I was about to 'confirm pickup' on my Uber app when my father interrupted. ‘I think we should take an auto from outside,’ he said. I told him that it would be unwise to walk half a kilometer just to ride an auto in this scorching sun. He, in his usual complaining tone, lamented rather loudly: ‘You millennials don’t realize the value of money. These cabbies charge exorbitantly. Moreover, app based taxis are not safe. I don’t think you ever listen to the news.’ ‘Really papa?’ I muttered, ‘In case you have forgotten, I work for a newspaper.’ People were staring at us. That was my father - grumpy, obstinate and skeptical. It was almost impossible for him to understand other’s perspective.
Lately I had developed an aversion to my father. I tried to avoid confronting him at home as I was fed up with our regular distasteful dialogues. ‘What is the problem in getting married? Why don’t you help your mother with the kitchen chores? Why can’t you reach home early? These were his repetitive questions to which I always retorted - ‘I am not Swati di, you cannot marry me off without my consent. Why don’t you help maa instead, you are retired and free anyway?’ For the last ten-twelve years maa was acting as a bridge between us.
We had gone to the airport to see her off to Canada. She was going there to visit my sister, rather to babysit for her. So it was just papa and me, after so long. It was going to be an uphill task for both.
My job as a print journalist demanded long hours, odd timings and working on holidays. I barely got time to chit-chat with my parents. I turned 32 last month. Like true-blue Indian parents, my folks were always advising me to get married and settle down. I had become an eyesore to my relatives who could not place a girl my age living happily in her parents’ home. My somewhat liberal mother was quite hopeful about my good friend Ashish and deep down she believed that one day we will get married, have babies and will live happily ever after. My father was always passing the buck to my mother for the so-called delay in my marriage. The truth was that, I was not a bit interested in getting hitched. My first and last love was my job and all I dreamt of was hardcore journalism. I guess I also held a grudge against my parents for marrying my sister Swati to an NRI for which she had to quit her high profile job.
The first day without maa was quite awkward. I didn’t feel like cooking so I ordered food through Zomato. Papa made a grim face when he saw a soft drink bottle with the pizza. ‘Smriti, these things are not good for health, especially that fizzy drink, you know it contains pesticides. Babaji says these are as good as toilet cleaners.’ Papa had not been like this always. When I was a kid he would bring the huge one litre bottle and we sat on the roof eating chips, clinking our cold drink glasses and observing constellations. When maa was not at home he would bake my favorite chocolate cake. I can still recollect the Gems and cherry topped cake and the mushy taste it left in the mouth. We had such a good time together. I missed that version of papa. How did he change so much?
We finished our meal. I was discussing something on my whats app office group when I saw that papa had fallen asleep on the sofa. He looked peaceful while sleeping despite the heavy snoring. His frail arm was hanging on one side of the sofa with his spectacles precariously held in the hand. He reminded me of grandpa. 'He actually has turned a granddad recently', I pondered. My thoughts were disrupted by a video call from maa. She, Swati, jeeju & my newborn nephew could be seen on the other side. Swati & jeeju were looking ecstatic like they always did ever since they became parents. Every single day they bombarded my phone with photos and videos of the child. Maa was concerned whether papa had taken his daily medicines. I had heard maa reprimand papa several times for not taking his medication seriously. I never knew papa took so many pills. His kit had medicines for hypertension, diabetes, arthritis among others. Suddenly I realized that my father has officially turned into an old man. I am not a kid anymore and he is not that young man.
I was unable to sleep that night. I opened maa’s trunk and took out our old photo album. There were some pictures of our family trip to the EsselWorld. I remember grandpa getting angry with papa for exhausting all his bonus on the Bombay trip. I also found a dog-eared photograph of my first day at school in which I was clinging to papa’s arm. These worn-out pictures were far more valuable than the countless selfies we click with our HD phone cameras today. Likes and comments feel so shallow when compared to the emotions that are stirred by old pictures.
It was Sunday the next day. My father always had a problem with me working on holidays. I would smugly declare- ‘I am not a sarkari babu like you. I have to actually work.’ I didn’t realize when I had turned so insensitive. I asked papa if he would accompany me on my morning walk & he happily nodded. I ditched my ear buds and talked to papa on the way. I sat down with him patiently wherever he halted to rest his knees. On the way he noticed a kulfi wala setting up his stall and insisted to wait till he opened. He bought me a kesar kulfi. ‘This used to be your and Swati’s favorite flavor’- he said with a glitter in his eyes-‘There was a famous kulfi shop near my office, I think it was called ‘Ghansham Kulfi Corner’. I would come 5 minutes early from office everyday and rush to that kulfi shop to get your favorite bars. After 5.00 pm all the office walas used to gather around the shop and I was afraid that Ghansham would run out of kesar kulfis.’ As papa told this story I looked at him fondly and thought- ‘He is still the same, he throws tantrums sometimes and says the same thing a hundred times over but isn’t it true that your inner child wakes up again in your golden years.
We bonded more in the days that followed. I let my work take a backseat and spent time with him talking, laughing, discussing politics & doing household chores together. I learnt that cooking food, cleaning the house, doing the dishes and laundry takes lot of time and effort. I wonder how maa manages to do all this. She has never kept a maid and I never bothered to realize that with advancing age she too must have difficulty doing the household work she was used to doing for years. Once I came home past nine and scarily tiptoed inside. Surprisingly papa was not furious at me. He had even prepared a full-fledged dinner. I told him that we could have Zomatoed. Papa said calmly, ‘It’s ok beta. I know how to cook, I also want to assist your mother but she is a stubborn lady. She simply won’t take my help but I am also very clever. I tell her that she can stop me from working but she cannot stop me from standing here and keeping her entertained with my jokes. You see Smriti, companionship is very important in life. At the end of the day you need someone who can hear you out, support you and consider you his top priority. A husband and wife grow together through life’s different phases, they face all kinds of circumstances together, take joint decisions, they have so much in common that they tend to know each other’s likes, dislikes & reactions much better than anyone else would. Also, when you have kids you become all the more attached to each other’, papa summed up with a lit up face.
The summer passed merrily. When maa returned she was happily amazed to discover the changed equation between the two of us. I apologized for taking her for granted. I also made two promises to my parents : first, I will give this marriage thing another thought and the second that whatever I do or wherever I go in life, I will always take care of my beloved mother & my grumpy old man.
