19 May 2012. 14:18 PM. "Dad"

You're right beside me, on my right. You're wearing this white vest with colourful hearts on it. You keep thrashing your hands about from time to time, which probably means I just have a couple of minutes before you wake up.

A couple of minutes to talk to you about my dad.

I wish you'd met him. Both of you would have gotten along famously. Like me, he was childish in many ways. And you, from what little I know of you, seem to like childish adults. You and him have the same smile. At least, that's what I think.

Various other family members may think you have theirs. Little I can do about that now, can I?
Coming back to my dad. Your dadu.

He was a jovial man at most times. When drunk, even more so. He loved giving surprises. I remember, when I was a kid, he used to come back home from work with a little present for me. Sometimes it would be a toy car, sometimes a chocolate. Once it was a bottle of booze.
[I was later told it was for him, and not for me.]

He told good stories. That's probably where I get my imagination from. It's nothing compared to his, but it's not bad. There was thing he used to do while tucking me in. He used to ask me to give him a list of five things. Any five things.

Haunted house.
Snow flake.

He would then make up a story, impromptu around these five things. And there were brilliant stories. Sometimes, there were so good that he'd wake up in the morning, take out his typewriter, order my mother to give him a cup of tea, and start writing the story down.

Unfortunately, I don't have any of his stories. I have a poem though. I'll show it to you when you're older. For many years, I passed off that poem as my own. Woo-ed many a woman in my time with that poem.

He was a little crazy, your dadu, my dad. And juvenile.
Once, he didn't want to go to office. He wanted to stay at home for a while, read T S Eliot and drink. So here's what he did: he called the family doctor home and told him to plaster his leg. The family doctor always did what he was asked to do. Without any questions. Once his leg was plastered [he had it put in a cast] he called up his colleagues at work and asked them to come see him.

He was a senior guy, a PR guy. So people were eager to please him. They walked in to see my dad sitting on the sofa with his right leg up on a cushion. Everyone was naturally worried. When asked how it happened, dad said he fell off the stairs - or something to that effect.

He got 3 weeks leave with pay.
I should do that sometime. What do you think?

There's a bolster on your right. Your right hand is carelessly wrapped around it. My dad couldn't sleep without one too. Neither can I. And apparently, nor can you. Some things run in the family eh Mimi?

Dad had a good heart, he was a good man. I think he'd be 53 or something now, if he were alive. That's one helluva young dadu. But then, I'm one helluava young dad.

You just whimpered and stretched. I patted you gently. What were you dreaming about?
I love putting my finger in your hand while you sleep. And I love the way you always iron grip it. You're one strong baby.

Dad was strong too.
I remember I was in a carpool once, the driver of which was a scary man. He had slapped me one day . No doubt, I must have done something to deserve it. Pansy that I am, I ran home and told dad. Dad wasted absolutely no time. He went to the people who had hired the driver, demanded to speak to the driver, and when the driver came out, thrashed him to a pulp.

I was a bit embarrassed, but hey. It felt good too.
But all said and done, he was a good man with a good heart. He was a kind man.

You should have seen him. And he, you.

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One Response to 19 May 2012. 14:18 PM. "Dad"

  1. I'm about two decades older than mimi is but even so, i can't tell you just how much comfort your writing brings me .. i read every post on this blog, all the way back to this first one, in one sitting.. My dad and i haven't been the greatest conversationalists and your writing is like the universe coming full circle in its own beautifully strange way. All that he didn't or couldn't say, you are. Thank you for the blessing that you are. mimi is blessed to have you; and you, her.



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