Bohemian Raspy

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What is the one thing you want to change in your anatomy or physiology? If this question was asked a decade ago I would answered 'my voice' without batting an eye. I've a vocal with perpetual hoarseness. I may even sound manly over the telephone. However, nobody has addressed me as 'Sir' or 'Mister' yet. I lived blissfully happy life for two decades without realizing how terrible my voice is. To boot I considered myself a good singer with right knowledge of notes. None of the family members or friends dared to contradict this facade. Until Hubby arrived.

He was the first to mention my voice does not compliment my personality. Well, not that I know what my personality is. Still it made me to ponder over the matter. I recorded my voice and played it on loop for several times. And I was heartbroken to know I ain't the proverbial nightingale. The new found observation has not made any difference in my life per se. I was not trained to be a professional singer anyhow.

For the uninitiated I was a choir singer in my secondary school to sing the State song and National anthem every single day for entire three years. Don't ask me how I landed there. Either it must be my overenthusiastic young self that wanted to be everywhere or some naive teacher who delegated the task to me as none of the other students were forthcoming. As it happens I was part of a singing team that went on to perform in Akashavani (Radio), Mangalore. However, I don't remember being it relayed on the station or I would have missed on tuning the channel. So, I was not totally delusional when I said I considered myself a good singer. The whole universe had conspired along with me to believe it.

I squarely put the blame on my father for the terrible voice that I genetically inherit. Yet, he was the one who introduced me to the world of music which is still one of the greatest blessings in my life. Has the dreadful voice stopped me from singling? No Sire. I still sing my heart out to the only audience, dear Hubby. Now he is sweet enough to say I've the most unique voice. Ahem! What I would have done without this wife promoting partner of mine! 

To The Man Who Loved and Lived-Part 10

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It makes me angry if I see WhatsApp, Facebook or Instagram on Father's day.  People are all sharing pictures of their father or father of their children. I've nothing against anybody. It reminds me of my loss, which I'am unable to make peace with. The pain is constant. Only memories are to hold on to. Those memories are the treasure now.
My father had a weird sense of humor. He was not hesitant to bring upon death in conversation. Probably that is why we always make fun about our impending deaths and it was never shushed up. Whenever I called him to wish on Father's day he never says Thank you. He says Father's day is the day when one's father dies every freaking time. As I roll my eyes I could hear him guffawing at the other end. I could see his eyes crinkling and his body shaking with laughter. And we continue our chat like any other day. While growing up Father's day was not trending and it is a recent phenomenon. Still he never once said we are aping foreign culture by celebrating Father's day. Now you know how I become the global child.

Whenever I go home for holidays everyone in dad's office would know of my arrival. No, I'm not that nosy or loud. I always have this habit of painting both my parents' nails with latest splash. He would flaunt those colours proudly with elan announcing his daughter's visit. How many fathers will indulge their children's quirky nature in this way? I don't know any.

When his hair is grown a little I used to put a tiny pigtail on him. Yet, I didn't want his colleagues to see this. On appearance he looks serious, strict, fierce, and little scary. Only loved ones knew his soft, mushy, and childish side.

Many people don't know I started watching cricket for Rahul Dravid. I had a huge crush him. I never stuck any posters of him on wall or anything. And it would not even get noticed when you have two cricket fanatic brothers coexisting. Coincidentally I was vacationing at home when Rahul Dravid got married. And my father started pulling my legs by saying "Ah he is married now".

Same goes to Shahrukh Khan. He was my favourite since Baazigar. No, I didn't wait for Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge to happen. However, I never had any crush on him. And my father never missed a chance to make fun of him whenever SRK appeared on television. That would lead to a squabble and me sulking for the rest of the dinner. He used the same trick on my brothers who adored Sachin Tedulkar. It took us sometime to understand his tricks or probably we grew out of that adoring celebrity stage.

