Daddy by Deeds
I called him Daddy because that is what seemed most natural. He was a single dad to Sudha, my young and beautiful, 10th grade math teacher. She might have heard the gossip in the school staff room about me being the bright but troublemaking student, from a single parent family, a rarity back then. She befriended me, initially with encouragement to study. If school was not challenging enough, she figured, I should study to take the Math Olympiad exam, which she told me about and arranged so I could. Then she walked home with me after school a few times, saying she had to pick up medicine at the chemist near my home. Then she said she was headed to the Bangla Sahib Gurdwara and would I like to go with her? It happened to be right next to my mother’s office at Patel Chowk, so I said yes. It seemed natural to take her to see my mother, to get permission, and maybe agree to get a cold drink on the way back. This became a bit more frequent, until my mother invited her home. By then I had graduated to the next class, so it was okay. Although even in 10th, as it’s an external board exam, there was no conflict of interest or risk of favoritism in grades. Math doesn’t permit that anyway. She was cautious as she was new to her profession. She invited us back to her home. That is where my mother and I met her father.
He had retired from the Railways and taken up another job, as an accountant for the Institute of Engineers. He was a mild mannered soft spoken gentle fellow who called both me and my mother Beta. We would drop in occasionally for a short visit with him. He lived in an extended joint family, where each one had a part of the house. Gradually we learned that his wife was a teacher in a village a couple of hours away, Jhajjar, and had lived there all through Sudha’s growing up years. She had started visiting occasionally now so they could be together, so there won’t be any questions raised about the eligibility of their daughter, for matrimonial prospects being sought. We met her on some visits too and found her to be very stern and firm, the exact opposite of him. His welcome had been with an invitation to have tea and snacks, while hers was a barrage of questions just short of an interrogation.
I was in 12th when Sudha was to be married. The school principal and all teachers were invited. Despite being close friends by now, Sudha firmly decided I wasn’t to come. She felt it would be bad for her professional reputation to be friends with a pupil. The British left the stiff upper lip culture in the education system they setup. I can solve problems that get in the way of love & fun. Being the headgirl at school, I started a fundraiser for a wedding gift for our well loved teacher. I declared to Sudha, “I don’t need an invitation. I will come to your wedding for sure, to deliver all your students’ love.” Next visit to see Daddy and he had an invitation card ready for me and my mum. Our relationship was finally sealed publicly along with the married couple’s when the kalichari rings came out. The groom’s family is ritualistically required to gift rings to bride’s sisters, cousins and close friends. Everyone got the silver rings but I got the only ring made of far more expensive gold, as the presumptive younger sister.
After Sudha moved out, he was evicted from his part of the family home and moved to a far smaller room. He didn’t mind, saying the younger folks with growing families better have the more comfortable spaces. His wife was not pleased. She bore the extended family a grudge for having taken his life-long earnings as family kitty and not paying back in due respect. He said he liked to work and was okay with less comfort. Their disagreements continued, each firmly set in their ways, as visits were paced for mutual tolerance or convenience. He always talked of how raising a daughter, mostly alone, although with the extended family around, had changed him as a man. It was the best thing to be a dad to a daughter, he maintained. I guess he was a rare specimen in a country where sons are prized and infanticide of female embryos and babies is shockingly prevalant. He said she saved his life from going astray. That was his quiet courage of battling inner demons.
When he was old and sick, and my visits from California less frequent, he kept me in his heart. As Sudha was his primary care giver, he ensured she knew that he was thinking of me. He set aside a monetary gift for me and told her that no matter when I returned, after his passing, she must ensure that it was delivered to me as his final gift. Sudha, like me, knows that money has little role in our relationships, yet she fulfilled the promise she made to her dad, that I get my inheritance to convey the sentiment behind that little BIG gesture. That is just one of the many reasons why it was just so natural to call him Daddy. Although I used to object that he can’t be daddy to both mom and me. Petty jealousy is part of my history from my teenage years, like all the ordinary ‘normal’ people. The gold kalichari was eventually re-gifted to Sudha’s daughter, Saumya as she came of age for it. Daddy definitely left his mark on me, and countless others, with his loving care. He was a through gentleman, right down to his core.
One of my favorite memories of us is him taking me to see the movie Khel on one of my visits to India. I had not seen any Hindi movies for a long time as I was busy assimilating to my American life. In a song and dance sequence the lead pair step out of a plane and start dancing on clouds. It’s exactly the escapist dream factory cinema I loved. I am having a good time and lean over to show my pleasure and ask him “who is this heroine? She is good.” Literally everyone within earshot turns around synchronously to take a good look at me. I thought it might be because I said it too loud but realize it’s because they, like him, are absolutely shocked that I don’t know the hot and happening dhak dhak girl Madhuri Dixit herself. Na hai zameen, na aasman, laae kahan ho mujh ko, badal nagar hai mera ghar ….
