Cinderella

"When the going gets tough, " I grunted, "Unghhh, the tough get going. Aw, granny, c'mon ", I pleaded, pushing with all my might at the unrelenting backside. Gloomily, I surveyed the scene. One room, the one bed. The reluctant helper, myself, and the sulking old lady. Why oh, why, had i volunteered to help at the home for the aged. My friends, all the young people in the world, surely, were out partying, while i was labouring away at dirty bedsheets, with an uncooperating aged. An unappreciative, morose old lady at that, who thought she was the one doing me the favor.

It had all started with my conscience. Pangs of. What exactly was i doing with my life ? Partying, reading, then partying some more ! There had to be more to life then all of that. At that juncture, dear readers, i should have stamped on that conscience with hob nailed boots. I was all of seventeen, and i was me... Not some Buddha incarnate. I was also supposedly studying for my board exams. Did i even need to do anything else. I must have been out of mind, then, and someone should have hauled me off to the doctors, or better still the disc, instead of which i found myself sitting opposite a kindly matron, who, by means of lavishing praise on my poor unsuspecting head, enviegled me into a volunteer programme tending the aged at the Home, next to my college. So the upshot was, i found myself listening to the sound of my fellow teens, laughing raucously, or lounging around eyeing the newbies, while i toiled at ancient, smelly backsides. Bitterly, i beheld my best friend chatting up the girl i had staked for myself. Disbelievingly i saw them, fingers entwined gazing into each others eyes, while my old lady farted or burped benignly into my face. Life, was unfair. So unfair.

Then came the day of the prom. In spite of being otherwise occcupied, i managed to get me a date, a tux and courage to speak to the now that she had me snared, testy matron, who muttered under her breath about shirking teens, but gave me an off. But only after i had got my charge into diapers. So there i was, and there she was, a giant baby, with her privates entrusted to me. As i grappled with the mundane task of putting on a diaper on my old lady,  leaning across her in my desperation, the unthinkable happened. With a gentle sigh she did it. Right on my tux. As my date frantically pointed to her watch, from outside the window,then stomped off in a fury. The motion she hadn't passed for about a year, or so it seemed to my horrified eyes, as a stinking yellow stain spread across my snow white shirt.

Cinderella. That's how i felt at the prom. Gosh, yes! i did make it  after all, dear reader, so cheer up. My matron was not the gargoyle i had thought her to be when seeing my face she had burst into uncontrollable laughter, her ample girth not allowing her to roll on the floor. Within the hour she had procured another tux, her stunning niece and a private cab. I danced the night away, even as the other boys gaped at my girl, the most stunning one in the room. A day and a night, stuff that sticks in your memory and the grand children get regaled with.

The Beautiful Ugly

Was i ? Truly ? Ugly ...? By all rights, i should have been. I was tall, slim, very hot . But only from the neck down. It was my face that did me in. Small eyes, twinkling ones though, a nondescript nose, a full upper lip, the features were all good, but i guess, God took the left overs and put them all together in me. My best friend on the other hand. Pretty as a picture. So most often, i was the resident wall flower. The one to whom everyone came with their boyfriend / girlfriend woes. The resident shrink of college. Now, that's what you would call red hot. No? Sigh. You would be right of course.

Since joining college,  the date we had been most looking forward to was the ' Fresher's Ball .' To be held in ' Zinc ', the most happening disc in town. For the first time in our lives, we were going unchaperoned to a ball, where there would be boys ! You see our lives so far had been like the old black and white movies of yore, where women undertook the role of men.  Often we read of people struggling out of deserts to be confronted with palm trees, a placid lake with palm trees doing the swaying act. He staggers towards it, palms outstretched, his dust filled eyes, straining to behold the unbelievable, on his lips a prayer, his crazed, deprived mind, making his heart leap at the munificence laid out before him. You get the idea, gentle reader ? That was how we staggered into the disc, dressed in our daring best, teetering in our heels, our hearts roaring in sync 'Bring on the Boys !!'

