To the man who loved and lived-Part 3

My father was a giver, the giver of love, care, and affection. I'm told five-and-a-half years of my life was split between my Ammamma's place and my parents'. I was the Apple of grand mom's and my aunts' eyes. Like a royalty I used to split my time between my parents' and grandmother's. Once every 15 days my father used to come and pick me up from my granny's home.  Mom tells me that every 15 days my father used to buy me a new dress. However, I don't have recollection of this.

Just before starting my first standard I was down with mumps. They say it was the first time I forced my dad to take me with him. I remember missing my Ammamma and aunts back then. He was very strict when it comes to the matter of studies.  He used to help picking up songs to be sung for the school music competition. Not that I was any good singer, though I believed myself to be the one for a very very long time. He was just good at it. It was he who wrote essays and speeches for my school events. How can I forget our every month's visit to movie theater? Both my parents were movie buffs. There were colourful tales of their movie escapades in the family gatherings. Its no wonder I inherited that gene from them. I don't remember taking beatings from him. I have to confess here. I was very thin and sickly girl back then. I used to act hyperventilating to avoid the punishment. So, he made me to do tables and copy writing many times, that was his way of disciplining me. That exercise was plain meaningless and tedious. I still don't understand why parents do that? But I will take that boring torture over the actual beating anytime for that matter.

We had not very nice neighbors back then. Their kids were bully and trouble makers. Now I think probably they also had the same opinion about us. Luckily we were a team of three and learnt very young to fight our own battles. Everything was under control until elders got involved. My mother is a soft, docile lady who is too fragile to support us. And genuinely she believed her kids are little rowdies and nuisance, which could be true if I recall those days. On the other hand we had our father's backing publicly and socially. He never flinched a moment to stand up for us. Later he interrogated and meted out his own little punishment to all of us, in my case copy writing. In that way we were never embarrassed in front of others, even though we were at fault. Isn't that a family supposed to do? 

Because of my dad's encouragement I never came home crying from bullying or harassment. Like every other child I truly believed my father is the strongest. He was the provider, caregiver, and an over protective father. They say you can't have favourite parent. Somehow I never shied away from saying my father was my favourite, and I think he always will be.