Father's Day Reflections

At my thottil, I think.

When we were growing up, there was no 'Father's Day' in India. Patriarchy made everyday Father's Day, in a manner of speaking, and if you were fortunate to have a real good person for a father, everyday was Father's Day anyway. In our house, everyday was also Daughters' Day, given how our parents were. As a result, I learned about some of the obvious elements of patriarchy rather late in life.

Including male child preference, which I only learned about when paternal relatives visited and said, ostensibly out of earshot, that it was sad that my father had no sons. When I was about 12 and we began studying reproductive biology, I went to my father one evening, as he stood in our 14th floor balcony and said to him, "In case you have any regrets about having daughters, you should know that it is up to men to provide a Y chromosome." I think he muttered, "Okay." I don't think I hung around for conversation. At my present age, I can only imagine that he would have been in splits at that moment.

My father had deadpan delivery of his one-liners. The first time I bought dangling earrings, I wore them and went to him. He was sitting on the guest room floor doing something--he was always doing something--with great attention. I asked him, "If I wear these and say something to you, will you laugh?" meaning, do they shake a lot when I speak?) Response: "Depends on what you say."

Appa was part and parcel of everything we did. Getting ready for school. Sunday breakfast. Watching movies on Doordarshan and then, cricket. Shopping for clothes. Buying vegetables. Braiding our long hair when Amma was ill. Polishing shoes, making beds. Cooking everyday food. Cooking the best chakkarai pongal and aama vadai ever. Leaving books with plane tickets here and there. The works. Almost thirty years after his death, we miss him everyday.

When he passed way, my other wonderful uncles stepped in in their own ways, to encourage and indulge and shelter us. The men who married sisters became friends and brothers; we were that fortunate. We have now lost all of them.

When Appa died, people asked whether he was insured. Whether he left us property. It was hard for some to understand why it felt like the floor, the ceiling, the walls had all fallen out in my universe. It was hard for me to feel like I could still make the choices that in his presence, I would have made without a second thought. This was not something I could easily share, I realised, with most. Appa was an enabler, a magic person. (I did get past that moment, by the way.)

After he died, I realised how unusual he was and what a great, rare gift we had been given. I came to learn about all the awful things fathers can be and my gratitude has deepened--not just for him but for all the really good fathers I have known in my life. 

Father's Day. A day to give thanks. And a day to remember the lessons of Appa's life. Give--of yourself. Love. Live in the moment. Do what you do with all your heart. Have so much faith that your courage never falters. Have the courage to fail. Be honest. Keep moving. Be love.