Daddy and his issues

A man’s real superpower is convincing his child that he is worth emulating. [Photo by Steven Van Loy on Unsplash]

A couple of months ago, a close friend of mine woke up to a broom. Wait. Let me explain. He was fast asleep and his cute little toddler thought it was a magnificent idea to interrupt his weary dad’s sleep by hitting his face with a broom. And, mind you, that too with the harsh end of the broom. My friend was obviously not happy to receive this childish treatment but then, what can he possibly do? With bleary eyes, he noticed his son’s delight—violent achievement unlocked—as he started jumping à la Olympic gold medalists in Paris recently.

Whenever there are discussions/discourses around parenthood, I often think of this episode. The child will grow up into a fine person someday, not remembering any of the shenanigans they put their poor parents through. Net-net, parenthood is one of the most thankless jobs out there. A rather sleepless way of paying it forward. Of course, I’ve surmised this from hearing endless tales of struggles from my parent friends.

During my younger days, I’d have dismissed such stories as excuses. Now that I am dangerously close to 40, with no human offspring to call my own, I see things in a different light. Advanced fatherhood is rife with tenets that my 77yo pappa can’t relate to. You (being a caring dad) can’t just slap your problems (children, in this case) away anymore. You are expected to do better, and going by the rising standards of care in our society, you will.

This, again, is something I am quite sure my old man would struggle to wrap his head around.

Or maybe I am flat mistaken about his understanding of the modern world.

Either way, it makes an interesting case study—not that I am betting my PhD on it—on human progress. With time, we learn to appreciate the little moments and the little ones attached to them. If you wait long enough, patience indeed becomes a virtue. Even if it means you’ve got the reddest pair of eyes in office.

Anyway, this blogpost isn’t about modern fathers and their travails. They can manage on their own.

Nope, this is about my pappa and his idiosyncracies.

After all, it’s been a long while I haven’t spoken about him and god knows that he is one of a kind. Perhaps the only kind left on this macroplastic of a planet.

Trust me, no exaggerations.

Let me paint a picture for you. Here is a man who clocks 12,000 to 15,000 steps a day but cribs that his knees hurt. His most common refrain in the Tulu language: “I’ve got wooden legs.” I bet Pinocchio never walked as deftly as he does although he refers to himself as a ‘slow local’; a sentiment fellow Mumbaikars can immediately attune to.

For his age, he appears to be doing fine. Just fine. But you won’t sense gratitude in his voice. That’s against his character and it’s too late to break character now. Sorry.

However, he finds himself answerable to the gods. He wholeheartedly participates in everyday puja (worship) and mentions devare (god in Tulu) several times. During my school days, he emphasized on bhakti (devotion) and ignored kriya (rituals). Perhaps, as you inch closer to your last stage of life, you tend to give up on your self-serving agnosticism (a cute term for laziness).

Which brings us to the most poignant question of all: At what point do you stop giving a fuck? Yes, that end game you didn’t prepare for but are somehow aceing simply because you don’t care anymore. You are visibly old and presumably tired. If you wake up and brush your teeth properly, you’ve already won the day. And nobody can harm or destroy you. You’ve had enough. Of Earth. Of people. Of the ever-changing laws of existence.

My father stands there—unpertubed.

No wonder his words often dangle between sincere, irreverent, reckless and ominous. Something I find amusing but my mother and brother don’t.

Me: “Why do you drink everyday?”

Him: “Oh, I celebrate life everyday.” 

Him: “Is there tea powder in the house?”

Me: “Yes.”

Him: “I’ll have coffee.”

Me: “Why don’t you play carom with your oldies in the park?”

Him: “My fingers are steady only while picking up my drink.”

Me: “We need to renew your passport.”

Him: “I don’t need visa for where I am planning to go.”

Well, I can continue to share such collectibles from my chats with him but you get the drift.

In my defense, every child out there reaches a stage where they try to understand their parents better. To some extent, they succeed in making peace with their mothers. In most cases, their dads remain a tough cookie to crack. I prefer to take comfort in how some things shall stay the same. Yet, it doesn’t change the way fatherhood has evolved over time, and will continue to evolve. Broom or no broom.