbatore number to hear that beautiful voice pick up the phone and say, 'Enna kanne?'. I need to continue fooling myself. Just for a little while longer.

A few tips for men....

...on how to treat their wives after a visit to the parlour.

* After your wife comes back from half a day spent in the beauty parlor while you pulled your hair out in desperation at being left alone with the progeny, she is watching you for your reaction every step of the way from the minute she gets down from the auto.

* At all points in time, keep looking at her face adoringly and with wonder as though all your adult male fantasies have come true in her. Do NOT try to do something as unimportant as taking your son to the bathroom as he hops urgently from one foot to the other. This move of yours may be misconstrued as lack of interest on her part.

* In the interest of your peace and happiness ever after, please PAY ATTENTION as she discusses what she is going to be doing at the parlor BEFORE she leaves home. There will be questions when she gets back and I know that its not in your genes to be able to tell when she got a manicure with colorless nail varnish and if you had just paid attention to what she said, you may be able to suitably admire and ooh and aah over her nails.

* Do not even blink or miss a beat when she asks you how her hair color looks. Whether it is a garish baby pink or the exact same shade as she always had, always, always say with great enthusiasm, 'Awesome baby!! I love it..'

* If you do not like her haircut and both of you have an open and honest relationship where you discuss everything, well, this just aint one of them...You just have to zip up till the hair grows back...

* She has spent the best part of the day wincing as her body hair got pulled off her legs and arms and eyebrows and upper lip....believe me when I tell you, its bloody painful. Do NOT tell her how boring shaving is and how lucky women are to be able to wax body hair off...You just may find your legs getting waxed as you sleep one of these days.

* Do not ask blanch, or show any negative emotion at the amount of money she spent at the parlour, if, for some perverse reason, you need to ask at all.

* And last, but not the least, do not commit the cardinal sin. As she looks at you expectantly after getting her uber-cool haircut which her stylist assures her will make her look like a bomb, if you do not want grievious bodily injury and loss to preoperty, do not innocently ask her, 'What, no haircut????'

A chumma post

No, not the Hindi chumma. The Tamil one, meaning Just like that. And did you know that's not even an original Tamil word?

Anyway, I digress. I have not posted in sometime and have some(ok, ok) 1 anxious reader asking if things are ok. Thanks for asking, dear friend, and things are fine and dandy at the Bangalore household. It was a combination of sheer laziness and lethargy during weekdays and total head spinning craziness over the weekends that have kept me from posting. Some random updates:

It's been a month since Hubby's MBA classes started. To say that its changed our lives completely would be putting it too mildly.

When kuttan was born 3 and a half years ago, the whole family celebrated. The parents and in-laws were elated. Aunts and uncles rejoiced and friends called up to congratulate. Hubby and I, on the other hand, went about in a daze, not quite sure about what we were supposed to do with the little screaming, pooping bundle that I had, with ample help from the husband, brought into the world.

We looked at each other and did'nt say the words but might as well have shouted it out to each other. 'What the hell have we gotten ourselves into?' Kuttan was born on a MOnday and things continued on the same exhausting vein till I came home on Friday.

I came home on Friday morning. That night, on kuttan's first night home, we sent my parents packing upstairs. And then we switched off the lights in the living room and tuned to HBO to see 'Clear and Present Danger'. Ah, bliss!! I cannot tell you how liberating the feeling was. We can still have a life after all, we thought to ourselves, as we grinned at each other like idiots, as our infant son lay sleeping in the crib near us. See, our life has changed but our hallowed Friday ritual remains the same.

Things pretty much remained the same over the last few years as well. Come hell or high water, the Friday night was sacrosanct. A week ended. Two whole days to relax and look forward to. Satuday morning to lie in and wake up at, gasp!, a sinful 9 am! The schedule never varied. Dinner outside. Stop by at the DVD shop on the way back. Pore over the collection and argue over which movie to watch for HOURS. Finally, as a compromise, pick a movie that NEITHER of us like. Come home. Give kuttan his milk and make him sleep on the couch in the living room. Bring the beanbag over to the living room. Turn off the lights and switch on DVD...ah, bliss!! It was a rite of passage followed most faithfully. Until last month.

Well, all that has changed now. Hubby has classes on Friday morning and Saturday morning at the UnGodly hour of 8. To add insult to injury, he has tests and assignments that are, invariably due on Saturday. And thus, a much loved ritual came to a quiet end in the BM household in the past month.

