I woke up this morning feeling really special. It's my parents' 30th wedding anniversary. They have spent 3 decades as man and wife, raising us 3 kids and magically granting our little wishes. On Wednesday, I had 2 final job interviews, and I pressurised both managers to give me an answer by today, because I know that this will be the best anniversary present that they would want-that I still had a job. While walking back home that day, I thought of the many days at Opera House and Amboli, when I stood in front of the Grey Ganapati and shining circular frame of Ambika, looking at one and then the other, beseeching them to help me in my exams, although I hadn't studied regularly, and later, asking them to see me successfully through job interviews and promotions. I thought of all kinds of things then, of the 5 wooden cupboards, the study desk in the gallery, the first Camel geometry box I owned, the Marathi essay Papa wrote for me "majhya unhalya chi sutti" for which I got a remark "mulani aaple nibandh svata lihave", the countless dictations mom used to give me, and how we used to jump on the black sponge bed in the gallery, as if it was a trampoline and how i used to take refuge on that very bed, when I wanted to cry myself to sleep. Infact, I even remembered my first responsibility-to be with Atul on his first day at Santock nursery and KG school, and everybody had a jigsaw puzzle to complete and he just couldn't do his 12 piece puzzle-the last 4 pieces wouldn't fit. Everyone finished and it was time to go home, and he looked tearfully at the teacher, who insisted that he could only go after he had finished. She looked in my direction and said- "I am sure your sister will wait for you to finish" With steely glares from me, and some whispered pointers he did finish, but that was the first time, I got into trouble with my mommy-for getting late. Since then, I fought with her 100 times or more, for challenging her curfews, but it took me a good deal of 22 years to learn that it was all her concern, for her little girl out in the big bad world, which made her raise her voice. I remembered the little girl who used to look at me from the shadows and go back into hiding behind her aiyaa's pallo. Little Aditi, who was Kumta's little darling, and Bappa's gundu. I remember the tearful decision to keep Aditi in Kumta, wasn't an easy one for both my parents to make. There were days of silence, I spoke to neither of them, but I didn't notice as a 6yr old that they weren't speaking to each other either. As I struggled to reach out to my brother and sister, I think I lost touch with my parents, especially Papa, who doted on me, as his Paili beti, dhanachi peti. But they wanted me to set a good example to my siblings, rather than to be the model daughter. When I got my 10th Std result, my Papa came to my school, without any warning, and treated me to Thums Up, my favourite drink. He called his father and said-My daughter scored higher than any Nayak so far. I know it as his proudest moment, it was his result he was holding in his hand, not mine. Mummy's face when Papa was in ICU at Hinduja flashed before me, me giving her the weak reassurance that everything will be OK, she did not know what food or drink went down her throat and I struggled to keep her afloat, she kept talking of Bappa's lethal heart attack, she was in shock then. I saw a shadow of the man who could instill mirth as well as fear in me, attached to life support machines, but with his eyes he told me, he was ok, and he was going to make it. I held his hand when his parents died one after the other. It was the first time, I had seen my Papa cry, Aji's Ballu, whom she always had a special - Ballu Neet zaa for, and he always said Yeto never zato to her, and taught us to say the same. The Chinese dinners, the games of Rummy, and Trade and Scrabble, the movies at Super and Central, the Republic and Independence day picnics with Prakashkaka's family, visits to Mithibai, all those Mudkavi and Kothare jokes, shopping at Linking Road and treats to Friendly ice-cream, always strawberry, always cones. And when I got married, my Papa cried again, as he hugged me Byebye, his little girl, whose hair he used to dry and set with the white hair dryer, but only after he had vigorously rubbed my hair with a towel, and I had said "aa-aa-aaa-aa--a--a" My mummy's fervent prayers when I was operated for a cyst, her look of utter relief when the doc read the report and said it wasn't cancer, her stories of how difficult it was giving birth to me, and how I had never fallen sick ever, so why this hospitalisation now? My M.S.S paper, and how she half carried me in a deliriously high fever to my final B.E. exams, and waited for me outside for 4 hours, praying every moment of the time. Over the years, I have said many things to them, both good and bad, but I have never thanked them for always staying together, and giving me the joy of both parents, and always encouraging me to find my own true love for leading a life as inseperable as theirs has been. Congratulations Mummy and Papa for 30 years together, and here's wishing you happiness and sunshine always.
Anuprita
No comments:
Post a Comment