Every year on
Mother’s Day, I’d have a gift ready for mom. And just as I’d give it to her,
His intention? To
piss me off! And he would get just that; every single year. I would immediately
turn around with a deeply offended look on my face, “PAPA!!!” I’d yell! Of
course, he’d be pulling my leg. I’d never missed a Father’s Day either. He’d
break into a big, loud guffaw; one I can still hear.
I miss that.
Fathers are
special. Special in a way a daughter doesn’t really realise, until he’s gone. I
was a daddy’s girl as a kid. But when teens set it, we grew apart. I never
really went back to being a daddy’s girl. In fact, as an adult, we were
constantly at loggerheads. We could never really agree on anything. We fought.
A lot! The last few years, we went to work together, most of our journeys
during our long drive pulled off in total silence, because we had fought. Again.
I miss the fights.
Fathers take
care of the smallest thing. Daughters never really have to worry about
anything. So if I forgot to fill some petrol into my khatara scooter and was
stranded in the middle of nowhere, Papa would be summoned. If I couldn’t stand
in a queue to book my tickets from Chennai to Cochin, Papa would mail them to
me via post! If I couldn’t find an auto rickshaw after an evening of shopping,
Papa would pick me up. I did not ever pay one bill, never did any official paperwork, never
stood in a queue, and never cleaned one car or scooter. Sigh, fathers!
And then, he
was gone. Just like that.
Suddenly, the
leg-pulling is gone. The fights have stopped. The princess-like treatment is
over.
No brother, no
uncle, no husband can take that place. Fathers are special like that.
It’s five
years since he’s gone. Many Father’s Day have come and gone. No more for me. Yes,
it’s just a silly “day”.
For me, not anymore.
