she is my father

My daughter just me a lesson. A lesson that I should have taught her.

A couple of days ago a friend came home to discuss the contours of a game. A treasure hunt. How do you plan a treasure hunt? All the treasure hunts have already been done. There are variations that people have had. Most the time, these are clues all over the city where you have to go to and meet someone and collect the next clue. In the middle to spice things up there are challenges and dares to complete. But in any form, they are all done. So, our friend came home and we were thinking about what to do. Mumbai has an amazing British history and it can be felt in the old parts of Mumbai, within the erstwhile fort area. There were many ideas tossed around. We kept thinking on how to make it simple yet exciting.

Here I learnt to implement something I leant from a friend many years ago. It was something he learnt at a conference. In a group think, learn to say ‘and’. Whenever someone says something, make the idea bigger by adding to it and not by removing flaws in the argument. Keep saying ‘and’ to any idea. This way you are forced to think from a start point and forced to listen intently and hopefully come up with great ideas. So, while brainstorming I kept saying ‘and’ and we ended up with what we think is an awesome idea. We simply take photos of interesting places in a tight interesting area in fort. We also take photos of small quirky things around the place. People have to figure the place, click the photo and come back to base after they are done. In the photos we will also have clues as to where the place is likely to be. So we would have photos of lane names, or monument names or something or the other that would help them decipher the place. The odd ball curious would be in and around some bigger places. So the game is simple. You will probably have 10 places which are easier to find and then you will have around another four odd places in and around the main point. All photos to be released at the start of the game. Hence you have to look around the monument for the other hidden ones and get them.

Too much information is also a weapon of confusion. In a normal treasure hunt, the linearity of thought allows for a focused flow from participants. But this way with an information overload, the confusion should set and thence in a group environment so will atrophy. The hope is that the evil and greed in people will grow as the time limit gets pushed. How much time must you spend on a place to get all the objects. Ah… this should be fun.

You are free to use mobile phones, whatsapp and everything else including Google. Now go and get these mad places.

While we were clicking pictures yesterday at Horniman circle for our game, in one building, while I was clicking the façade, one security lady came to me and said, do not click photos, it’s not allowed. What? You don’t own the image rights to your building to start with. Complete rubbish. I have had run ins with various such security personnel whose job it is to do stupid things. Rich people believe that just because they can own security personnel they can ask them to do anything. A few weeks ago, one security guy came to me to tell me to not park on the opposite side of their gate. I refused to listen. First they try and use authority and then they try and use sympathy. He then said that please listen to him or his bosses will scold him. I am so done with these jokers. I told him to tell his boss not to ask him to do stupid things.  I wasn’t obstructing his gate in any way. It was on the other side.

Now here this lady was telling me not to click photos of their heritage building. I refused. I told her that I will continue to do so and she could do whatever she wanted. I continued to click till I got a nice one. Now a senior guard came in. He confronted me and tried to tell me with authority that I shouldn’t click. I told him, that that is stupid and that I will continue to do so. He told me again and that’s when I lost it (not that I was polite to start with), I screamed at him and said, I will click the photos and he can’t stop as it isn’t legal. I was standing on the road dam it. I was loud and hard. He did not know what to do. He is used to subservient behavior I guess. This was an open challenge to his authority. We took photos and then we left. He couldn’t do anything.

Afterwards, Jispa spoke to me. She told me, that I uselessly shouted at the watchman. I said, that he was being stupid and the rule sucked. She agreed but she said, I could have just silently smiled at him and still kept on clicking. Cracked a joke or a remark or something or the other and managed the situation. Well ok. I admitted to her that she was right. She is right. I should have just handled it better. Yes, I should have broken his stupid rule, did whatever I want and yet still gotten out of it by smiling my way through it and not raising my voice. What good would it do?

Nice one Jispa. She waited till I cooled down, came quietly next to me and very nicely suggested… SUGGESTED, that may be there was a better way. She asked and suggested as opposed to directly attack an angry man. Nice. Real nice. Well done Jispa.

At home later in the day, I got rid of some my shirts. One of them was a slightly tighter red and blue plaid check shirt. Jispa wanted one red plaid shirt for some time now. I had her try it. What is a bit tight for me, was a little loose for her and she could wear it. She kept it and said “cool. That time when you can finally wear your dad’s shirt”, followed by a fake sniffle.

Child has become the father of man.

Na Mazoot

Of late, I have noticed that Jispa’s voice has changed. She now has a little gruffness in her voice. A nice older gruff that compliments with her girl voice. Till very recently, her voice on the phone to me did not match with her brain. Whenever I used to speak to her on the phone, I felt I was talking to a kid. Now when I speak to her on the phone, she seems to be much more adult like. That’s nice. She is coming of age. This is one thing that I keep trying to get everyone around her to accept. She is 14. At 14 I remember myself. I was a complete independent adult in many ways. I thought of myself in this manner, reality be damned.

