HAPPY FATHERS DAY

There are at least 45 different ways to call your father out. But they all mean the same thing calling out the unsung heroes. They rarely get their fair share of adulation. A father is a defined as male parent or an n individual progenitor of human off spring. The adjective ‘paternal’ refers to the father. Daddies, Papa, Pops, Dad, Pitaji, appa are the few ways to express or call one’s father. Father’s day was started in celebration of honoring fathers and celebrating fatherhood, parental bonds and the influence of fathers in society. It was started in 1910 by Sondra Smart Dodd to honor her father who reared six children single handedly in Spokane, Washington, USA.

There has been a fair share of criticism, sarcastic attacks over the fact that it is a shameless way to commercialize relationships. But, gradually this day has also been accepted with the modernization of society and open expression of feelings and emotions.

I want to openly on this forum say Happy Fathers day to two special and important men in my life who in there own special and singular highly individualistic and unique personalities have enriched my life. One taught me patience and the other perseverance in facing the hardships of life. Life without either one of them is incomplete. I adore love and cherish both of you for shaping me to what I am today. Your distinct personalities give me strength and guidance. With my phone call to Dad every morning to just touch base and to discuss mundane stuff over morning chai and to discuss sports to spirituality and to subtlety know beforehand what the other wants. Daarji, in his own ways has enriched me and made me appreciate spirituality and to understand the essence without getting wrapped in mendacity. From cricket to a passion of all English movies, sometimes conversation is not needed at all. And, yes the common refrain of cutting down the umpteen cups of coffee and achaar!  In fact , becoming a parent myself ahs made me realize how tough it is to be a parent. And then for fathers, who are always put on a back burner and never given their fair share of hugs, kisses, well go pick the phone and call you dad before its too late. That is the only thing wrong in todays society we love postponing relations to do inconsequential jobs and test our relations.

I love you both and I’m blessed to have special dads like you both in my life. The gentle hugs, the smiles and the reassurances to guide and shape me to what I am.

Thank you is just a small way and does not even come close to the magnitude of love I have for you both. And heck yes, if there is a day to celebrate this bond, yes and yes.

Waaris / Heir

A) This is not a song sung in Punjab folklore and my attempt to romanticize it.

B) I have not had any magical blessings whereby I have been selected for Coke Studio . I am not singing or posting a link to Youtube.

C) This is just a truthful story which happens everywhere around us .

I was born . I was born not for love. I was not born for any romantic reason , nor was it an interlude. I was created for just one reason . To be a waaris, a heir to property . India is a strange country, we might have reached the moon and back ,we have developed, manufactured missiles to target every city next door . India , is also one of those few countries which exist -co -exist in these trying inflationary times. We are also a country where wheat grows in surplus but will never be distributed rather we let nature have her way , let the rats have a field day .We also have scams unearthed every second, with a toilet one right now. We have politicians who wear white but have whiter than white reputations.  A crisp white linen kurta  translates into the credibility of the person. But we also are agnation so steeped in tradition , where property requires a heir to carry it on . Also there is a teaser in this , it has to be a male member.

In fact , this archaic law since the times of Manu is carrying on. generations have passed, we have come from Ice age to nano age and are progressing to no age know. 

In fact , it has given rise to a lucrative booming industry where by sex selection makes way for male gender only . Girls are ruthlessly killed just when the screen shows that its not the right sex. The ways to abort are brutal, and if the woman dies in the process, what difference does it make ? She , is replaceable , you see. Our society has in two words ,"lost it .'

Oh! back to me, I'm the narrator . My father was happily married to my bade mummy but due to reasons unknown ( advancement of science not enough in ways of mysterious body ) she never had any children. They were living happily and as is the case in majority of landed landlords , a dispute came up. Everywhere the story is the same; the story of the hinterland of India, Madhya Pradesh Bihar, Haryana , Punjab, Maha rashtra , Uttarakhand,  Rajasthan and all other fragmented states of UP . 

