Each day I saw the Mrs. , prior to her delivery, I used to wonder 'isn't she curious to find out which parent the baby would resemble.'
This made me think about the thoughts my parents would have had when my mom was pregnant with me. I asked my mom, but she didn't have much to offer- either she didn't want to remember or that part of her memory was blanketed by an amnesia approximately the size I am today (read huge).
My dad passed away when I was about 5 or 6 years old, so that takes care of asking him about his feelings when they were pregnant with me.
Which reminded me, I miss my dad.
I often wonder what he would have done in certain situations that I encounter. It's hard to fathom his reaction because my memory of him is quite vague, hence to decipher his response would be even tougher.
I also sometimes wonder if life would have been different, had he been around today. May be, may be not.
Then I think about the people that have influenced my life to a large extent- the elderly, the younger ones, my mom's family, my dad's family, my friends- all of them do their part and blur away.
Amidst all these families that I've known since my childhood are dads, moms, brothers and sisters whose behavior I think might be similar to a family that I imagine as mine in my mind. Would it have been identical to my family - May be, may be not.
Well I take them as inspiration for many a short story, but when it comes to writing about my dad I lack the imagination. My mom gets teary-eyed when she talks about my dad. Her siblings don't talk about him to me, thinking I might miss him even more; my dad's family isn't much help either.
Hence to develop a character sketch of my dad would be impossible for me given the number of years that have clouded out any memory that I might have of him.
My sister recounts the dreams she has of my dad sometimes, I don't have much luck in that department either. I have no memories of having dreamt of him.
Then I think of father-ly/like figures, some elderly relatives of mine, friend's dad, granddads, some who patronize, some who try to patronize. If I draw a quality I like from each of them and try to draw my dad's character sketch it just doesn't fit. It feels like drawing pieces from different jigsaw puzzles and trying to complete a picture- just doesn't fit.
Each time I see a father teaching his ward to ride a bike, fly a kite, teach them driving, drop them to school, go for a college admission, recommend his child for a job, buy them clothes, do anything mundane to anything that shows he cares, my mind says "Why did I have to miss out on all this".
Sometimes in movies and sitcoms I see a few characters, extensions from our society on the screen, for whom being seen with their dad is plain ignominious. I want to just tell them out loud "dude you'll regret that when he's not around". If God gave me the opportunity, I would have felt privileged to have a chance to hang out with my dad. Wouldn't I?
I sometimes think I could have learnt a lot more from my Dad, who was an extrovert, than from my Mom, who's relatively too reserved.
I would never be judgmental of my mom, not in a hundred years. My mom's a diligent woman, and her perseverance has been one of the virtues that I most admired in her. At the risk of sounding cliche, I would call her one of those brave souls who made lemonade out of the lemons that life threw in her face. When it comes to her only the proverb gets older with age, her perseverance has never flickered out.
And just when I thought I can never derive a character sketch of my dad I found his diary.
It was a log containing the day to day stuff he did, his work schedule and things-to- do lists plus some details here and there.
He was systematic enough to jot down and remember that he had to send a letter to my mom.
He wrote down the names of movies he watched, his financial details. Other than this in his log he had listed out his work schedule, and, more about his work schedule.
Well so much for this treasure I thought I had unravelled.
My grandma once drifted,very briefly, to discussing my father and told me he had a zest for life.
So now for lack of better details this is what I imagine my dad might have been. A man who picked up the lemons life threw at him and was zesty enough to make iced lemon tea out of them.
Does that help?May be, May be not.
The only picture, that I remember my dad by now, is the silhouette of a man that lay still in a coffin many years back. A silhouette so blurred by my tears that I could never see his face.
Do I think he's still there for me? Maybe...