At 14, I was aware of the girls around me, I was aware of what I looked like, I was aware of friends, competition and some of the tragic realities of life. I knew, I guess, for the first time that I was alone. Whatever I had to achieve in life, I had to get there myself. At 14 – I had my first real big achievement. I took part in the drama competition and won the second-best actor’s award. I should have won first but I will always believe to my grave that, partiality was done, at the behest of the school vice principal. That was the first award I got and that was the one that gave me tremendous confidence that I was something. That I could. I always knew or believed I could (do something, anything), but this was the first external ratification of the same.

So yes, she is 14. She has the ability to make boyfriends on her own, handle girl friends on her own and handle all relationships on her own. I think she is a stable kid, while at the same time I think at some times, she is a little amenable to what we parents believe is wrong peer behavior. She seems to be swayed at times in her behavior, in the company of her friends. But that’s a cool thing. If she doesn’t learn now and she doesn’t fall now, when will she learn to get up and grow? She must actively fall now. Actively.

What’s my role then as a father? – to lend her socks. Actually I don’t even do that. I don’t LEND her the socks, she just takes them and my job is to be all cool about it. She loves my Happy Socks and my Avengers socks. We both love these socks which are colorful and full of personality. She just takes them from the cupboard and wears them at will. My job is to look at it approvingly and manage. Like a friend would. Its ok – of course, use it. This weekend we were in Pune and she hadn’t packed an extra pair of socks. She just took mine and wore them. Cool girl. I will wear mine for another two days. No problem.

The way I look at it, with a daughter you as it is, have very few things to share. She cant go raiding my cupboard the way she raids Jasmine’s. So quietly I look on extremely happy that she can at least can wear my socks. Hopefully, as she grows, we can share jackets (more likely) or T shirts (less likely), but for now – these awesome socks are the way to go.

What I also like about her these days is that she has also learnt to speak well and argue well and contribute well. She is more aware of the tone of the conversation and adds to it very well. The simple matter of saying “I could be wrong, but” before saying something potentially controversial. I learnt this when I was 28 years old. Yes I clearly remember when and where I learnt that art and who taught that to me (Prem from Momentum, not intentionally). I am so happy that she is doing this and therefore is able to hold conversations better. I think I had taught this technique to her while she needed to argue with her teachers on potentially volatile topics or to prove her teachers wrong. She learnt that knowledge is not necessarily a simple one way street. Not everyone is receptive to knowledge, especially when it comes from a younger, less heralded source. This is something that Jispa understood and learnt. So, she has adapted. She thrives with teachers who allow her to go beyond the box, to explain, to think. Also, she is learning the quiet confidence that comes from being a moderate. Whenever they have some controversial issues to discuss in class, she tells me that some jokers with the dumbest opinions have the loudest voices. Ya. She will learn.

Growing up is going to give her a fair share of awesomeness and pain in equal measure. She will realize that people aren’t what they seem and everything has a back story, an angle, something that is not apparent at once.

Just as another note. I came across this book which I promptly purchased. “Du Iz Tak”. Its an outstanding children’s picture book written in an imaginary language. Jispa and me went through it yesterday and we went absolutely nuts over it. We deciphered the meaning of the language ourselves. there is no legend along with. The language is the language spoken by insects and it conveys a beautiful meaning and has some absolutely amazing poetry in its illustrations. If there is one picture book that I would treasure, then its this. It’s a pity that it fell in my hands when Jispa has grown up; it would have been awesome to share this with her as a 6 year old. But I am not complaining for now. We both will enjoy it for some time to come. It now a shared memory. I want to record myself reading this book in the insect language along with Jispa. :)

And for the record Na Mazoot in insect language, supposedly is "i dont know"

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son

Todays is my mom’s birthday. I have a very weird relationship with mom. For 30 years, I was a good son and practically listened to almost everything and did all the good things that a good son should. I came home on time, took care, ate well and did nice things. After marriage, I tried sorting things and making things work within family fights and disputes but at the end, after Jispa was born we couldn’t take it anymore and we left to stay separate. It’s been an on and off relationship ever since. Every time we get close mom pulls one request or a thing out of the bag and it becomes impossible to be sane about the whole thing. My only solace is that I have chosen to never fight with her on anything, after we left to live separate. This makes sure that no one can accuse me of saying anything to anyone in anger. It would have only made for more bitterness

When my sister decided that for today, she would compile a list of articles from everyone about her, she also asked me to pen something down. This was easier said than done. I had to write something honestly but not let any of the bitterness or “could have been” come through. It had to be truthfully from the heart but not full of emotional crap that set to settle scores or give a point of view. I started to write from my early memories and wrote about how she defined a lot of what I am today. I think in the end, I managed to strike a good balance and write a decent note. My sister was impressed. She wondered how I could write so well and how I could remember all these small details. I told Jasmine – “I wonder how, but my family still thinks that I am some petty little piece of shit.” Probably I will always be the younger kid for them.