Soon enough, all of the girls were on the dance floor, dancing wildly. The music, so loud, it made sure our feet wouldn't touch the floor. Alas, it was so dark that we could hardly see our partners. But feel them, we sure could. Mine seemed particularly out of shape from the panting i could hear, the hands clutching me were clammy, just like mine, i thought wryly. Then the lights came on. Blinking at the fierce onslaught  of bright flashing lights, i stood mouth agape. As did my partner. My best friend. My best girl friend make that. In fact, the dance floor consisted of almost all girls ! Bewildered, we turned and found the boys. Crouching over the bars, or should i say, cowering behind the bar. The glazed look in their eyes, had an element of fear. This otherwise docile bunch of well behaved girls, they knew  from everyday life had transformed into banshees, wild beings who gyrated wildly and set the dance floor on fire. " I mean what if we had raped them, for god's sake."

The rest of the night was good fun. The boys, realising that we basically were harmless, let their hair down, and the bravest actually matched their steps with ours. What is it about ugly girls ? There has to be something compelling about them, i guess. I wasn't allowed to sit for a single dance, as the boys actually cued up to dance with me. Like the most ugly one of them told me, "You're so wrong, you're right down beautiful." The beautiful ugly. How i love being one of them !

A matter of courage

I sat looking at her photographs. She was so beautiful she took my breath away. As if someone had punched me in the stomach. Pushing the laptop away, i hung my head in my hands and sat. Great sobs shook my body, as i  cried. Tears that seemed to come from my very soul. "Take this, and don't be a sissy." The voice was harsh, even as it's owner proffered  a tissue. "Every girl looks like an actress these days, with the right make up. Your wife is much prettier. " That was it. The dam within me burst. "But she's not the love of my life. Only Minnie will ever be that, " I shouted. " I loved her, don't you understand! I loved her! Like i never will love anyone else again. Ever! She was my soul, she was everything that was lovely and wonderful about my life. You took that away from me! You ! I hope you are happy now. Now that you've robbed me of my happiness forever." She shrank from me as if i'd hit her. Then held out her arms beseechingly, "I only wanted your happiness, son. All i ever wanted was for you to be happy. I'm your mom, for God's sake. " The door rattled shut as i strode out of it. Yes, she was my mom, and i loved her, or else i would have struck her.

I had always been a good son. Maybe too good. But for the life of me, i couldn't hurt her feelings, even when i was a child. My upbringing had been good. I had had the best of everything, being the only child, i had been pampered even. The bond between my mother and me had been strong, though she was too domineering at times. The rebellion struck when i entered my teens. I stood my ground even as she tried her best to persuade my dad to stop me from going abroad for studies. " You'll lose him for sure. Who will take over your business ?" she tried to reason with him. For once, both of us were united  and i left for the U S of A, for my masters.

Heady years, the best of my life, followed. From a callow youth, i grew into a man. My roomies, brutal as they were, taught me to stand on my own. For the first time in my life, i was getting my own meals, doing my washing, vacuuming my room and in spite of it all, i was loving it.

The party was for Christmas. I saw her as soon as she entered. The room seemed to light up with her presence. Tall, lithe,with long black hair flowing down her back, she was very striking. But it was her effervescent personality that had all the boys flocking towards her. For one of the dances, we were blindfolded by the girls, and had to choose our partners by touch. By some strange miracle, I tagged her. We never looked back. From the beginning she drew out the best in me. I found myself making scintillating conversation, dancing as i hadn't ever before. She was my cousin's bestie, and we soon became inseparable. However, it was a long distance relationship. She came from across the border, from Canada, where she studied. I was still bound to the states and with her in my life, deeply committed to my studies, as i started thinking about a future with her.

The day I graduated, I gave my parents the news. I was going to look for a job in the states, and that i was going to marry her. Which news instantly brought my parents on a long overdue visit to the States. Of course mom was reluctant about giving her consent. "Isn't she too dominating ?' to which my dad scoffed, " Huh ! Pot calling the kettle black"  and a sly, " I married you didn't I !"  But she knew when to acknowledge defeat and gave in. It was my turn to go meet Minnie's dad. Before me, he had been 'the' man in her life, and I was nervous. When her parents saw how much we loved each other, nothing else mattered to them, and so we were engaged, to be married. We decided we would settle in Canada, if I couldn't get a job in the States, what with the recession having hit us hard, and jobs being hard to get.

Meanwhile we were separated again. There i was completing my masters, while she was working, both of us full of plans and in touch any which way we could, be it cells, emails, skype. My visas were expiring though and i had to return to India. We both dreaded the fast approaching deadline and tried to spend every holiday together before i left. I did return, eventually but with the promise of fast rejoining her.

