Some of my fondest memories revolve around my father.
A man of 79 years. He is quite a life traveller. Needless to say he was my first liberal influence. However, politically I don’t always agree with him. Over the years I have realised my politics is different from my family’s. But my father truly ‘loves’ me…of whatever I understand of that word…he stretches himself to accomodate me… he lets me fly…he smiles at my silly jokes and he does a lot of quiet, gentle but firm hand holding. I am indebted to him for that.
We have been fellow travellers. He has taught me to appreciate life, value love and never take my work for granted. He has trained me to do away with feeling guilty for pursuits that excite and enrich me truly. Most of all he has inspired me to be as truthful as possible.
It was some four years back one cold night in Delhi when Baba, Suvojit and I decided to drink some feni with guava juice. A strange concoction for a dark winter night I agree but we were gifted with this fresh Feni and thus we were helpless. Suvo and Baba have diabetes and I have perennial plans of losing weight (yes yes Fat is a Feminist issue so what?:)) but we were together and that called for a celebration.
Feni hits fast. Much faster than I expect it to. That day I don’t know when it hit my stoic being. Before we knew all three of us became exceedingly pleasant to each other. So I asked my father what did he think of me?? Little daughter seeking Baba’s approval. Part of my getting tipsy with loved ones is permitting myself to play maudlin.
Baba said “Besh Mei”…”Quite a girl”. “…but sometimes you harm yourself with quick decisions”. I was curious. So I prodded.
My happy father suddenly looked very fragile. ” You know Suvojit. I was for a brief fifteen minutes a little girl’s Grand Father”
I held Suvojit’s hand and whispered- “He is drunk”. I was suddenly very awkward in front of these two men who knew all about my life and decisions but never really spoke of the same aloud. While I have always kept the doors and windows of my consciousness alive and open this was a door which I had always wanted to touch tenderly, only very privately.
“She would have been…how old mammu??”
He calls me Mammu.
I was tipsy but I could sense a lump in my throat.
“She would have been 9…aa aa ten”
For next several minutes I could see my old man trying to figure out how old his grand daughter would have been had she lived. Whether she would have been older than some of my nieces and nephews or younger to all of them. And then he talked about how beautiful this little angel was.
“Khoob sundor chilo. Eito shundor. Eito haalka…kintu koto bhaari”
She was beautiful. So light but so heavy.
And then for the first time my father told me he had thought of a name for his grand daughter. This was after nine years of that fateful night when I had regretted asking him whether my daughter was doing well and my father had tearfully told me all will be fine. Finally, my father was talking about his grand daughter. Nine years had passed and I still regretted being put on endless sedatives after the child birth and subsequently my child’s death. I had almost despised my doctor for not allowing me to see or hold my baby. Dead or alive but my child. I had argued with her in my mind innumerable times about her judgment that this was the best way to beat trauma.
‘Really! You had a name for her’.
He smiled with a gentle gleam in his eyes and whispered ‘Yasmin’.
He hadn’t thought of a Hindu name. I knew this was out of his love for Parvez. I wanted to but couldn’t bring myself to tell Baba that Parvez also had a name for our daughter. Nova.
“…but sometimes you harm yourself with quick decisions”. I don’t know what my Baba had meant when he had said that. May be he was grieving the loss of a Family. May be he thought I had taken some rushed decisions vis-a-vis my ex-husband. May be…Neither Baba nor I had the strength to delve into it.
I stayed awake late that night thinking, my daughter who had lived only for 15 minutes outside my womb… and nine months inside me…has a story…and two names…
(By- Rukmini Sen)
Hillele 
Cerebral read
Which side of the brain it touched is the point:)
khoob sundor
Thanks babes:)
very touching, mini. have you also written about this onn your earlier blog? i get the feeling that i already know more than what has been revealed here. will you be writing the story behind this? do let me know…
Hi Bhavya,
Will be writing more on this soon:)
Thanks!
love,
Mini
Really real and raw…have subscribed…
Love you Dola:)