We, as kids used to be petrified of our disciplinarian dad. A stern gaze at us would send us shivering to our rooms to hug our compassionate mom. She was a kind, all encompassing umbrella of solace for us.Dad used to love us a lot but expected a lot from us. We had to adhere to time tables and study rigorously under his watchful hawk eyes.Play time was also rationed for us. Movies and Dinners at a restaurant were fixed on Thursdays. Friday was an off for him.
We rarely failed to abide by his rules. A smile and a pat on our heads used to send us kids to seventh heaven. We used to play truant at times ignoring the schedules in his absence. Our bedroom window was adjacent to the road and it offered us a view of his arrival time.As soon as his familiar figure ambled by with a newspaper in his hand and a brief case in the other hand, we would scamper and tidy up our house and sit on the study table as if we were trying hard to crack some hard laws of Quantum Physics.He usually saw through our lies and used to smile slyly at us.
I, an elder son, understood responsibilities and the reality of a middle class hardship filled life at a very tender age. My younger brother was a pet and shielded by me as well. The fear of displeasing my parents motivated me to drive myself to greater heights. I was a diligent student and never let them down. Their pleasant faces used to fill my soul with happiness.
1980-It was Diwali time and I was wearing a velvet corduroy trousers with a shimmering shirt. The dress had cost a princely sum those days. I went to play cricket in our compound. I was batting and as I ran for a cheeky single at full speed, my gallop was broken by the falling bat and I tumbled badly scraping my right knee badly. I saw a big gash on the new trouser and began crying. My friends thought I was hurt and gathered around me. I said that I was fine. An even bigger laceration on my skin hid beneath the velvet trousers.I was oblivious to pain and the wound on my knee. I was worried about the tear in the trousers more than anything else in the world.I went home and immediately hid the trousers in the ward robe.My wound was glaring at everyone, saying hello to my dad. He personally dressed up the wound for me and asked me to be careful. My mom later, went to her tailor and darned the tear in my trousers. I was saved by her that day. I was somehow,subconsciously afraid of my dad's reaction.
2000-I was driving in my new car on the highway, listening to loud music. A lost truck suddenly cut corners and attacked the left side of my car. The grill tore through my doors like a hot knife through butter. It was an accident but I was not at fault at all. The shining car looked pale and sad with one half of its side ripped off. I went into an immediate panic attack. I was at a loss of words to describe the mishap to my dad.
Mustering some courage, I dialled his number and described the accident in a hurried manner. He asked me just one question, "Are you okay, Ajay?" I was relieved and said that I was fine. He asked to me leave the car at the side and return home. As soon as I reached home, He hugged me and cried. He thanked God for saving my skin.
All throughout my life, I was wrong in interpreting his actions. He cared for me and loved me utmostly. His discipline meant only one thing.He wanted me to be the best in life. His strictness was only superficial,like a hard kernel of coconut but soft from within.
2012-I am a doting father for my children.I am relatively mild when compared to my dad but I too ensure discipline for my kids. Low grades in school elicit an unpleasant response in me. The TV goes off cable for a few days till the grades are restored to their high glory. My son's tantrums are sometimes dealt with 'time outs' when we keep him alone in the balcony for a few minutes till he becomes quiet and cheerful.
Discipline is necessary in Life.
A few days back, I encountered a friend of mine who was doing odd jobs to make his ends meet. He had squandered opportunities all his life, right from school days.He blamed his dad along with himself for his current plight. He lamented that his dad never corrected or disciplined him. A firm slap would have aborted his vagrant ways in the early budding years of his life.
I read my newspapers in the wash room. It saves time.I fold them properly and keep them on my dad's table.He would yell at me if I wet the papers with the basin water which I used to, at times.
My dad passed away 5 months back. Yet, the newspapers are always neatly kept on the table by me.
I do not want to displease him.
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