Daddy Boy

One day, six or seven years back, I remember Acha asking us, whether we, that is, me, sis n mum, thought he should dye his moustache. With my full might I assured him that it was completely unnecessary, that he looked like a perfect dad the way he was and Amma gave him a nice dose of spiteful comments, suspecting that he wanted to look younger and attract some hottie. Only my sis felt differently, but we had our way.

It was also around the same time that I realized my sis had a very different perception of dad as opposed to me. I was always interested and fascinated by the things Acha had to say, I had a very high opinion of his intelligence and thought his open-mindedness reflected it. My sis on the other hand, told me she found him boring from time to time and when he talked, she felt like he dominated the conversation too much. It was such an alien angle of viewing my dad that instead of calling my sis ridiculous, I tucked away the thought wondering if I would ever have a clue of what it is like to see him through her eyes.

Well, perhaps the day has come. Not completely the way in which my sis saw things, but a hint of it.

I still find some of his thoughts fascinating, but I notice him boring people sometimes while he talks. I He tends to get repetitive at times, which I don’t mind mostly, but even I was peeved the day he repeatedly told co-passengers in a train, that the government is foolish. I see now that his open-mindedness has boundaries, which sadly I have long past cross. But still, when we disagree, we always manage to clear things up and never have to use that lousy “agree to disagree” formula.

Then there is that part of the change, which is not accounted for, by my renewed perception. He is no longer a middle aged man. He is sixty-something. He has grown older. I used to have complete faith in his self-confidence, now I just let it be. I worry about all the running about he does on behalf of his business. Last day, this bunch of workers/arseholes, broke in and poured paint all over the interiors of this house Acha had built and finished (on contract), because he didn’t let them have a post-boozing session in that house. Now he has to run around filing complaints and tracing bank accounts. I so wish he didn’t have to deal with all this. Then between all this, there I’m, unmarried, unemployed, sitting prim and improper in the house, declaring a career change.

And then to top everything, today, as I sat there in my stock market class which was running late, one of the fellows in the institute comes and tells our Sir that there is an old man waiting for him. I feel a pang and I tell the sir that it is perhaps, my dad… and it is. They called my dad old! my dad! cos hes got a gray moustache which we refused to let him dye.