If there’s something in life that remains as ingenuously memorable as a brilliant movie watched a few hours ago, with its plots fabricated well to depict life as another fairy tale, and the characters-fictitious yet awe inspiring enough- for you to imagine yourself adapted in that very circumstance repeatedly and emerge as heroic as the protagonist did; so much that you don’t mind indulging in such reverie at times when silence greets you or the vagaries of life leave you all exasperated-it has to be my childhood! Not to mention, that one person whose life, though ordinarily modest, has made such a huge difference in my evolution from a tot to an adult, whose philosophies I’ve learnt as gospel truth and the one with whose name I’ll be called out of my grave on the Day of Resurrection-my father, is the only one before whom I would bow with great reverence, if one can assure that my identity as a Muslim isn’t rebuked for surrendering before His creation!
He’s no business tycoon nor does he own a sprawling 3500 sq feet sea facing bungalow at Juhu, he’s but an officer at the Mumbai Port Trust who was born to an ordinary laborer who slogged at that very place. Papa scaled heights after clearing tests after tests, terrific performance at job, maintained a very compassionate and benevolent relationship with his subordinates and got promoted to a rank that my grandfather could never think of. That, my grandpa never stood intimidated and submissively before my ‘afsar’ papa is a co-incidence as by the time papa reached that rank, my grandpa had already retired.. It wasn’t like he had had a meteoric rise from being a ‘mazdoor ka beta’ to a high rank officer, which is evident from what I was told about his early years as an employee-that he himself wore shirts altered with rags from old shirts but would buy lovely frocks for me from the choicest of high end showrooms with savings from the previous month!
My maternal grandma always told me that when I was first handed over to him, he danced around with me in his arms and sung a few lines from one of Kishore Kumar’s memorable ditties,’ Mere ghar aayi ek nanhi pari,’…I cherish this episode about my birth quite proudly but it’s only after I learnt about the tribulations he bore by working for three shifts continuously for four days a week, for about 6 months that I feel overwhelmed for his quest to bless me a life of that of a fairy, literally!
I still remember how he would talk to me in English only while momma, an Urdu educated docile housewife, would fondly hear our talks though she understood nothing. So huge was my confidence that I once challenged both my parents at the age of four when I remarked that foreigners aren’t called ‘angrez’ but the English synonym for it is Congress...(I’d learnt this name from the radio news my dad switched on to every morning!) And when they seemed reluctant to accept my correction, I scoffed at them saying,”aap logon ko to English bhi nahi aati’….Even today when I talk about some white lady, dad prefers me to call her Congress only!
My childhood was delightfully perfect with incidents like me enthusiastically participating in a fancy dress show organized at dad’s office. As a fairy-I was suppose to tell the audience to close their eyes and wish something that I was capable of granting- I confidently stood on the dais, but just when I looked at the huge number of people all staring at me, every dialogue just fizzled out but I did manage to win a prize and how, by crying out,”Daddyyyyyyyy….I want my daaadyyy..” in a sugary tone peculiar to that age..
Now, whether those guys mistook it as a part of my act or what, I still don’t know how I won that!
Life isn’t a bed of roses, so as they say. And I did discover this at the age of 15 when my pillar of strength-my dad- who’s been a heart patient since the age of 23, suffered a mild cardiac arrest that seemed terrible enough to make us lose our senses. Mom and I would stoically console dad saying, “everything will be fine”, but he preferred not to believe us. This was also the time when we’d incurred huge loss in the stock market and as mice are the first to escape when a huge ship, that harbored them all, is on the verge of sinking; my paternal relatives, especially my dad’s only brother, turned their backs and nobody responded to my calls! Imagine, while my dad was declaring his will and requesting his better half to wear her bridal dress assuming his last moments were approaching, a young soul in despair was frantically calling her aunts only to be sweetly told how busy or worried they were in their own lives!
Sounds like a perfect Hindi potboiler movie from the 70’s, isn’t it? But, it did happen to me.Tht feeling of helplessness, being devoid of any help or protection, dismay and the thought of being orphaned, of losing someone I owe my life, is a wound which is least likely to heal with time; and perhaps, most difficult to pen down as well!
Anyways, now that everything’s smoother and lovelier than before, life once again looks like a perfect celluloid adaptation! I have a vision, a dream to fulfill which is not restricted to just being a well known writer but to set up an educational institution with his name at our native place to make his principles, philosophies and his presence immortal and eternal! (I would never want to repent before my children of achieving success and fame when he’s no more- something he’s always regretted coz he couldn’t introduce his mom to the comfortable life we’ve all lived!!)
Papa, you're indeed a precious gift from God and I cannot or will to see a life without you!
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