But the hubby has a loooot of gyan to share on microeconomics and strategy to make up for the missed Friday nights...what a GREAT trade off, would'nt you call it?? Grrrr....It's taking sooo much out of me to play the part of the supportive wife I tell you!!

Where did my baby go?

Kuttan was one of th sunniest and most cheerful babies I ever knew. Not that I knew many but considering the mountains of baby literature I had read and the folklore I had heard from everyone from amma to my neighbour's maid about sleepless nights and crying babies, when the real thing happened, I found the going surprisingly easy.

One of my closest friends tell me I am the most optimistic persons she knows. She is 2 years younger than me and when she finally became pregnant, she came to yours truly for advice. How difficult is it, she asked me, a veteran who had a year old baby by then. Oh, no problem, I told her airily. Do anything you want to. Morning sickness? I had none. Tiredness? Drowsiness? The kind of lethargy that was usually a part of the first trimester? No, no and no again. The only time I puked was when I stuffed my face with a greasy chocolate cake from a bakery with questionable hygiene. Yes, yes, I was pregnant and still went around eating from places like these quite happily. You can do it too, I told her for good measure. Just as well that she wisely chose to ignore my advice.

The delivery? Was a c-sec. The easiest c-sec ever. I did not have a moment of labor. I went in and came out with a baby and that was the end of that. When the baby finally arrived, he was so quiet on the first day at the hospital that the nurses actually crowded around his crib to see this 'baby whi never cried'. I and amma as usual worried about it and begged and pleaded with his paed to check if everything was ok with him. The doctor told us in utter exasperation that we were two women who could'nt recognise a good thing when we saw it and he was surprised that such a happy baby had come out of me!! Anyway, all that changed on day 2 when kuttan decided to give us what we asked for and let out wails that were enough to wake the dead. All night long.

But apart from doing stuff that babies must ABSOLUTELY DO, like crying and peeing and pooping the MINUTE I sit down to eat, I have had it remarkably easy all this time. He started sleeping through the night by the time he was 6 months old and I have never had a chance to fret whether I will EVER get a full night of sleep. I have'nt had trouble weaning him or toilet training him. He has always been an extremely happy baby, at peace with himself and the world.

Obviously when things are so perfect that I am beginning to think I am all set for the next one, God thinks to Himself, oh no, not that fast. And sure enough, hubby and I have been seeing some remarkable changes in his personality over the last few weeks. And they are not changes I am happy with.

I have been observing an increasing amount of aggression in kuttan. Something which was also observed by his teacher and the neighbour's maid. Every play session ends up in a fight with the other kids with amma and appa having to act as referees. Whereas earlier he would cheerfully go along with the other kids and share his toys, these days he creates a ruckus. Where earlier he would charm the trees off the birds with his smile and sunny disposition, I see him talking back to people and not very politely either.

I see a streak of unruliness in him that was not ther before. And I am worried. I know that this could just be a phase where he is trying to assert his personality and eventually he will be ok again but I miss my baby. As usual, the spectre of working mom guilt rears its ugly head again and I talk it out with the husband till he claims his ears are ready to fall off. 'Maybe I should quit my job', I tell him. As my friend says, that's my solution to everything from the Iraq war to my domestic help's failed marriage. But I do not even know how much that will help. I do get back home by 5.30 and in the software industry that is a miracle by itself. And after that, I spend every minute with kuttan, taking him to the park, playing with him and the other kids, helping him with his homework. How much more will I be able to do as a Stay-at-home mom?

We have never enforced a very strict routine on Kuttan because he just kind of fell into our routine quite easily, without much effort. But I think it's time we instilled some discipline on him in terms of listening to what we say instead of asking us a thousand questions as to why he needs to do something and arguing with us.

A part of me knows what is happening. My baby is growing into a little boy. A spirited, intelligent boy who needs to do something because he BELIEVES in it rather than because amma asked him to. A discerning boy who will fight with his friend if he does not get his turn with the bat instead of allowing his friend to take all the turns himself. A boy who rebels against his mother as she asks him to do one more page of homework before going out to play. I guess I should be happy. But wait a minute....did I tell you he is only three and a half years old? Did the teens come a wee bit early for my son?