The cacaphony of Indian shores, the return to the easy way of life was morbid enough. Some days the distance between us seemed overwhelming. Six months more, and she would be able to apply for citizenship. Then we could marry and I could migrate. The dates were fixed, i could hardly contain my happiness. Her mom was flying down to be with her, to spend some quality time with her daughter before the marriage.

The next weekend they were supposed to go to the Niagara falls. Before that, she was going to a sleepover at a friends place. I was going trekking with my friends, to Leh. For the next week we were going to be incommunicado. I returned exhausted. It was almost midnight, and so I tried to enter the home quietly. Strange that the lights were on. Mum was sitting on the sofa. Dad was pacing. "Sit down son. There's been an accident." Dad's voice sounded grim. Minnie's friend had taken a wrong turn. The suv coming from the right had hit the car head on. The passenger side, where she had been sitting, took the impact head on. As the legs beneath me gave way, my one thought was that I had to be with her, I had to see her. "You can't. Not just now. She's critical. Her mum stressed that you stay away. At least until things improve. She's unconscious, anyway. Her lungs are punctured, ribs broken, and she has multiple fractures, which may never heal. " The next few days went by in limbo. I now knew the meaning of 'living dead.' She was  in that state physically, i mentally. I had a nervous breakdown, and was mercifully kept in sedation for the next few days. My pillar of strength was my mother. She looked after me as if i was a baby. She fed me with her own hands, slept on a cot in my room.

A week later i mustered the strength to call. Her mother, for some reason, disconnected the line. Strangely, that kept happening, until i was ready to explode. Now i was determined to fly out. "No." They don't want you there." Mum kept reiterating. Disbelievingly, i shook my head, "Why on earth ? " Mother took my hand in hers. "She may not walk again. Ever. She dosen't want to see you. Her parents believe that seeing you would only add to her trauma. For her sake, don't go there." Tortured, broken, i somehow lived thru the next few months.

I heard that she was in rehabilitation. I told myself that she probably hated me by now. How could i ever face her again ? What kind of a coward was I ? In my mind's eye, I saw her, sitting on a wheel chair, not wanting to face me. But I knew i'd do the same had i been in her place. Agonised, tortured, I stayed away, though I yearned to be with her.




Six months flew by in a haze of pain. It was then that i met my cousin, Minnie's best friend. I met her at a friends' place. As i hurried to greet her, she turned away, almost in disgust. "How's Minnie, tell me! You have to tell me !" I demanded of her. "She turned to face me then, thru clenched lips she retorted, " You ! You B......! How dare you ask me that. After what you did to her, how can you stand there and take her name, even. " Over the next few days, I pleaded with her to explain. She told me the facts. Mum had called her parents, after the accident, telling them that it would be best if I didn't see her.  That I was in shock, too and had had a nervous breakdown. She told them that since marriage for Minnie was an impossibility now, there was no point in her having an emotional breakdown, which was possible if she saw me. She told them that she was breaking the engagement on my behalf. I tried to call her, but it was too late. Her mum wouldn't pick up the phone. I couldn't find the courage, within me to go face her. Rani was a childhood friend, recently orphaned. She needed me and I needed sanity in my tortured existence.She was kind enough to marry me, though she knew about the tragedy of my former relationship. She made me make peace with my mom. But I never forgave her for all that both Minnie and I suffered.

Three years had gone by. I heard that she had overcome her disability with aggressive rehabilitation. Aqua therapy had wrought a miracle. She was able to walk. Supporting her like a rock, was her mom and an old friend in Canada. Someone who had always loved her, and was now marrying her.

I slunk back to the lap top. There she was, bedecked in bridal attire. She looked at me, serene, happy, deeply in love, from the photo. The title of the photo ? 'For better and for worse.' She deserved him, he deserved her. From the deep sadness within me, the tortured recesses of my mind there arose a spark of happiness for her. At least one of us was at peace.

Yogaga !

"A one.. two... three..." She swung gracefully, like a ballet dancer before me. Open mouthed, i stared. How could she possibly contort her body like that ?  With such grace too. "Hey mum, c'mon," she egged me on. You can do it too." I looked at her, my seventeen year old, standing slim and tall before me. In her leotards and high ponytail, she could have easily been a model for any yoga magazine. I looked down at myself. Fat, frowsy, wrong end of forty, yes. Stiff with the happy lethargy of years, huffy and so far content, yes. I smiled self deprecatingly at her. "It's easy ma, don't knock it till you've tried it," she cajoled. I looked down at my tires, so called love handles, then looked disbelievingly at her. "It's taken me years, to put all this on, If i lose any of it, i'll sag at all the wrong places and end up looking like... like Adnan Sami : thin cherubic face on a once fat body." She chuckled, so did i. " Besides, what if i bent like you, and got stuck, bent into two. Think how difficult it would be to cart me off to the hospital, just like that."

