"I’m grown up. I can take care of myself. Why does he always have to see to everything I’m doing?” – the cups and saucers of our breakfast table rattled in disagreement as my angry voice filled the sunlit room of our fourth floor apartment. The occasion - Arjun - my elder brother had dared to open my cupboard without asking my permission, as he needed a couple of paperclips. That, I was convinced, was an excuse. He was, as usual, sneaking into my personal belongings, trying to keep a track on what I am up to, I shouted out to Maa. Baba, never said a word these days on occasions like this – since I rudely told the man to shut up who taught me how to speak.
And Dada was the worst thing that could have ever happened to me. He was either peeping into my cupboards, or arriving at my college without notice to pick me up – as I would be abducted on a busy street – either checking my phone bills or my Orkut friends and scraps. “Why the hell can’t he leave me alone?” “Its for you own good”, Maa said, “haven’t you read the newspapers? You don’t see what happens to young girls nowadays?” “It won’t happen to me, you get that?” Dada, himself was strangely passive during my outbursts. He never retorted, never tried justifying his actions. Even on the worst of days, he never failed to bring me my glass of bournvita at night, a habit of his which he never intends to give up – only to return the next morning to what he does best – checking on me.
This morning, my agitation reached its peak, as I was apprehensive of his finding a couple of DVD’s which I had hidden behind my college books. These, if found out, would invite a plethora of questions and advises on the inappropriateness of such viewings, as if I still believed that God wrapped us up in blue and pink ribbons and brought us to our parents, and this was all that happened in the creation process. I turned away from my half-finished breakfast, picked up my bag and raced down the stairs. The last thing I saw was Dada getting my sneakers to be cleaned with his own.
College, tuitions and Tantra kept me busy all day. I returned home exhausted, refused Maa’s fervent pleas for having my dinner and dozed off. Didn’t know how long it was I slept, I woke up with jerk to Maa’s muffled sobs. Dada had been taken to the hospital.
The next few hours were a nightmare. Baba called up uncles and aunts and within an hour the hospital’s lobby was buzzing with the members of my extended family. Someone came forward to console me. Dada had suffered multiple fractures in shoulder and hands, as his cab was rammed into by a bus from the opposite direction. Someone was saying that if that was the only thing he suffered he would be alright in a few months, when the doctor informed us that immediate blood transfusion was needed and that he had to be shifted to another hospital for complex surgical procedures. The last thing I remember was seeing Dada, covered with a white cloth, head bandaged being carried into the ambulance, and the last lingering notes were of the siren, ominously spreading out into the night.
“Hey, you’ll get late for college. Are you deaf even to the alarm these days?” I opened my eyes and saw Dada smiling down at me, pulling at my covers. “Or will you say that now I am interfering with your dreams”, he chuckled. Then he grew concerned, “hey, what happened?” I nodded, looked down and went into his sheltering, outstretched, blessed arms.
You stood by me in every way
Sharing my smiles and tears,
You remembered me in my absence
And kissed away my fears,
And all the time that I’ve unseen you
I know not what I did.
When you go away on a holiday
And leave my things to me,
When you sleep with a "Do not Disturb"
And close your eyes on me,
Till I wait for you to wake up,
I know not what to do.
