Happy Birthday Daddy

I’ve always been “Daddy’s little girl”. My earliest memories of my Dad are the ones of him teaching me nursery rhymes. He would come home from work and sit in the oversized armchair in the living room and I would climb up onto the arm of the chair with my book of Nursery rhymes and he would read them out loud to me. I still have those books and every time I turn the pages it is like opening up a floodgate of sweet memories.

All my childhood I grew up knowing Daddy was a very busy man and he was never around because he had to take care of all the sick patients. For me vacations never meant going out of town because I knew Daddy could not abandon his patients and he never took a day off. Even on Sundays. But we would go to New Market every Thursday. I did not have school on Thursday. So Daddy would pick my Mom and me after his morning outdoor and we would go shopping at New market. And then we would have lunch at Park Street. I loved Thursdays.

And every night Daddy would come to wish me goodnight. I used to go to bed around eight, and often Daddy would still be at his chamber, attending patients. I would lie in bed waiting for him to finish up and stop by my room. He always did. He’d sit on my bed and ask me how my day was. Then he’d hug me, and say, “Goodnight, sleep tight, see you in the morning…sweet dreams”. Only then would I be able to go to sleep.

Daddy was always impeccably dressed. He had a whole array of cologne and after shave in the bathroom and I would go in after him and spray some on myself because I loved the way he smelt all the time. He once told me that when he was growing up in a huge joint family, there were times when he wanted something but could not get it because there were too many kids and too little going around. He grew up knowing that he would make enough money so that he would be able to buy anything and everything he wanted to. So now that he could afford it he indulged himself in buying the latest and finest gadgets that one could buy. You need to realize this was India fifteen or twenty years back. There was no globalization, as we know it today. And imported things were not only expensive, they were a rarity. But Daddy had a stream of electronics supplied to our home every month. And he loved it. And he spoiled me silly too. He bought me perfumes and other things and he never needed a reason to bring home a gift.

I loved Daddy as well as feared him. I was always scared of disappointing him. I wanted him to be proud of me, to bring him all the happiness in the world. He always wanted me to have the very best of things, to be the very best I can be. He never scolded me, never hit me, but I knew he would be hurt if I disappointed him. He refused to let me cook or iron my clothes for fear of me getting burnt. He disapproved of my wearing a saree for fear of realizing that his little girl was becoming a woman. He pretended to ignore all the male friends I had for fear of losing me to someone else. And yet when I said that I had fallen in love and wanted to marry, he never stopped or questioned me. That he trusted and had faith in my judgment was visible in the way he welcomed B into the family. And he has reluctantly accepted the fact that I cook and clean and iron and yes, wear a saree. And as I have moved from one continent to another, from one career path to another and back again, he has supported and encouraged every decision, every move.

And today from across the miles I love and respect him and hope I can still make him proud. And although I wish I could be with him on this day I do not think I would be able to tell him in words how much his love has meant to me over the years.

Daddy, you’re the best. Happy Birthday!