And he was our partner-in crime in wrestle mania. This theater form was introduced by my brothers and we're all hooked simultaneously much to the annoyance of mother. Even after we flew out of nest my father continued with this pastime. It was a delight to see him enjoying this mock combat and drama. He will be so engrossed in it shaking his head, laughing, cheering. And we discussed about it as if that is most important topic in the whole universe until the novelty of this drama faded out. Mother used scold us all saying we all have violent streak in our gene, otherwise how can anybody stand such an aggressive and rough show.  

As he is not coming back memory is all I've and memory is all I shall cherish.

To The Man Who Loved and Lived-Part 9

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During one summer holidays I get an idea to get my nose pierced. I wracked my brain trying to remember what triggered that idea. Nobody was talking about it at home. Nobody was very particular about getting one done either. I requested, cried, begged, and threatened my mother, Ammamma, aunt P and aunt B to no avail. I even skipped a day's meal as a protest. Have you noticed how they ganged up against a little kid? They were all so cruel. How could they dismiss my wish as if it was the least important thing in the world?

I was waiting for the arrival of my father the next week as he had to attend a family function. After hugging and exchanging pleasantries I pleaded my case. The rival team was quick to explain what transpired between us and how my behavior was unladylike. Now he was caught between the devil and the deep blue sea. He tried to convince me by saying I was too young for that. I was 9 at the time. Tears poured down my cheeks like a river escaping the dam.  For me it would have been a defeat against adversaries, only it didn't. My father told me to get dressed immediately as we are going get the nose piercing done. My mother and Ammamma chided him for turning me into a total brat. He smiled through the entire charade without uttering a word.

Again, those weren't the days of big jewellery showrooms. It was two hours journey to-and-fro from our place to Taluk headquarters. We had our family goldsmith who designed gold as per our preferences. It took him less than a minute to prick the nose. I had just one teardrop throughout the process much to the astonishment of the goldsmith. I was even rewarded with an ice cream to bravely enduring the painful procedure. I had spring in my step while walking towards home and everybody welcomed us with a cheer.

I took off the nose ring at 21. For most young girls that is the age to get their nose pierced. I've this habit of doing everything in reverse order. When my father asked why I don't have nose ring, my answer was I don't like it anymore. He didn't preach or lecture me about it unlike my mother. If I can think now my father let me get away with almost everything. He gave us a lot of leeway to make our own decisions, but for a few, which he thought he knew better. Though a disciplinarian he was a cool dad to have around. Since we all three turned out hardworking, kind, and well-rounded human beings it is safe to say he was indeed a great parent. And that void nobody can fill. The pain of losing him is still intense even after two years.  It is just that we have learned to live with it.

Friends-Episode 2

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This is a second part in a short series I have started. No, it's not a fiction on short story. Just jotting down few memories for posterity. I'm almost sure I will suffer from Alzheimer's disease in my old age if I make it beyond 60. If that happens I can always come back here and get a perception about my past life.

J: I joined a new school for my 4th standard. At that time I never felt the pressure or pain about making new friends. Or maybe I did, which I would have conveniently forgotten once I was happy in the new environment. My friendship with J was rather arranged if I think about it now. She used to stay with her grandmother. Those were the days before the pasteurized milk overshadowed each nook and cranny of small towns. To cut the long story short we agreed to buy milk from her grandmother as we were new to the place. The old lady arrived immediately the next morning to deliver the milk and ordered my mother to be introduced to all three of us. She lost her interest in my brothers pretty quickly. She was delighted to know I was in class 4th as her granddaughter also was in same class. So, as soon as I entered the classroom that day, a tall, lanky girl approached and initiated the conversation as per her granny's instructions. I was puny all my life, so I was in the first bench and she being taller was in the last. And she was in the same school for the last 3 three years and had her own set of friends. Still she walked back home with me twice a day, once for lunch and next at the end of the day. In the evening it was her chore to deliver the milk. While doing so she used to carry books on the pretext of doing homework with me and it was fun playing together until the dusk. On the days when it was very late, my y.brother and I drop her back at home. Even though it was arranged we got attached to each other real fast. It was assumed if I was not at home I would be at her place and vice versa. That happy period came to an end once I have decided to move to my Ammamma's place for next school year. Even so we met each other during Dasara and summer holidays for three more years, until my father got transferred to another town. I remember corresponding a few letters with her for a brief period, which stopped eventually. Sometimes I believe "out of sight, out of mind". In my 11th and 12th I get to hear about her from my high school best friend "R" as they were in the same college. Coincidentally my y.brother and J's y.brother were close friends in their college, so indirectly we knew what is going on in each others' life. In fact, this May I've met him at my SIL's baby shower and we talked about her for a bit. She is happily married now, stays in Singapore, and we chat occasionally on messenger. We say we will meet each other whenever she is in the city, which both of us know is never going to happen. Not because we don't want to. Her time will be limited and there will be so many obligations to fulfill as a daughter, sister, and daughter-in-law. And my calendar is chockablocked for at least five to six months in advance. However, I'm grateful for her to taking a like in the new girl and nurturing the relationship.

