மௌலீஇன் பொறந்தநாள்

My father turned 71 today. Physically he hasn’t changed much with the years, really it is as if someone took his 20 year old self and did a few ageing effects. As a person of course he has changed given the many ups and downs of his life.

Unlike most daughters, I don’t think I was ever Daddy’s girl though there are the requisite number of stories of the songs he sang to me and the like. I adored my mother; in turn I think my father had a soft spot for my brother. It wasn’t as if he was a bad parent, if anything he was a very conscientious father, it’s merely that the shifting alliances of childhood pitch you one way and the other. But I was like my father or so my mother would tell me. In part this was because we exasperated her in similar ways. As a child I used to feel a small stab of pain when my mother made this pronouncement because of course I wanted to be like her. But she was right. Many women find themselves turning into their mothers as they age but I find in myself, as I grow old, many things that remind me of my father.

My father and I have had many fractious moments but they have lessened with the years. We still disagree about many things but also agree about many things and now there is a certain bond between us. While my father has mellowed with age, it is possibly true that the change has lain in my perception of the relationship. In the parent-child relationship, it’s hardly likely that a parent will experience epiphanies about the child. It is usually children whose perception of their parents changes with time. As a child I had a certain fear of my father because he could be moody and had a volatile temper. But with time I can see his good humour and his equanimity in many situations. I can see that more often than not his intentions are good though the execution can go awry at times. I can also see the very long journey he has made from a struggling large family in a small town to what he is today; it can be said that my father is a self-made man who has never leaned on anyone. In this he always seemed to represent a very masculine template. But he surprised us in later life by learning to cook; previously he had done little but make a cup of coffee. As it turned out he brought military precision to the art of cooking and now does a darn fine job of it. Similarly he was his mother’s principal carer in her last years; a job I would have never thought him equal to in the past. But he took it on with patience and good cheer. And of course there are many ways his daughter is not similar to him so amongst many other things I would like to give a big shout out for his persistence in making his scatter brained daughter dimly aware of financial matters. In short he is a good egg.

I am sure today like every other day my father will have two pegs of his beloved rum. I would like to raise a metaphorical toast to him in return. May he have many more days of that health tonic, Old Monk aka Soma Rasa and may his moustache flourish for long.