My dad and Me.

I am writing this down for posterity. It's kind of an auto-biography for me, so, if you can't relate to it, go right ahead, pick the next Dan Brown thriller and make yourself scarce. Now, where was I? Yes...if I should have an unruly teenage son one day (pity the chap), and if we happen to not see eye-to-eye (entirely hypothetical you see? I plan to be a cool dad) I promise to dig up my dusty diary and read what these yellowing pages would have to teach me about my own experiences with my dad.

Allow me to skip the early chapters of my life (really, life does not get interesting until adolescence - note: my dad does not agree) and skip to my teenage years. These years were of particular relevance to the subject at hand, because there were times when I could have killed my dad, times when I could have cried for him, times when I learnt the nuances of the overloaded "Generation Gap", first hand!

Let me make this clear. At 13, one of the best leg spin bowlers of my school, I only care about the inter-school finals. Cricket is my life. My dad is a big cricket enthusiast himself. What I could not understand is why he would stand in my way. I came home, drenched with sweat and on a natural high (cricket does that to me), after practice.

"What time is it, young man?"

He glared at me from behind his thick brown spectacles, the rest of his face hidden by the newspaper. He continued to rock slowly on his cane rocking chair but I knew "young man" meant that he was on the verge of an angry breakdown.

"Uhh...9.45 pa, I gotta finish my homework, so..."

"Come here, young man. We need to talk."

It was more like, he needed to talk and I needed to listen. So, what followed was a really long and boring lecture on responsibilities, academics, future, life and I really do not want to go into details here. When I entered my room, the clock showed 10.45 PM. I cursed and threw my school bag against the wall and hit the bed. Why couldn't he understand?

***
The next couple of weeks, I continued to come home late. He always sat on his chair and waited for me to return but somehow stopped the lectures. I took this to mean he understood my priorities.

Two events caused a sudden change in our relatively tenuous relationship - our team lost in the finals and I flunked my English paper.

"Did you get your exam results?"

I didn't reply. I didn't care - we lost and that's all that mattered. I gave him my papers.

He flung them with an intensity that took me by surprise.

"Disgrace! You are a disgrace, young man! Did you know your grandfather was an English professor? He would turn in his grave..." His angry voice boomed through the entire house. Suddenly, I just lost it.

"Dad, don't you care about what is important to me at all? We lost, our team lost today in the finals. I bowled miserably, OK? I don't care if I failed this exam, we lost!", I raised my voice over his - my first.

"Do not raise your voice!" and suddenly, "And tell me how you lost."

And that was that. A simple request. I talked for an hour, about the game, about the untimely rain, about my miserable bowling, about cricket and I forgot all else - even our loss. I talked passionately about the game and when I stumbled back to bed, I was not angry or upset. I actually smiled and I suspected my dad had something to do with it.

***Well, you know what comes next, pretty predictable - girls. At 17, girls began to take precedence over cricket, not all girls, one particular girl - Anusha. I was one smitten kid, trust me. She was pretty and delicate and actually pretty airheaded most times but I just could not stop thinking of her. I actually went from faded jeans to slightly wrinkled pants and from sleeveless tshirts with obnoxious wordings to what I considered pretty decent ones. And I shaved regularly now.

Dad being who he is, did not fail to notice the not-so-subtle changes in me.

"It's not like you to go to class on time, Srikanth?"

"Umm...just want to make sure my papers don't get flung again, dad!"
Did I imagine it or did he just wink at me?

It was all fun for a few months. But then, I started to get all serious about Anusha and it was not so much fun anymore. I mean we were friends and all and I had even introduced her to dad (who smiled amusedly - the wicked, wicked man) but we just remained that, good friends and I wanted to be much more than just a good friend to her and I suspected that she already was seeing someone. She had so many boy friends, I just could not tell for sure.

Anusha called me at 6 AM one Saturday. She was crying.

"I need to talk to you", she sniffed on the telephone and suddenly, I lost all my sleep - my heart went out to her. I hurriedly slipped into something suitable and ran down. Dad was boiling milk for his morning coffee.

"Srikanth! Good morning, good morning, what a..."
He seemed in great spirits.

"Dad, I gotta go, Anusha called up and she seems upset. I'll be back."

He was silent for a moment. Then, he placed his hand on my shoulder (which for me was the same as a hug, we were always averse to physical contact) and said, "Srikanth, I just don't want you to get hurt, OK?"

Something about the tone of his voice made me stop and listen. I placed my hand on his and said, "OK dad, I...thanks." (damn it, I just cannot tell him I love him and not snicker).

It turned out Anusha was seeing someone and the someone had decided to not see her anymore. I acted the role of a reassuring shoulder for her to lean on - all brotherly and nice (yeesh!).

A few months later, it was my turn to cry. Anusha came home all bubbly and giggling and hugged me. I assumed that meant a thumbs up for our relationship.

And then she said, "Srikanth, you wouldn't believe this, he came back to me! He said he had made a big mistake and we were always meant for each other, can you believe this?"

Can I believe this? No. I believe I can rip that guy's heart out and throw it down, next to my broken one.

She left soon and I just did not want to dampen her good mood with my own confessions. I did not go to college the next day and the next. I did not leave my room most of the time and I made as little conversation as possible and answered only in mono-syllables. Dad tried to talk to me many times and even asked about Anusha and I evaded him as best as I could.

That night, I sat in my room, staring blankly at the TV - muted cartoon characters ran about busily on screen, they seemed so happy. I almost did not hear the knock on my door.

"Srikanth..."

I did not respond. He sat next to me on the sofa and remained silent.

"I remember how I felt when I thought your mom would leave me...almost twenty five years and I remember that day..."

He did not need to say more. That day, I broke our unspoken rules of interaction and hugged my dad.

***
Well, what can I say? There were many times after that when I felt like hugging him but did not. We just don't do that here.

And, did I mention that I want to become my dad to my son some day?