I was happy being me, i had such a loving family around to help me fetch and carry. Then one day it happened. I got the invite. It was an old  girls' reunion, at college. The friend who sent me the email, had posted a photo of herself, ( forty going on thirty ! )  She invited others to do so too, so that we could recognise each other after  the long gap of twenty years, and the travails of life, not to mention my penchant for walnut brownies. Peering over my shoulder, my teen carelessly tossed a " don't worry mum, your face is still almost the same, that is if you are going ? " I heaved myself to my feet. The time for action was now. I still had three months. I was going to knock some of my weight, and their socks off. The thin svelte, collegeite within me was raring to go. Go, i did. First of all to the kitchen. Over the 'Death by chocolate' cake i vowed, the next one would be at the reunion.

" Breathe in, breathe out, yes! Ma! You're doing great." Looking like the before and after versions we stood, our yoga mats in place. " Ah.... " she breathed in, "Ummm.." she exaled. "Ungh....." i lunged, "hrrrrrrr........." i panted, trying to reach the elusive toes. So it went on for a few days, much to the merriment of the hubby and the bai. But i was determined.  Once fired up about something, i rarely give up, specially the desserts, but i did this time. However i was not sure about yoga being the ideal thing for me.  All it would do was help me reach further down the table for food, no ? I reasoned, to get out of it. My teen disagreed. She had charted out my diet, and my exercise regimen, and with a role reversal i sulked about, made sure i followed it. I went for long walks, i even went up to the gym to enquire about a three month membership. After translating the fees into the number of five star meals they could fetch, i returned back to my in-house trainer, much more appreciative of her services.

The days flew by, each time my daughter caught me mooning over food, she banished the food, the recipe book, the magazine, even the maid,  whose lunch i was eyeing, contemplatively. The last straw, came sooner than later. There i was, at the unearthly hour of eight in the morning, standing still in the 'vrikshasan' or tree pose, while an irate maid, tittered sarcastically, then glowered and muttered trying to dodge around me with her duster. Doing my best to ignore her, i hung grimly onto my balancing act on one foot.  Unfortunately, her washcloth, as it was swirled furiously around my feet caught me off balance. I teetered. I  swayed, then reflexively flung an arm out to regain balance.  At the same  moment she rose, hurriedly, thoughts of my landing on her, making her leap out of the way with an agility i hadn't ever seen in her buxom frame. That didn't happen. What did happen though, was that as she stood up, she caught my flailing arm smack on the jaw. Our screams in tandem were followed by total silence.

When the neighbours peered in, they saw the lifeless body of my maid lying splayed on the ground, down to the classic tongue, sticking out of lifeless mouth pose. The poise of my teen restored sanity as she hurried to the kitchen, and poured a glassful of water on the poor maid's hapless head. "Aigo !" she groaned as she came to, rubbing her jaw which had swollen. Ice packs were called for and after she retreated back to the kitchen, we collapsed in a heap, my near hysterical daughter gasping stuff like " public hazard ma," and " oww, my stomach," as she clutched at it, staggering around, shedding great tears over my doubled up form.

Weightlifting. The fastest way to lose weight according to the net. So now i'm on to that. As for my maid. She's changed her timings to eleven a.m. much after i'm done with my regimen. The rest of the household disappears with alacrity, my teen guides proceedings from behind the long suffering sofa.

Gone two months, and yes, i can reach my toes. It's the thought of the 'death by choclolate' pastry that keeps me going. I'm going to have only desserts at the party. After i meet up with my friends. Also after the no hold's barred dinner.

Full circle

"Dad ! Dad!" The panic in the voice at the other end made my blood run cold. Taking a deep breath, i  replied, "What is it son, what's happened." All i could hear was deep wracking sobs, then, " Kumar.. Kumar..I.. I think he's dead. What should i do..?"


My son. The intrepid adventurer. He had left home that morning, with a biker friend, on a holiday to the beauteous, scenic Jharkhand. At twenty-one, the world was his oyster. Young, but very responsible, he had always been into sports and prided himself on fair play. Football and biking were the two major loves of his life at the moment. That was how i had been too, when i was his age, until that fateful day. 


