Dear Dad

He's gone for the week. After the 11 days I spent with only him around, it seems strange without having him about the house, sleeping, or checking the stock market. Or playing carom.
Dad's not the normal 9-to-5 dad. He's the kinda dad who has to run off to do his job when they call him. Dad's not a normal person either. He's way too straight to be entirely human. Of course, he’s got his short comings. Like his temper, or his obstinacy. And then, also his detachment from all of us. He has this lousy temper, the one you get when you don’t have things going the way you want them to. It comes from his habit of having to live alone. He wants everything to fall in place; like how it does in the hotels he stays in abroad. He lives his own life, sometimes like we don’t exist. You could say that if he were to be marooned on some island, he would have live pretty happily there too, provided you give him the stock market updates. He likes his work done on time. No, he’s not the world’s most punctual person. He’s rather laidback for that. Expects everyone else to help him keep up with his self-inflicted busy timetable. Dad loves having everything go his way. Sometimes I ask, why start a family if you can’t live with it, if you can’t tolerate it?
Sometimes I have the answer.
Dad’s got his own life. And even if we don’t like the way it is, we’re the most important part of it. Or maybe I should relate my side of my dad’s story.
I’ve been his favourite possession since the earliest time I can remember. The house is filled with my photos. He remembers the smell of my baby cheeks. He also remembers how pudgy I was, and how probably I wont ever have a shape, because of all the chubby fat I’ve accumulated with him. He can remember the smallest things I said as a 2 year old. He was the one to make me speak my first English. He remembers the toys I had, my attachment to them. The silly mistakes I used to make when I first started speaking English. The words I used to jumble, or pronounce horribly. The times I would cry, and the reasons. The way I could never let my chocolates go to a cousin, even in a maths sum. How mum would have to clean up after I used the ‘dal’ in my food as a body lotion. The songs I used to sing. The wrong lyrics. My favourite actors. The time I could eat a dozen bananas as a 2 year old. How I could point out 57 countries on the globe by my second birthday. How I used to cry when dad left for a flight, and how I used to shy away from meeting him when he was back. How all I used to ask him when he used to be back from a flight was whether he’d bought food for me. How I puked all over my front sometime in the nursery. How I stood first for the first time in the terminal exam in the first standard. How I used to read books, and started on novels. How I used to sit on the tank behind the building, planning that farm we dreamt of, and finally bought a year later.
Dad isn’t the normal dad who brings home lots of chocolates, and treats his kids with big holidays in compensation for the rest of the year. Whatever my dad does for me, he did it only if he felt I deserved it. I don’t get rewards for doing stuff I’m supposed to. Dad knows when to separate duty from right. Dad knows when he’s needed. Like the times I’ve had to be dropped to school, even after the school bus facility started. He dropped me to school for the first 8 years. For the times he’s been around when I fell sick in school and needed him to pick me up. He never let me get late, always there. He always reasoned with me.
My demands grew as did I. he’d never shake from his idea of whether I deserved something or not. It’s probably thanks to him that I can negotiate so well on anything. Reasoning and convincing comes from his blood. He’s had to relent, stay firm, say no, and yell. But never has he ever raised a hand on me. Despite of the fact that I grew to be a stubborn brat, in certain matters only, dad’s made sure I never got everything I wanted. He’s taught me how to value something I don’t have, because there’re a lot of things I could do without that I can’t live without now. Dad let me be me, let me have the independence a majority of kids don’t get. He’d never yell about rotten marks, when I got them that is, he’d yell about the lack of effort. He’d never yell about not excelling, he’d yell about not continuing to learn.
People often idolise their parents, so do I. I’ve learnt a lot from mum, she’s the one who influences my life the most. Dad comes second, but I always see a significant portion of him in me, when we’d rather be left alone, when we want work to be done, when our chin gets set upon doing something with a deadline, when I get a Mallu accent when I’m excited. I see my dad in me when I lose my temper, when I can’t seem to calm myself down. I see him in me when I crack the most horrible jokes, and land up being the only one laughing. My mum has a sense of humour, dad’s the one who can make things funny, make the situation lighter. Dad’s the pillar, mum’s the balance.
We hardly talk when we’re angry, because we’re the most combustible substance after butane. We need our space, not just when we’re upset, also when we ask for it. We can’t take a ‘no’ too easily. We live in our own world. Dad’s the one who can talk to me about any thing, even stuff mum shies away from. He’s the one who tells me he’d hate having grandkids with Sreesanth’s nose, or Rannvijay’s hair. He’s the one who can share the weirdest jokes with me.
I know he can’t live without me, even if he doesn’t say so. He’ll always carry a set of the family photos with him wherever he goes. He’d rather spend time photographing birds with me than watching movies with my brother.
Sometimes, I miss having him around. He takes the security that nothing will go wrong with him. He takes that feeling that I’m-your-dad-I’ll-be-there away with him.
I’ll never be able to tell him this, but I have to. I love my dad. Not for his shortcomings, not for his strength, not for the pocket money he gives me, not for the memories he holds of my childhood. For the reason that he’s my dad, and that I’m daddy’s girl.


