Thank You for wishing Happy Father's Day!

Amidst all the eloquence floating to thank fathers around the world on Father's Day here is an attempt to see things from a father's point of view among the sudden accolades.

Dear Child,

Today I woke up in the morning and reached out for my spectacle on the bedside table. On the table among sundry items including my father's old timepiece a few strips of multi-coloured capsules and a small bottle of cough syrup, was a greeting card. It read Happy Father's Day. Since you are the only child I can claim to have brought in this complex world, I assume it had come from you. So, Thank You! You do make me feel guilty, you know. In my days I had done quite a few things for my father, especially during his last few years when he'd do potty in the bed and call for me to do the cleaning (much like you used to do just a few years back). But one thing I had never done was give him a card to say thank you for being a father. It wasn't in vogue during those days you see. But anyway, shit happens. So along with the bitter pill I now take every morning, I accept your gratefulness with as much grace as a grumpy old man can muster.

Your card made me ponder what exactly it was that you wished to thank me for. The card reads "for everything", but I doubt you truly remember everything, unless you are Abhimanyu. You know your mother and I had spent nights planning how we would bring you up once you came in our life. We often ended up fighting with our prejudices rather than coming up with a plan. She wished that you would be a boy, just so she could dress you in those little traditional dresses and take you along with her to the temple every week. I argued that a little mannequin like the one that stood in front of Wonderland Toys would suffice to fulfill that desire. But I guess she wanted it to smile and play around as well. I always wanted a girl. They always hang around longer than you expect them to. They are the dark horses people fail to bet on. But your mother would argue that I who have never been a girl child would never understand the torments that came with it. Even in those days she had the knack of coming up with arguments that were preposterously off-track and gave me little matter to argue against. So I would turn around and go to bed appeasing myself that a girl less in my little family would not be a bad thing after all.

And then one day you were born. Just like Newton's apple, you fell on my lap. You were heavy, but I did not complain. Everyone congratulated your mother and spoke of the pain she had gone through in bringing you in this world. The matron at the hospital kept reminding me that this pain was something I could never imagine or comprehend in this life. I could do nothing but agree even as your sphincters relaxed for the first of a million times in my arms.

After coming home from the nursing home we were a very happy and peaceful family for the next few weeks. Your mother was happy, and you were peaceful. Your mouth at least did not open without warning. Those were the days when Huggies' were only used by the nannies in Buckingham palace. For poor you there was just a tub of hot water, a bottle of Dettol and my hands. I did not complain. A man must reap what he sows, I said to myself. I spent hours at office thinking of the things I would teach you, the stories I'd read to you and the complete human I'd be successful in making you one day. After office I would run to the stores to get your massage oil and the over-expensive food for your toothless mouth. Before I could teach you anything you had enlightened me on the topics of accounts, math and expenditure calculation. So thank You!

Gradually you grew out of that amoebic towel wrap. How I wished I could hold you captive in that wrap for a little longer. All the wonderful stories that I always wanted to narrate to you got entangled in a bag full of disassociated alphabets as I struggled to teach you ABC. We fought, you won, and returned victorious to your mother while I sat in the drawing room licking my wounds. When it was time your mother and I got you in the best school in town. I dreamed that one day you would be an explorer, or at least the historian I could never become. Your mother said she would settle for a world leader. In your first week at school you almost met our expectations. You learnt to dig your nose and scratch your ass to explore and discover dark aisles and crevices. You also proudly led a pack of kids behind the school premises to where a street dog had hid its litter. Alas, your teachers had not shared your enthusiasm. Nonetheless, I stood bravely chin-on-chest in the headmistress' office trying to enlighten her that she was dealing with a future genius. But she had refused to listen. So we changed school in protest.

You kept growing like a pending task. Soon I could no longer carry you on my shoulders and had to put you down. Poor child, you finally had to walk by yourself. Sorry for the trouble I caused you. But before you came down you gave me the gift of hernia which I carry to this day. Once you found your feet on the ground you ran like a hare, hither and thither and everywhere except where I wanted you to go. I spent the next twenty years tracking your footstep and dragging you out of the mud (often a pit of quicksand). But a man must reap what he sows, I reminded myself, every time.

Today after all these years when you thank me for "everything", I wonder if you truly mean it. I certainly don't remember all the things too well. But when I think of all the things I did for you; I think I owed it to myself rather than you. You did not ask to be born, did you? So, today while I accept your gratitude with a warm heart I will also take that heavy bag off your shoulders and set you free, to explore the unknown in your life. There is an explorer in each one of us you see. Don't bother too much about me.

Sydney Poitier in Guess Who Is Coming To Dinner says all of the above in as few words as below when he says this to his father,

"I owe you nothing. If you carried that bag a million miles you did what you were supposed to do because you brought me into this world...and from that day you owed me everything you could ever do for me, like I will owe my son if I ever have another. But you don't own me."

Sounds rude; But the truth often is. Happy belated Father's Day.

Lovingly,
Your Father