But here – below is the write up that gave my sister to be included…

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When you have to write something for you mom, it’s always a difficult and dangerous thing. Difficult because you never know which memory to pick over the other and which one to highlight; and dangerous because – she is your mom – you never win against your mom. It goes like a cheap Hollywood movie – everything you say (or don’t) can and will be used against you in the court of law. And here the law is not blind but all seeing, all knowing and ever present… That’s you Mom.

Normally such write ups start with an early memory. The first time someone set their eyes on someone, or the first time they heard of someone. That is normally the best place to start. But when the person in question is the all-powerful Mother, then how do you start. What was your first moment? Your supposedly super hero origin story itself starts inside of her. This further gets complicated by a simple problem. How do you know which one was the earliest?

Having tabled my difficulties, I guess my most vivid memory and probably earliest memory was the first day I was being sent to Nursery school. I am likely to get a lot of facts wrong but I think that our cousins had come over to stay with us at Dubai and it was my first day at Nursery which I did not want to go. I kept clutching at mom and fighting to go till Dad got into the picture. I don’t remember what convinced me to go but I guess (and I am told) that Dad had to give me a rap, after which I duly complied. That’s as good a first story as it gets.

Now let’s get to another story – this one is especially special! This defined what I did for the rest of my life. Once I clearly remember as a very small kid, I was sleeping next to mom. I turned and put my right arm on her and my right leg on her. And I slept. Slept well. That one moment defined how I slept ever since. I can get sleep only by sleeping on my tummy with my right leg folded and my right arm folded under the pillow as if I am still hugging mom. So every time in at night when I sleep, I sleep with my mom next to me. I have tried some times to sleep on my back or in any other position but I have failed. I can only sleep with my mom next to me on the right.

Here are a few other memories while growing up. Here are a few other memories:

Somit slapping me and triggering an acute pain in the ear, thanks to an infection and me running to mom. Yah, thanks Somit for being there!

Me wanting to sleep every night after drinking milk which mom made from milk powder for me.

Ah this other one is also special for me in a weird way – Her bangles. She has these gold bangles with angular ridges. She has been wearing these for so many years now. I hate to see them pushed up on her hand and sitting tight on the arm. Always I have just nudged them loose as they fall by the wrist and dangle and make a soft mellow clanging sound, that only golden bangles can. I can never see any bangles high up on the arm. I have to push them down to the wrist. I remember her wrist, the small dots (freckles kind of) on the back of her hands and her veins. Her hands are similar to that of her mom. I loved playing with them and from there on I loved playing with my veins on the back of my hands.

As a young boy growing up, you have a connection with your mom but your hero growing up is your dad. It’s always a mixed feeling. You love mom more but as you sprout your moustache and manhood hits, the lessons of daddyhood hit you and that’s your role in society that you emulate. But small things that mom tells you remain. For now, how you organize your kitchen. I still like my kitchen the way mom kept it.

One another thing that mom taught me about relationships is that she used to always say, dad never asked her about money and never ever questioned her spending. That is one lesson about being a husband that I learnt from mom. I have followed in your advice mom, which was never explicitly said but still I learnt it from you. Never question your wife on the expenses. If she is in a good mood, you will get a detailed expense list and if she is in a bad mood, you will get … err… let’s not get there.

These are specific memories that I have that have helped me grow up. There are a million more. I have a lot of scars from the wounds I have got and almost in every one of them I remember thinking of mom, rather than dad. That is in spite of the fact that it was dad doing all the hard work and the dressing. But it was still mom who I sought comfort in. I remember the smell, the shoulder, the stomach and the hands like crazy.

So yes, mom in many ways has helped me grow. But at a more philosophical level, sometimes an important aspect of a family that really permeates through is how she held the family together at dinner. Dinner was always together and on the dining table and without the TV on. She insisted on this, with only cricket matches being exceptions. National pride before family, I guess. Dinner table was especially important for sharing notes, talking and humor.  Mom encouraged that, allowed that and was a butt of many jokes. Even today the Parekh khandaan saga will have me in splits. Mom was sporting enough to laugh at it and to take it all in good jest. That family togetherness, humor, teasing and bonding is something that was sacrosanct on the Doshi dinner table. That brought the family together, allowed for change, improvement, and some amazing memories. All that I learnt by being the youngest and the benefit of everyone’s expense was on the dinner table. While mom was possibly the most silent on these occasions, I would give almost all the credit for tying it together to her. This more than anything defined us and will define our families and then their generations for years to come. Jispa, Angel and the two Kamdar brothers should know this for sure. This is where their dinner table finger pointing and laughter comes from. So, dear Arjun, when Amisha calls you for dinner, don’t moan and act all pricey. Blame Naani but at the same time quietly thank her. For one day, you will be a man one day thanks to this.