Like I said in my earlier post I just want my friends to be healthy, happy, and safe. There is absolutely no desire or inclination to know each and every minute details of their life. They all know I'm just a call or a message away to lend an ear without judging and dole out my pearl of wisdom (pun intended) about life, relationship, love, conflicts, all and sundry.

To The Man Who Loved and Lived-Part 8

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I had a dream of becoming a farmer, growing my own organic vegetables and fruits; and a beautiful garden in which flowers bloom throughout the year; of sipping high tea under the shadow of a mango tree; and walking hand-in-hand with hubby by the gorgeous pond under moonlight. I'm talking in past tense because that dream was shattered to pieces.

Flashback to year 2012. My father was building a house in his native, so he made sure to monitor the work-in progress twice or thrice a week. I had accompanied him only once or twice just to make him happy. I was against the idea of building a house in the native. First, it was very remote, 25 kilometers away from the town. Dad might have been born and brought up there, but he wasn't the same man residing in towns for almost 40 years. His lifestyle is different now and I wasn't sure he could cope up with the country life. And what about my mother? She isn't accustomed to that way of life either. Once I asked my Ammamma why she married my mother off to village that lacks basic amenities. Her answer was simple, your father has a transferable, government job, so she never has to stay there. Now his decision will impact her life drastically as well. Second, he is a retired man. This is his time to relax and enjoy, not to become a farmer. How can I not know, he is stubborn old coot much to my dismay. Now I don't wonder where did I get it from.

It was around Deepavali (festival of lights) time. Housewarming and nephew's naming ceremony was scheduled just a week later. So, one day I tagged along to watch the latest development of the housing. People were working fervently to meet the deadline. I wandered around the estate for a bit, throwing stones into the pond, hearing chirping of birds and crickets, and some phone photographing leaving my father behind with the workers. What I see when I return? My father was in work clothes, chopping the unwanted bushes and plants to make a clear walkway. I berated him for a long time about this menial job plonking my ass on a rock under a tree. He smiled and continued his work. After 30 minutes or so I started feeling guilty. What kind of a daughter I'm who sits idly while her old father does the hard labor? I picked a spare machete and started cutting the woods into pieces. It was cathartic and exhilarating in the beginning. Add another 15 minutes to it, I was completely drenched in sweat, panting like a dog, head spinning, and I couldn't feel my hand. Seeing my plight father ordered me to sit and sip some water. While I was trying to regain my composure and balance, dad resumed his activity without a break.

That is the exact zen moment where realization dawned upon me that I'm unfit to be a farmer now or forever, and my 60-year-old father can be and well at it. And he is to be blamed for my delicate and fragile strength. If he hasn't provided the cushioned life for us I would have toughened up. If he wasn't such a great father I wouldn't be this spoiled brat.

To The Man Who Loved and Lived-Part 6

Almost 12 years ago I was doing interns in Bangalore. Three months into the city and I could travel length and breadth without any glitch or worry. It was the novelty of knowing the place. when I first came here I was wide-eyed, naive and scared like many others. My father was relatively street smart, however, he could not maneuver and get hold of the place. He would have done it if he stayed here for a long period of time. But my parents' visit was never more than a week. During one of those visits he expressed his wish to see Vidhana Soudha, High Court, and Lal bagh. I have taken off on that day and decided to explore as I hadn't seen those places myself. My mother refused the moment we started discussing how do we go about that. She is a kind of person who fails to understand why anybody will leave the comfort of home to roam around in dust on a wintry day.

