Archive for February, 2011
When I logged in to gmail this morning, I saw an email from you and going by the subject line, I recognized it to be the long awaited pics from one of your recent trips. And to my surprise, I opened it with all eagerness not to see anyone else but you. A bunch of you went on that trip together and I knew that there were photos of friends in there whom I haven’t seen in more than a decade. Still, it was you that my heart wanted to spot. And I couldn’t help but smile.
The bond I share with you is so different than any other relationship I’ve experienced all my life. You stand out as the one person I sincerely look up to, yet the person I want to be different from when it comes to certain things. You are the person that warns me not to do certain things and not to come crying for help when things don’t turn out the way I intend them to, yet the person who is there first to lend me a helping hand even as signs of something going downhill show up. You are the person one person for whom I don’t profess my affection all that often, yet the only person whom I’ve grown love so dearly and selflessly.
It’s not always been rosy, this bond of ours. There have been highs just as there have been lows. I’ve experienced it all with you – love and hate, laughs and cries, fights and apologies, smiles and tears. Perhaps you remember the times when we’ve gone days without talking to each other and at then giving up, putting an end to it all at the same time because we couldn’t stand torturing each other that way. Or the times when you would call me to say how much you’ve missed hearing my voice over the past few days and how you would smilingly respond with a “well, I guess I just needed a reason to hear your voice” when I reminded you that we talked only hours ago. Well, that’s your way of saying I love you to me, and the smile and the long conversation that follows is my way of saying me too.
Coming back to this morning – I looked at the snaps, spotted you, the most handsome man in that group, and admired your salt and pepper hair and even your mismatched clothes, all out of that blind love I have for you. And I forwarded the photos to my sister, asking her to look at the man I adore so much and defended your outfit when she said “he’s handsome, no doubt. But his clothes, what’s going on there?!!??!?” That’s your own style, I told her, because it really is…it makes you stand out of the crowd, just like everything else about you.
And then I called Amma to tell her that you were the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. And her response to that was –
Your father is handsome, sure. But you should’ve met your grandfather and then you would’ve agreed with me when I said he was the most beautiful person ever.
Oh well, I guess every father has this effect on his daughter.
I love you, Appa.
Continuing a discussing with sister about something we talked about a day ago –
Sis: I am still not sure I want to do it.
Me: Well, I think you should. You aren’t going to lose anything; and oh, it might just make Amma happy.
Sis: What? Amma knows? I told you I am still only thinking about it…why did you have to go and tell her already?
Me: I don’t know…
(wondering where I get this from…why I feel the urge to tell Amma everything)
15 minutes later –
Sis: I am talking to Amma now. She started to tell me something about your plans and she stopped once she sensed I didn’t know about it. What was she gonna tell me?
Me: this and that, blah blah…I didn’t tell you because I didn’t know for sure yet.
Sis: Aahhh, see, it runs in the family. You get it from her – Amma can’t keep anything from us and you can’t keep anything from her. Like mother, like daughter – blabbermouths.
A new day, a new episode…me calling Amma –
Me: Ammmiiiii! Why did that ‘hello’ sound extra sweet? Who did you think was calling?
Amma: You of course, my dear. All that sweetness only for you.
Me: No, don’t lie. It sounded so different than the regular hellos I get from you. Tell me, whose call were you expecting?
Amma: Nobody calls me at this time but you.
Me: Nope. I doubt that. I think you were waiting for a call from your secret lover and you thought this was it. Right?
Amma: Oh my, like father, like daughter. You have his twisted sense of humor.
Me: But of course.
Amma: What have I gotten myself into!
So the verdict is out – I am like my parents. A perfect blend of both, as I see it.
…when an old friend’s father (whom you haven’t met in more than a decade) happens to cross path your mother in a store and mistakes her for you?
Here’s how the conversation went, as I heard from Amma –
Friend’s Father: Hello! How are you?
Amma: I am doing well. How about you? And family?
Friend’s Father: All are doing fine. V (his daughter) got married a few years ago; she’s at home today, visiting. So how’s married life treating you? Are you working?
Amma: Married life? Fine. Nobody asks me that question anymore. (confused!) And no, I am not working. I quit years ago to stay at home with the kids.
Friend’s Father: Oh ok. How many kids?
Friend’s Father: OK. It was nice meeting you after all these years. I used to run into your grandmother every now and then, but that hasn’t happened in a long time.
Amma: Grandmother? You mean my mother-in-law?
Friend’s Father: Grandmother. The one who lives in so and so area.
Amma: My mother-in-law’s house is in that area. I think maybe you’ve mistaken me for someone else. I am T’s mother.
Friend’s Father: OH OK. I thought you were T!
I am just going to take it as a compliment to my mother…maybe she does look young enough to be me; instead of going “Why? Why God? Why are you doing this to me? We had a deal. Let the others grow old.” – Joey Tribbiani style. Oh well…