I've had one grand day today.
1.Maushi called up from Borivli.Nikhil's got fellowship at Stanford!Lucky bugger gets paid to study!reason to part-aaaaayyyyyyy!
come to think of it,the Donde's must be ordering a gold bust of his to be put up in some CKP hall.

2.I'm selected on the CEB.For all those who care to know,it's the College Editorial Board, by the Education Times,that 4 page suppliment you get with TOI.I have no clue how many apply for it,but who cares?I'm on, babe-aayyyy!!(question:what the hell am i supposed to talk about,or even write about there?)..I'm sooo happppyyyyy!
(missing my mum,go find out what Vipassana is yourself)

3.I got my nose pierced.Yeah,finally!I'd promised to do it sometime this week,and since procrastination is a thing of the past,I decided to do it,this evening.It's on the left side,and got a silver wire stuck there till it's okay to put something i want to.

4.Saxxxy and Dabba have minimised abusing.I'm down and out with chocolates, or anything as brown and delicious.Dostini's in awe of the will-power.Perennial smarty's seeing his chances at humour go bleak. Like jokes can't stay clean when you're above 17.

5.I joined SDIPA, or Shiamak's!My dream for the past 4 years. Now i can dance, in a more organised fashion. Probably will land up being the phatest in the lot, but i'm more than used to it.

Yeh kaunse janam ke punya ka phal praapt kar rahi hu?


To my friend,who played it so beautifully.

Doston mein baitha main sutta pee raha
Abba ne mujhe sutta peete dekh liya
Ghar jab pahuncha to danda ho gaya
BC sutta, sutta na mila.
BC sutta, mujhe sutta na mila.
BC sutta, sutta na mila.
BC sutta, mujhe sutta na mila.
BC sutta, sutta na mila.

College mein gaya mujhe pyar ho gaya,
Usne bhi mujhse mera sutta cheen liya
Sadkon pe ghooma main tanha reh gaya
BC sutta, sutta na mila.
BC sutta, mujhe sutta na mila.
BC sutta, sutta na mila.
BC sutta, mujhe sutta na mila.
BC sutta, sutta na mila.

Shaadi hui main husband ban gaya
Raat bhar thoka main thak ke gir gaya
Khushiyon ki khatir mera sutta chin gaya, BC sutta.

BC sutta, mujhe sutta na mila.
BC sutta, sutta na mila.
BC sutta, mujhe sutta na mila.
BC sutta, sutta na mila


sadist enough, i hope. The first time i heard this song, i must've been 13. with a microscopic vocab, at leat in hindi, i had NO idea what sutta meant.
when i was fifteen, and did decipher the mumbaiyya lyrics, the girls were all ooohhh eeeeks..
i'm 17,can sing the song by heart,and're talking to a girl who isn't.
i do give it a thought you know,life with a cancerstick in,how cool is it?B&H ek haath mein,other hand in my pocket.and the nicotine stench.loadsa more chewing gums,mouthwash kept handy.making sure my lips dont blacken.raised eyebrows from friends.trying hard to not let my parents know.I did it out of curiosity, the drag thing.i thought i like it. the coughing the first day was awful.but they dont all left me feeling fuller.more grown up, and satisfied i'd done see, it was more psychological then physical.the thrill, and then the 'cool' tag. i remember a friend telling me,'he smokes, like 2 packets a day,dealt in drugs,heavy on them.How cool is that?'. i hated him right there.'eeewww'.Didn't oarents ever find out?well, i knew the answer.
We teenagers,if we wanna keep something fom our parents, we can keep it no matter how obvious it is. they are unsuspecting,'trying to be our friends',and they look over the obvious lies.ask me,i have kept millions from my folk.i'm chocoholic,and this post is dedicated to the guy who first told me i was obesity,chocolates can do wonders for the cholestrol team.
well,to the guy i knew since around 6 years now.did i say 'knew'?sorry, i dont mean it.i do not know you.vene vidi vici.they all said i was in love with him.i knew i wasnt.there's something called a comfort zone, and he hadnt i cant really say if he has,but he's close to.