Father and I left the home around 8 0'clock. I had the monthly bus pass and bought a Day-Pass for him paying around 70 INR. In BMTC buses women sit in front and men at the back. I told my father in clear words not to get down anywhere. If the stop comes I will come to him and we will get down together. He got the window seat and clearly enjoying the view. However, that didn't stop me from turning back and looking at him to make sure he is still there. I'm raised to be a paranoid. One more thing common between my father and I are we both love window seats. During childhood he used to let me have the window seat while traveling. Once I realized his preference about that I let him have. Both of us like watching the world go by. According to me it is a sin to sleep while traveling especially during the day. You don't know what and all you have missed in those moments. I digress.

After getting down in majestic, we took another bus to Vidhana Souda. Once we got there we walked on the pavement side-by-side, he telling me many stories about politics and high profile cases of his time. He bought Bhelpuri for me and tea for himself from the street vendor. We never had camera-phones back then, so there wasn't any photos to capture those moments. Somewhere during that time he announced we will go to Lal Bhag some other day and today we will just sit in a bus and travel in-and-around Bangalore, which we did till early evening. I still don't know whether he had gone to Lal Bhag in later years.

He had this child-like curiosity. Though he was resistant to changes slowly and steadily he accepted them nonetheless. He was all ears when we tell a tale about something or other. The one thing he was not good at was sharing his worries. He kept all his stress, agitation bottled up inside. He never wanted us to stress over anything. And basically he was secretive. I wonder if those concealed emotions and tensions over a lengthy period of time could have killed him. It is sad he never realized his children are grown up enough to shoulder his emotional baggage. How I wish we could really have a hearty conversation now, not just talk.

Furry Companion

We got a new puppy when I was in class sixth. The old Tommy just passed a few days before that. As long as I can remember he was old, sluggish, and droopy. It is just that I don't recall many things associated with him. Nonetheless he was a good doggy.

The new pup was very shy. As he was black I officially named him Blacky. I thought it was hep and trendy name for a pet. Within few days we have noticed he walks little differently. when We took him to the vet for examination, he told it is probably because he was weaned off his mother's milk too early and it could be a calcium deficiency affecting his bones. His advise was to give him an egg everyday and regular food. In those days Pedigree Petfood was unheard of. We are vegetarian family and mere mention of egg was frowned upon. Now Ammamma is a kind of person who believes what needs to be done should be done at any cost. So that responsibility was relegated to me and I was more than happy to oblige. Within six months' period Blacky's strength improved to a great extent. Back then there was no concept of keeping dogs as pets. They had to serve their purpose like barking at strangers, well that and that is it. He developed that skill early on, snarling at all and sundry but for the family members. Even though puny he looked ferocious and fierce, and neighbors started asking whether he is chained before entering the gate. Ammamma who is greatly paranoid is very smug and proud of Jackie.

Like all puppies he started following me all around. He was fast learner of basic commands like sit, stay, come, go. I even trained him to bring the newspaper, whoever saw it oohed and aahed, and I was proud as a peacock. When I am off to school he will come till gate to see me off and again at the gate wagging his tail to welcome me back home. The excitement he showed to see me is nothing but pure love. When I'm doing my homework, scattering books all over the floor, he always made sure to nestle in my lap. Even if I push him playfully, he made sure to snuggle back right then and there. The furry manipulator knew just how to melt my heart with his classic puppy dog eyes. He was a good fetch-the-ball player too.

I kiss him and he will be all over me slurping my face. It used to annoy my granny so much. She never approved of this unhygienic behavior, but blacky and I were a team. He has his own bed in a corner as he is restricted of entering bedrooms and kitchen. Every Sunday, it was my chore to give him a bath. He is not very great fan of bathing, just like me. He had his own soap and towel. The Lifebuoy soap that I use on him is worse than his furry stink. However, no amount of coaxing would make my granny to grant him other brands of soap. She even told me to exchange my soap with him if I'm that particular. I did not do that, what I did was using a dollop of shampoo in last round of bathing to give him a nice, fresh, and clean shower. And before bath I will go in search of tics and fleas from his body and kill them.

