It is ubiquitous to come across pics of girls posing with their Dad's and the description reads "My First hero", "Dad's lil girl" or "Best Dad ever". Somehow I never relate to this idea of Dad's lil girl. I have been bought up in a conservative environment in a middle class family where education was the utmost important thing in life and all others came next. With all strict rules like no bunking school and tuition, daily study hours, no cable, early to bed early to rise..etc. I was accustomed to certain pattern of life style. Pampering children was a rare sight. I was not often bought pretty dolls, soft toys and my parents told me to understand that everything I asked will not be given. Essential requirements were fulfilled but nothing was given in excess. I too was matured for my age and I don't remember insisting them for a toy, barbies or sandals. I was happy with whatever I got. So, where are we? Pampering….was never my Mom or Dad's thing.
The conservative orthodox society I grew up had protocols in caressing or coaxing children, especially a girl child. Where hugging or expressing love to fathers or for say elderly men in the family is not so common. I was no exception. My equation with my dad is elusive. I have huge arguments with him incessantly. Almost on everything, from enrolling in a good school to selecting a groom. We are never on same page, forget page not even in single book. Our perspectives divulge broadly. He reprimands me, I nastily yell at him. Phoning him for a pleasant chat or regular chitchat is uncommon unless he answers Mamma's phone when she is not around or if there is any important thing to be discussed.
As a child I missed to steal that extra attention at times that my brother received for the only fact that he is the keeper of our surname. Nevertheless, my place I know is unconquerable. I can relate totally to a teenage guy complaining about his nagging Daddy. Probably because my dad subconsciously bought me up like a boy and not like a girl devoid of snuggling. He never said he loves me, neither did I. But he took all efforts to fill my forms and polish my shoes. He will certainly not shy away to do the same even today if given a chance. He packed my bags, carried them and waited for hours till my train left the station. He bought my favourite food and fruits. In my every walk, he played a major role.
But he evolved in last few decades from stubborn orthodox to a forgiving modernist. Not completely but to certain extent. He is a more like an ugly sibling you never liked and fought always for petty things. I do quarrel with him for a piece of chocolate even today. Nobody can beat his preposterous decisions. If I attribute my creative skills to my mom, my intellectual skills are inherited from him. He is man of rare species. My dad, I feel is a ludicrous enigma. He is my conspicuous pill of energy. He will not stop being protective and I will not stop being reactive. No matter how old I grow. I want to travel world with him to sand filled deserts, dense forests, developed nations, seven wonders. Few call him intelligent muggin. I call him Dad and our saga continues.