The heart beats only fro a male child. Well , my father was no less, he did what all men do. Simple silly , he got himself another wife. Wives are plenty , you see, a dime a dozen. There was never a problem , women are always bartered , sold as an exchange commodity since the Pharaohs. And who bothers about emotions ? No one, that is just a silly thing conceited by writers to sell their books.

 So my father got himself a middle aged wife ,a teacher who was docile  who had passed the marriage age and was teaching in an obscure village with life passing by.

My mother was catapulted into fame, notoriety for  being the other woman , for breaking a marriage, for spoiling bade mummy's life . She was the harlot but if you could find another gentler woman , well tell me. I was born after umpteenth try ,  a loveless clinical try  battling against the human body's failings , even the machinery gets old . A man thinks that he is infallible , cannot err or nothing can come in his way . 

 I was born nine months hence, a clock work but they forgot that all things are not in the hands of Man kind, the big guy also has his humorous side. I was a girl , a tiny sickly thing , nurtured and cared for but not a waaris to all the property , the land.

The question was the same, back to square one . My father dies, a month later . I am a mere babe , a member amongst the other two women . Are we three's a company or a crowd?

Why was I given birth ? I am still not accepted as a waaris by this society which is a double standard , hypocritical mammoth where we need women to procreate but are not willing to accord status to Her.

Can we all meet and discuss my identity or  wajood why I am here on this planet, eighteen years hence? It so happens that this feudalistic , old fashioned male dominated society will not let me live anyway . Well meaning uncles or cousins will pop out of the woodwork to steer this poor unfortunate family who need a man's guidance so that the society will not point fingers. 

If , I'm alive , it's a date .

Nisha aur uski Zindagi

She wondered where life was leading her. I mean think about it, one had to be size zero, challo at least a size 4, thin but not so thin a butt and boobs to match. Didn’t one have to eat to sustain this law of shape and attraction? I wish, there was an app where you could send the weight to the required place and the rest could be deleted! Ok, the advertisement for the new Beetle proudly said, Curves are back but did any available guy want them?

They all had a long list, men wanted curvaceous women not too big not too small, just right. Where did one go for this kind of definition, by the way? Miyan ji nukkad wale had no answer, and he knew a lot. If one just went by the long long, white beard and toothless grin and the paan stained lips which just moved mysteriously saying Allah! Allah! . One had to be successful but also had to be wonder woman at home doing, cooking cleaning and keeping everything spic n span.

How was Nisha going to compete with all this? She was just an ordinary person, not too fair not too dark. She wasn’t well endowed in any department according to the flat wallahs, she was ok. She had God’s given curves in all the wrong places. Her boobs were ok, nothing great, no pin up material. Didn’t heavy breasts give a backache? Her butt was round Aka the 60’s actresses, Sadhana ji type.

She had a job, nothing great, a copywriter in the town’s biggest advertising company. Stuck in an office where the men were oily haired, with small and big paunches in ratio to their ages who were always downloading ‘those sites’ and were always sniggering when the bai ji walked in and cleaned showing her ample bosom to one and all. She certainly believed in democracy, no censorship here if you please.

In fact you could sum up her life as ok. Her mother’s obsessive behavior bordering on Auntyji psychotic soap opera wali and Dad’s simple silent submissive smile ruled her mornings and evenings.

She just wanted to live her life with no boundaries, rules that so governed her right now. The latest was this bespectacled, fat, ugly broker in Delhi who was an innocent divorcee. What an oxymoron.

2.

Innocent divorcee, my foot. Why did she have to marry? No bells rung, no cupids arrow, nothing happened when she these men, and she was straight as an arrow, no hanky panky, she didn’t even want to think about the new age fundamental about women and women, men and men. That was ‘tauba tauba’.

Nisha was sitting on her throne, “Queen Of potty” as her brother said. Her mother banging on the door and that snapped her out of the reverie and she said, “Coming’.

