Happy Birthday Dad :D

my old man turned 53 yesterday!!!

so is he the typical 53 year old birthday boy? hell no. if you din’t know my dad, i pity you. you’re missing something. something huge. you’re missing a package of fun, happiness, creativity, beauty, humanity, brilliance, humour, wit, and positivity. and i feel bad for ya’all.

so i decide, i wanna do something about that. i am going toΒ  share him with you all. its unfair that i get to have this gift and you don’t. i am a fair person, and i don’t mind sharing. so here goes-

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i’ll start with a story. its funny. atleast to me. πŸ˜›

2009. dad is unwell. he’s at the hospital. alone, with all the other sick people, i suppose he got bored. so he decides to check his pulse. he tries. he can’t find it. (the next part, is weird. look, i don’t know if he was kidding or he was genuinely scared. ) he rushes out of his ward room, and goes to the nurse’s table. “sister…sister… i can’t find my pulse.”

i still burst out laughing when i imagine dad, shit scared with one hand around the other wrist, going “sister…sister…” ha ha πŸ˜€

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another time. we’re all going to chennai. we’re on the train when dad starts humming an old tune. you gotta hear him sing. its magical. i love his voice. i wanna hear it more. “oye appa. antakshari. you and mom versus devdan and me”

“you’re on”

we sang and sang, back and forth. people from the other berths joined us, till we were all one big happy group of travellers. we sang hindi, tamil songs, english ones, believe it or not, mom sang one in marathi. it was awesome. time flew, you know? before we knew it, it was 11 in the night, and sooner than that- 8 in the morn. we got off the train with a million bucks worth of happiness. that’s what he’s good at, my dad. spreading happiness.

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2005. we’re in santacruz. dad, devdan and i used to walk to the domestic airport and count the number of take offs and landings. we’d sit there in the cold, on the divider and just while away the time. on the return trips ice cream, maybe juice, maybe peanuts. those were good times. quiet, cold nights on the brick dividers, that one hour of pure, serene bliss…..devdan and i would look forward to it all day.

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cigarettes. i love them, the smell, the essence, the smoke whorls. i love it all. and when someone says ‘dad’, i go ‘cigarettes!!’ dad and cigarettes were two inseparable companions. try to pry them apart, and face an angry dad, or miss that lovely aroma. i have promised myself, when i turn 18, ill buy a whole pack of four square cigarettes and burn each and every one of them, one by one. (don’t worry mom. i won’t smoke any. ill just burn them :P)

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ever started singing a song and forgotten the lyrics halfway? obviously. what do you do then? stop to think. or maybe google it out, yeah? what did dad do- mix it up with the next para of the same song or just complete it with a na-na-naΒ  πŸ˜›

annoying at first, but its really funny. i have learnt three whole songs with each line mixed up, each para jumbled. ha ha πŸ˜€

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2002. dad wants to write a poem for devdan and me. something vegetables he says. surprised? you have no idea…. the first line of that poem goes- de tamatar de de de, de tamatar de de de.Β  ha ha πŸ˜€ that was one awesome poem. it was about all the vegetables and their nutritional values . can you believe that?? CAN YOU?? i loved it πŸ˜€

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1999. i am 4 years old. i want to scribble on my slate but i can’t reach the chalk. its on top of the cupboard that is twice my height. dad? really tired, fast asleep on the floor. i take my stubby little finger and poke his shoulder. “appa, chalk kudu” (thats tamil for- dad, give me come chalk). he stirs in his sleep. i get angry. “appa, appa chalk venum” (dad i want chalk). i know..i was pesky even then. he opened his eyes, looked at me, the suggested that i scribble later because he was really tired. what did i do? ranted- “dena dena dena” (hindi for give me give me) into his ears for nearly 15 minutes. the poor man must have cursed his luck for having the world’s most annoying 4 year old. he got up and gave me the chalk box. he wasn’t even angry, irritated. not even a trace of it. the patience in him….astonishing….the best part is yet to come. having gotten the chalk box, my conscience came back to me, and i felt bad to have troubled him. so i said “appa. ippo thoongu” (tamil for, dad- now sleep). how he laughed that day!!! he told the story to everyone who called me cute since then. mom says it to everyone who thinks i am a good daughter. πŸ˜›

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there’sΒ  so much more that i want to say. but what the hell, i’m lazy. i’m papa’s lazy, spoilt daughter.Β  πŸ˜›

but you gotta thank me, reader. i just shared my old man with you. you’re too darned lucky actually. πŸ˜›

so my white haired old man,

love you loads……and

happy birthday!!!!!!!! ❀ ❀

 

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