He was my childhood companion and he made me the better person I'm today with his unflinching devotion, loyalty, and love. I gave my little attention, care, time, and love of my whirlwind childhood, wherein what I got in return from him is multitude. I was in college when Ammamma called to tell me about his demise. I was in tears and none of my friends would understand the attachment or bonding I had with him as they never had any pet for themselves. He was able to live 10 years and I'm glad he had a happy and overprotective family.

My pet name for Jackie was Sundru (Handsome) that he was and he will be my handsome forever.

Being a non-parent one advice I would give to my parent-friends is gift your kids a puppy and books, and you don't have to worry about them being good human beings because that is by default they will be.

To the man who loved and lived-Part 5

My last aunt got married when I was in 4th standard. My grandmother has 5 daughters and aunt B was the last one to get hitched. Once she is gone my granny would be all alone. Grandpa was gone a long time ago. I moved in with her much to the dismal of my parents. When Ammamma requested my parents they could not say no. I was with her till class ten. For those 6 years my dad used to visit me every Sunday without fail but for the summer holidays. I was pathetic with English spellings back then. He made sure I get all the spellings right within a month. It was really a painful process if I remember it correctly. Helicopter parents were not fashionable then, but surely my father was one. I was not always happy to see him every weekend especially if I scored less in exams. Later I realized it was an effort for him to travel 40 kilometers to and fro on Sundays, the only holiday he gets in a week. He could have relaxed sitting at home, watching movie, reading book, writing or berating my unruly brothers. I know my father was a homebody. He was perfectly at peace staying at home doing all the Sunday chores. But deep down I know he couldn't stay long without seeing me. It was pure unconditional love.

When I joined college it was 200 KM away from home, the journey would take 6 hours by bus. My father came to drop me down and get me settled in the new town. I was shit-scared, but wouldn't show because I didn't want dad to worry about me. we went shopping together and brought all the essentials deemed necessary. I spent the night at hostel and he at the hotel. He was on time for the orientation. I was comforting him that I'l be alright and will take care of myself in the corridor. Then "D" approached us and introduced herself. What happened was during introduction session she got to know that both of us are from same district. After talking to her my father was somewhat relaxed and less stressed as if sensing this friendship is going to last a lifetime, however, I didn't know that just yet. After having lunch together we bid adieu to each other. Yes, my eyes were moist and I was just short of howling.

Why I was surprised when he was back again the next Sunday? He would have left home early morning to reach here at 12 o'clock. After spending 2 hours together he left at 2 in the noon. And he would have reached home around 8 o'clock. It was those days when pre-booking tickets was not possible. I don't know whether he got seat or traveled all the way standing. I never asked. Either I was insensitive or too busy making new friends, or both. That was pre-cell phone era and I would get call from home once a week, on Sundays. I used to write elaborate letters at least in the beginning.

For the first three months he visited me every month. Later I forbade him from doing so, convincing him it was economically more viable if I go home every month as I get to see my mother, brothers, grandmother and cousins. And I did so without fail throughout the course.

He coming to see me off wherever I go or whenever I go continued.  There was only one time my father didn't come to drop me off. That is a long story and for another post.

After wedding there is always hubby to drop me off and pick me up from native. It was like my father had passed on the baton of taking care of his little girl to the love of her life. For the unknown he did the same to my brothers as well. The unflinching love he had for us is heartbreaking.

Few years ago I had to visit native when Ammamma was fighting the tuberculosis as well as depression. Due to unavoidable circumstances Hubby couldn't accompany me. So, when I got off the bus there stood the man in white shirt and blue sarong (Kannada-lungi) holding an umbrella with a mischievous smile. That is the last time my father picked me up from a station. Apparently he got too tired of chaperoning us around. Perhaps he wanted his children to grow up and be independent. I would give up anything to be with that man again. He should have known that I don't want to grow up and I want to be in his overprotective cocoon forever.