Father`s Day: A day in the life of a father…

Smita Mishra

Most of the movies end with the wedding of the lovelorn couple, their exploits being the theme. Clichés “and they lived happily ever after”, “just married”, “the end” (wedding generally marks it?) or the more innovative “the beginning” (of trouble?), bombarded our psyche during school and college days and we, like well contented fools have come out of theatres feeling overjoyed at the happy ending of the cinema…something that seemed just so perfect! At other instances, the so called “out of the ordinary directors” have sometimes woven tales of woe around the dear- darling -sacrificing -suffering mother whose poverty stricken, grief wrung life becomes the motive behind the revenge of the angry young hero. Among all hype and hoopla of this ideal mother-son saga one person is severely wronged almost inevitably and that is the father, who is sometimes shown as the wrong doer, sometimes as an escapist and sometimes as totally oblivious of the pains of his wife and children and living happily in some far off land amidst untold riches! With caste and class being the stalemates of Indian society, shockingly a huge number of movies even show fathers as the enemies of lovers- stopping them from trying to live ‘happily ever after’ at the might of his wealth. Painted in the darkest hues, fathers have really been wronged in the Indian cinema. I specifically mention cinema because in the age that we live in, movies mirror life and society more than any thing else does and probably can. I really feel like thanking the American woman (Sonora Smart Dodd), who, inspired by Mother’s Day, first celebrated Father’s Day on her dad’s birthday to thank him for having brought her up along with her siblings single handedly after the death of their mother. A noble, well thought of gesture on her part and that too way back in 1910!But I feel that fathers have become more inimical today than they were a century ago. No wonder their names have now started appearing in the list of suspected killers in sensational murders, no wonder they being regarded as stumbling blocks in “progress” of their children, no wonder they being thought of as against every thing new, modern, fresh and innovative. A useless peace of furniture they are, aren’t they? Blocking the door of freedom by their needless presence? I remember to have read a quote on father long back-“What thankless position a father has in the family-the provider of all and the enemy of all”. But who really cares to read a quote on dads. Right? A few years ago around my 19th birthday I had been behaving very irresponsibly and erratically. I had been keeping away from home for long hours-hanging around with friends purposelessly, ignoring my studies completely -the underlying reason being my dread of coming back to a house which had recently lost its ruling angel-my mother. I felt my pain to be paramount-I felt being closest to her as a child – I had lost all that I had. A strong impulse to run away, to hide myself somewhere perpetually impelled me to run away from home to a place where this constantly nagging pain, right in the middle of my heart would not bother me. I must have caused loads of worry and trouble to my father who kept asking me to stay at home. Then a day before my birthday I saw him scribbling something silently and hiding it whenever I crossed the room, I became mentally prepared for a long reproachful letter from him. And when on the D-day a long bulky letter was handed over to me, my fingers trembled opening it. My father had written: I rummage through the rusty tin box of my life To find a gift for you Diamond, ruby or a string of pearl Or at least a nugget of gold my child Surely you deserve these and much more But alas I have nothing but sepia photographs and A sheaf of yellowed paper So I give only a handful of words Words as I have nothing else to give….. But treasure them for those are charmed words Which assume the form you desire…….Hanging above my bed in my room-this poem in a golden frame is my companion for life. Looking at it each night before going to sleep I often think of words-words that my father meant-words that have made me what I am. Words that rule my life…and that too without suffocating me! I was taught in a day the lesson that’s for a lifetime. I was shown in a day the mirror of truth. Made to realize in a moment my selfishness and the injustice I was doing to my poor father…my father, who has lost his companion of 30 years! Thank God I realized it before it was too late. Sorry fathers Fathers are sorry creatures of today. The generation Y has a penchant for everything new. From the latest gizmos to the latest slits in micro minis-everything we desire should be contemporary. And probably that’s why the speed with which things become old has also shortened tremendously. The ‘latest’ camera phone I bought six months back is useless now. Everyone is dumping them for the latest video i- phones…and I join the queue. Old things have become redundant to us. Parents too (perhaps?) fall in this category. Old age homes are the “latest” dumping grounds for these rusting junks. Sadly, the loving Pop has become the “Poor Old Pop” for us. He also fears In the expeditious life of today there is hardly anytime to spare a thought for anybody. But sometimes a strange question often lurks in my mind. Did papa fear too? It’s difficult to discern traces of any infirmity in those strict unspeakable eyes but the vestige of doubt, the dark shadows of uncertainty, and the fear of the unknown must also had bothered him at one time. But then, under what covers, on whose supportive shoulders he must be letting these pent up emotions out-we do not know. He too needs love How many of us really care to tell our dads that he is really a treasure. That we are thankful that we have him? “My dad is not like that yaar, he is not that loving caring type, he doesn’t care for these flimsy things” most of the readers must be thinking. But all dads are human beings and all human beings need love. A strict demeanour does not mean a total absence of that soft palpitating thing called heart. Lest it be too late An essay of E M Forster which somehow I never forget mentioned Fafnir, a huge sleeping serpent and men as tiny creatures living, laughing and enjoying right under its nose. But the moment Fafnir woke up he devoured everything around, devastating all under him. But life resumed as soon as he went off to sleep. Life under the looming shadow of sleeping fate is a replica of what Forster described. Under the aegis of uncertainty we live myopically- unthoughtful and mindful of those closest to us. I am a wretched being on Father’s day- with all the love and gratefulness that I have for him –he is beyond my reach. I could not thank my father for the gifts that he gave me on my birthdays, I could not thank my father for helping me with my lessons, I could not thank my father for scolding me when I was wrong I could not thank my father for just being in my life…..I lost him before I could do so. But I am still happy. Blessed I am to have no regret of having hurt him in my life, blessed I am that I have not a sorry father – lamenting at the negligence of his wayward children and blessed I am that I have his magical words that constantly echo in my mind: Treasure them for those are charmed words If you are sad and tired They become the soft smooth fingers of your mother And caress you to sleep If you are ready for a climb They become a pair of spiked mountain boots Ready to take you to top…… Treasure them in the depths of your heart for they Will be- when I am away……… And I doze off happily………..