It all began with a crazy challenge. The bike seemed an extension of my body almost, as we raced thru the streets of Bandra, almost every other night. I and my best buddy, Farukh. It was his birthday that day, the fourteenth of August, and he was in an elated mood. His dad had gifted him, the  bike he had always coveted, the bike of his dreams. "Let's do it buddy," I could still hear the lilt in his voice, as we stood near the bikes, donning our helmets. It was my turn to drive, since we had already reached the Expressway, and had to turn back for home. "But we shouldn't." i replied. "It's too dangerous, specially at night. " What he had been suggesting was that we return, driving on the opposite lane. " At our speeds, we'll be just a blur, c'mon man! Here i'll drive if you don't want to." The way his eyes looked, no burned, thru me, with a world of scorn and challenge in them, i gave in.


As we zoomed across the highway, i could hear his whoops of delight. It was then, that the head lights hit us. The truck coming from the opposite direction, veered towards us, and in that one blinding moment, my life was shattered, never to be the same again.


When i came to, i was lying on the road, besides the divider. Heaving myself up with a superhuman effort, i found myself sitting on the road. It was still dark. Still night. Stunned, for a moment, i wondered where i was. Then it hit me. "Farukh ! Farukh !". Hoarse with fright, my voice sounded like a whisper to me. I saw him then. From the way he lay on the road, i knew it was all over. Crawling towards him, oblivious to any danger to myself, i shook him first, crying out his name. Heart thundering in my chest, my body palpitating, i refused to believe the evidence of my eyes. Feverishly, i felt for his pulse. There was none. The bike lay mangled, twisted, like the body of it's owner. Putting my head over his, i wept, softly at first, then great racking sobs as hysteria took over. How many cars must have passed, i lost count. Not one stopped. Some even reversed before taking off, as fast as they could. Feeling for a handkerchief, to stem the flow of blood  into my eyes, obscuring my vision, from a probable head wound, i found my cell in my pocket. Dialing as fast as my fingers could, i found my dad's number  and called. Incoherently i explained what had happened. "I'm coming. Try to stay on the left side of the road. Be safe" The reassuring voice of my dad, steadied me." I remember, seeing the time. It was three a.m. 


When i came to, i was at a hospital. My parents sat beside my bed. They told me i was lucky to have survived, with just a superficial head wound, and a few cracked ribs. Since the doctor was my fathers' brother i had been admitted. No questions asked. "Farukh, dad ! Where's Farukh ?" I asked. "He is no more," my dad answered in a low voice. "His parents must have been informed by now." Bewildered, i asked, " But, but dad! Didn't you inform them ?" My father averted his gaze.


It was the biggest cover up of his life. They had come to the accident site, my uncle and him. They had picked up my unconscious body, and after ascertaining that Farukh was indeed dead, they had picked up all my belongings, and whisked me away. Of course, the police came, but my dad claimed that i had been simply dropped off to the hospital by a good samaritan, who had then left. The story that was then given to all our friends and my late friend's parents. But deep down, they knew. I knew, as did my conscience.


The office, when i was well enough to rejoin, seemed to reverberate with Farukh's presence, as it had when he had been alive and working in the cubicle next to mine. All the good times that we had shared, all the tricks that we had played  on the others as a team, replayed constantly in my head.


At first, it was subtle. A few snide remarks, some insinuations dropped here and there. Then came the boycott. People wouldn't answer when i talked to them. Colleagues who had been full of bonhomie before, left the room when i entered. No one would invite me for parties, anymore, or for movies. After a year, i could take it no more and had a nervous breakdown, after which i resigned my job. We left town, my parents and i. Relocated to Banglore. Life started anew. My counseller was an old wise man, who steered me back into my life with his kindly hand, and wise counsel. I put it all behind me. I thought i had until today. 


My life had flashed before my eyes, as with my son, i awaited the ambulance that would take his friend to the hospital. Life does give a second chance, i realised, for he lived, my son's friend. Now my son goes about campus, quite the hero, because he saved his friend's life, with his quick thinking, even though it meant having to face  the consequences and a tedious police case.


Older, wiser, i was grateful too. Life had allowed me to bury the ghosts, make amends. Yes, life had come full circle.   