Hurry up! Sunita is coming. Nisha groaned thinking about the beautician who knew her last every beauty secret and horror. Her pimples, acne scars, hiding her big forehead with those bangs and all the guinea pig trials to make her look glamorous.

Ok, Aayi Mataji, she replied.  She knew there was no way out and she had to meet Mr. Oily paunchwallah.

She came out and went to her room, trying to make some space on her bed that had a zillion things on it. She also needed to find something flattering to wear, maybe a long shirt to her butt with her tights or the not so new blue suit that always did wonders for her morale.  Sunita walked in with a number of bags with all the things to make one transform. She lay down and waited for the magic. Well, magic she did do and she looked presentable. Mr. Oily was coming in half and hour, she sat down waiting and looked at her mother fluttering about and setting the cushions right .

she

Do you know about that line ‘ Dho dalla”(to wash off)? You know that favorite advertising jingle where using a particular washing soap brand is used and safedi ki jhankaar happens. Well, Punjab is no less.

WE procreate and with a 50-50 chance have daughters and sons (the fairer sex which is lucky to be allowed to born). And we bring them up, give them the best education, making them competent women of today, be it doctors, engineers, qualified architects, dentists and also the honorary BSF, Army force and now even the newly forced government has women commandos. Punjab has a rich history, of being a land of plenty, progressive state where the men have reached the zenith in form of power, land, money, and fame and have reached every nook and corner. They say, in the world you will always find a potato and a sardar. We have laws that practically govern every moment of our lives and every breath we take. There is one whereby daughters also have an equal share in the property of the father.

However, this is where it gets interesting. Men, progressive, 30 something men are of the opinion (fathers themselves) that daughters do not require a share if they are well off in their in-laws place. What does well – off mean? I don’t know the answer to this one.

Men think (oh they do you see!) that daughters should not be given a share; yes if they are troubled then a dole out should be given.

Is this a company rescue program? Is it a bail –out package for the dying soul? How do you compensate for the emotional pain, she has suffered? Money is the answer but nothing can heal the scars. One learned gentleman went to explain in detail how (if) his daughter if she gets a share in the land and after marriage it goes to his son –in law and then it gets further sub divided with successive generations of girls and their marriages and so forth.

My only question, why should we think it is a she, why do you not give to your child? Why did the question of it come to give to the daughter? Just because the sex is feminine does not make her less competent and less worthy?

Woman want equality as a child, why does the mental conditioning start, that because we are going to spend on your wedding we cannot give you a share. Well, hello my lovelies did your son get married in the pindwala gurudwara?

Dowry does not equate to inheritance. Who came up with the archaic idea that marrying her off is equivalent to washing hands off her? Well as we follow traditions, that’s what we do. Shaadi kar do, dho dallo and then voila! Highest rates of woman abuse, marital discord. We need to equate our daughters in the same scale as our sons. A son is a son till he marries and gets a wife; a daughter is a daughter for life. Why don’t we think how sometimes sons move out, want to buy a house, live somewhere else or want to set up a new business, why do we proudly strut about and set up his business? Why is this so different for one’s daughter?

Umm, what did you all say?

 It’s different; well which codebook said so? Must have been another set old fogies who felt threatened by women and wanted to keep everything in their power.

Sorry folks, it’s nothing to do with division, or fragmentation of land (agricultural land), or a business house being split into half, it’s all about control. The six-letter word which is what makes men tick. They want control for themselves and then are duplicated for their progeny minus the girls.

If this all is a bit harsh, sorry but no sorry. I say it like I see it. Women want equality form birth, think of us as human and then secondary as the sex bestowed by our fathers.

Empathy and compassion all rule and get better results always. Property division, monetary gains, if conducive to the son should be the same for a daughter, just because she is a she ; she should not be denied the right .

She is a she created by a he divided by Mammon. Why?