Just to him now,
i dont know you,and i wont claim otherwise.but i've seen you for the past five years, and i dont see any reason i shouldnt care for were the one who'd get us all smile,the one who everyone thought would do the best, and probably're the one who everybody always wanted around,the reason i often took the others for're the one who could tell facts the way they are unnervingly,and the one who read us long before we'd opened you.
they told me you dont care.seriously?they also tell me that being upset about you could do no one any good,and definitely me some harm.they also say that i dont have a right.
well boy,here's something.i know that if i dont do something, or rather we dont do something soon enough to stop you from lighting it,you'll die.i dont want to miss you,and as much as i deny it,i know i will.i know this will kill you.i want you to live,and it hurt more than my ego the day you showed me you could do what you hurt some place that said,oh god please dont let him do that.i cant stare up at you as defiantly as you can at me,asking me to challenge any of my decisions,but for some reason i still cant figure,i know someday you'll have to stop doing that.
i dont want you to die a loser's're never gonna listen,and i probably wont dare say these things to you,but trust me,i guess i care for the fact that you're a part of my life i dont wanna throw away so need a hand?i'm here.a shoulder?i'm here..why me?do you know that all of us cant go 5 minutes without trying to find ways to pull you out?and you still dont care.maybe you'r waiting to get addicted.may be you want to die the death of an 80 year old man at 40.
here's a fact:death doesnt affect the person who's affect those he leaves behind.his memories,his words,his voice.the fact that you're going that way makes me cry at night.that too for a friend i really cant call one.what do you not have?what do you want?what will make you stop the darned habit?kick the butt?why are you so intent on killing yourself?
go ahead then,but i'm gonna try my best to pull you back.i'm gonna go the distance just so that you dont die and kill a part of me with may hate me,call me names,slander me.but i wont stop trying,you're way too good for that.
for all the times you hurt me with your words,i could forgive you.but not for the times i felt dead in myself because you didnt give up the smoke.i've seen people ide that way,suffer that way, and just because i dont say it,it doesnt mean that i dont care.i do, more than i'd have ever thought myself.
i dont know why you're doing this,how long you've been doing this,anything.all that matters now is that i can pull you out of this,and i will.i dont know how i'm gonna do it,where,when,why.i know i'm gonna do this.the smoking is the vice,not the smoker.everytime i look at my guitar i'm probably gonna be proud at the fact that i tried for something.
you're worth more than a packet of lights you buy from a 3rd grade stall.way,way more than that.i just hope you really know how good you are,and how petty something like this is.
thanks,for hearing,if not listening.


So it's summer again!
list of things i subonsciously land up doing around this time:
1.fell left out and alone.
2.get excited thanks to some holidaying hopes, and then get them crushed.
3.fall in love (this can wait. this vacation, i've had a very nasty bout of that).
4.have some major fall-outs with friends.
5.get into trouble because of food (yepo, and no other specimen of my species shows this trait).
6.strengthen some bonds (friends,hair et cetera)
7.coax dad into buying me a new cellphone (but i'm happy with this one, may try iPod now) and blush. and blush myself silly. and still smile.
9.Fall sick...the 'flu thing.
10.learn nothing.

damn i'm buh-luddy happy.

All things random.

Morning again.Scribe's just back from a morning walk and is slightly grumpy.Wonder why though..shouldnt happen when you go strictly with the intention of losing a few calories and land up chatting to 2 of your building friends on the park benches.mortal peril i faced:cricket balls,missing my neck,and one hitting my knee hard.i can still walk though.
I've had a mentally busy weekend.Been thinking a lot.about all the random things in the universe.
To start with my fading best friend Vague.He's lost into the abyss.For all i can guess, he gets up at 4am every morning,studies,for god knows how long,then eats, then studies,then plays that holy football game.Then perhaps comes back tired,obsesses over his girl who's off to the U.S., and then studies a little more.Then he must be eating,going to class to answer some really pakaav tests 3 stations away from home, humming some gospel music to himself.oh, today being a sunday, he may do it faster than 3 moves per minute, and rush to church. he'll chuckle around with the boys a lil..but won't hang around (i'm not there, am i?).then he'll absent mindedly go to the station..running,then walking,then in strides..not knowing what he's upto precisely.if he reaches home on time, he'll have a bath, have dinner and be tucked in by 10.30pm.exceeding which is WAY too late.
I miss the bugger.For the times he's wanted to talk,or just call up and hummed some songs i've never heard, for pushing me to do better, for saying nothing at all for an entire phone conversation he called, for getting upset because a careless girl ripped his heart, for telling me how to hold the guitar for the first time. i miss him for the tmes he'd stick his tongue out and wag it, for holding his head in his palms when he just wants to be alone, for sucking his lower lip when he's thinking, for fumbling with Nimisha ma'am's answers.For the times he thinks he's being all happy (and gay) but always forgetting that i saw right through.For seeing right through me.For coming to Andheri station with me, just because that was one day i knew we needed each other the most.
Vague because his head is in the clouds, all the time.vague because he gets on your nerves with a smile where you expect an answer and a chickle where you want him to be serious, Vague becase the Xth spinal nerve is the only one that runs all over your body, and they call it 'Vagus'.Vague because he can change the topic of conversation midsentence.
Vague because i miss him, and don't know where to find him.Vague because he's as ready to do anything i ask him to for me, as i am to do anything for him.
Love ya, you wild idiot.You make my day and can't stop missing you!