Cotton-Candy Dreams

(lines inspired by my sleeping baby-sis)

She dreams . . .

about the closet of her elder sis –
boxes full of glittering jewels,
charm bracelets, silver chains,
golden, blue, black and clear nailpaint,
stilettos and lip-gloss, hairclips too,
cellphone that she never gives you . . .

She dreams. . .
’bout the toys she’ll show friends today;
how many stars the teacher gave;
what mom kept on the topmost shelf;
if SpiderMan died, who will help?
Barbie sets and stickers, Winnie the Pooh,
Hanna Montana, Kitretsu . . .

She dreams . . .

And she turns into a princess
or becomes a rockstar sensation;
discovers a river of mango-juice
and builds her chocolate mansion;
fights a monster and saves a prince,
slides down rainbows, skips on clouds
rides on shimmering butterfly wings
. . . she dreams .

Years will pass and she will know
that kisses don’t transform all those frogs;
at times you don’t reap what you sow.
That slowly, you outgrow a lot of things
though their memories breathe within.
You win fights and bets and races run
against all boys in class
but gotta lose to a chosen one . . .
All this plus a whole lot more,
but till her childhood takes its leave,
dad says let’s just let her believe

. . . and she dreams . . .

(Poem (c) Sanyukta)

(Pic courtesy mylot.com)

 

Indiyeah, meet your latest supah-model

Adorable, ain’t she? My sis ready for her first day of school. (And oh, I taught her this pose.)

 

About a man, his daughter, and a nonexistent son.

Sometimes I think Dad misses a son in his life. Of course, my parents don’t believe in all that super crap about the son being the pride of the family and the parents’ “ladder to heaven” like so many people in this majorly sick and prejudiced society of ours do. Me and lil sis are the very cornerstones of their life….they would do anything to see us happy.Yet, sometimes I think Dad would have liked a son. He never ever hints/mentions anything of that sort, in fact, I don’t even think this idea ever crossed his mind in its full realization. But perhaps it’s always present in his sub-conscious.

When I was that little girl with short tomboy-ish hair, Dad used to rub them dry for me everytime I washed them. After a point, my hair grew too long for him to manage. That was the end of it. He once hinted at a set of toy cars when the same little girl wanted a new plaything. I made a face and chose a Barbie instead. And that was the end of it. When I was still that little girl, he used to buy denims from the garment store for me. After a point, I began to choose floral prints. That was the end of it too.

You see how it is…

• He won’t ever get to hear another masculine voice at home that he can associate with a person in our family.

• Our family holiday album from last year doesn’t contain a pic of him playing golf with his son at the Shillong Golf Course.

• We won’t ever have an argument in the house about which latest bike to buy.

• I can’t go on trekking trips with him all round the month anytime.

• He and mom can never imagine being cared for after retirement by a sweet daughter-in-law, like their siblings can.

• He still has to park both the cars inside the driveway himself every night. [*sigh*.....yeah, I'm still learning the safe parking part...the driveway-cum-parking area is pretty narrow :/]

• He still has to depend only on himself for calling / hassling / bargaining with usually grouchy car mechanics. [Yeah, I can manage the storekeeper / plumber / electrician / appliance servicing personnel...but mechanics are way too much! Plus I know like practically nothing about the anatomy of an automobile...let alone do even some minor fixing myself. Told you I'm learning. Don't label me the insensitive daughter.]

• He himself has to do all the putting-of-strings-of-lightbulbs-on-roof-and-walls at Diwali.

• He has only his voice to drawl along to sad oldie songs on the radio.

• Dad always has to rely on the judgement of the women in his life [mom and me, sis is way too small. ] besides his own judgement, in deciding everything from which t-shirts to buy to where to invest.

He is by far the strongest and yet the most sensitive guy I’ve ever known. Yet, I think he could have done with a little more help in all the everyday stuff. I do help him, but beyond a limit, he wouldn’t let me, or would be extra-thankful, thus propelling me back into I’m-Daddy’s-little-girl mode. And can you ever help anybody when the other person wouldn’t take it, just for the sake of not troubling you, although he needs that help? Yeah, that’s my Pops.

Like when I went to pay the phone and electricity bills for the first time, he gave me an extra 100 bucks for the mere fact of having successfully done so! And only yesterday when his car broke down and he called me to pick him up in mine, he said, “Thank God you can drive now…” And I was like “Sheesh, Dad, Don’t make it so big….” . These are the times I think he thinks I’m going out of my way to help him, which is not the case. Yet, another day, when I hadn’t cleaned up my car for long, he was like “If you drive, maintain the thing as well. See, Mr Y’s son does that every weekend…” and I mentally said to him “How can I help it if you don’t have a son?”
Now I guess that was wrong of me. I took his words in the wrong sense, he never meant to compare me to a son by his words, was only citing an example.

At 52, perhaps a 16-year-old daughter cannot help Dad as much as a guy could have. I might try to fill the gaps for Dad, but still, none of all the stuff that is the business of fathers and their sons will ever transpire between him and a younger guy. I see him looking fondly, almost-wistfully at my guy-friends, and I feel he misses a son in his life.

Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll make you proud one of these days. Just wait. And meanwhile, while you wait, just give me this month’s bills to pay. And oh, the car mechanic’s workshop number too.
I’ll learn about automobile anatomy and money-matters eventually in time. But right now, I think we can go shopping for shirts at least.