The Pretender

He looked up at the clock on the Rajabhai Tower. Almost four. If she had left college by now, she would be here soon. Looking around him, he saw a number of students. Hungry ones. Crowding around Rajubhai, Sandwich Wala. Had the tower been named after him, he thought sardonically. Most of the students were his age. Clad in jeans, tees, the hip ones exuding attitude. The boys, eyeing the girls, clandestinely or openly. The girls, preening,  some talking too loudly to draw attention, some just eating hungrily. He was both. Hungry and seeking attention. None of the girls around, interested him. His girl. She was yet to come.

The car rounded the corner from Churchgate. It was a Honda, no less. Seeing it, he hurriedly rose to his feet, dusted off the back of his jeans, and stood waiting for her to alight. Waving off the driver, she walked towards the stall. Towards him. He stood, heart pounding, his eyes seeing only her. As if the rest of the world, had faded out. Long hair swinging, the rays of the sun playing hide and seek in it, she came. Clad in jeans, that highlighted her lovely long legs, she came. Swinging the satchel, onto her shoulders, dark, chinky eyes on the oncoming traffic, she came. In his mind, she was walking towards him, straight into his arms. The whiff of her perfume as she brushed past him, took his breath away. He walked alongside her, a little distance away, his eyes glued to her. Maybe it was her exotic looks, that captivated him. Or the perfect hair, not a single one out of place, or the perfect rose hued skin. Her very presence made all the rest seem drab to him.

Since the day, he had set eyes on her, he had dreamed of her. Waiting for a sandwich, he had seen her car first. Then she alighted from it.. A sudden gust of wind, blew her hair every which way, covering her face. With a firm movement of the hand, she collected it all, then held it back. As she strode off, it swung behind her, every perfect strand, adding to the sensousness she exuded. He had stood, mesmerised. Since that day, he had been smitten. The fact that she refused to allow her car near the her friends, spoke of her modesty, her need to blend. After having her sandwich with her friends, she went to the bus stop, with them, allowing them to catch a bus, before she made her way to her parked car.

Thereafter it had been his daily ritual. At four, he was so haazir, every, single day. From the past six months.

That day, as usual, he was at his spot. When she neared, his eyes closed, he stood inhaling the scent of her. "Excuse me." The voice was low pitched, melodious. His eyes flew open. He turned instinctively, to see if she was talking to someone behind him. Tiny smile playing around her lips, she indicated that he was in her path. Still smiling she moved around him, and was gone.

Her friends had gone, and she was making her way to the car when it happened. A  biker, helmet clad veered close to her. Behind him, an accomplice, reached out and grabbed her bag. "Oye !" The outraged cry came not from her, but from him. Picking up a stone he flung it with deadly aim. As it struck the biker, he fell off his bike. Running towards them, lunging across her, he picked it up, then grabbing her hand, he hustled her off, even as the crowd started to collar the thieves.

They stood a short distance away. Just him and her. " You ok  Ma'am ?" He asked hesitantly. The shocked look receding from her face, she nodded. Taking the bag he extended towards her, she held out her hand. Fingers trembling he clasped it in his, as time seemed to grind to a halt. Then she was gone.

He stood there hand still extended. Leaping over a parked scooter, he paused. Turning the mirror towards him, he looked at his reflection. Smoothing back the shock of black hair, he struck the pose of Arjun Kapoor, the latest heart throb. Pulling his faded tee over his torn jeans,  foolish smile lighting his face, he went on his way.

"Ai Pakiya ! Ai hero." Yelled the voice from behind. "Chal jaldi parking receipt de. Sapne baad main dekhna. " He laughed with sheer happiness, then got down to issuing it.  

The Tug Of War

She stood there bristling. "Dad. What would you know about girls' clothes? Why you hardly know about boys styles !" Having said that scathingly, she took one look at my face and the next minute she was hugging me close. Arms wrapped around me, she said, gently " That didn't sound the way i meant it to. I mean, dad i love you, and your the bestest dad ever, but if i wear those baggy jeans, i won't have any friends left in college. So please, next time ? Let me choose my jeans myself, ok ? " Sighing, i agreed, hugging her back, then reminding her to text me when she reached college. With a shake of the head, and an exasperated look, she was gone, her " Goodbye Dad," wafting elusively around the house.

Strange how suddenly teenage struck. One moment you had a sweet, trusting little child, who looked to you for everything, including clothes ! The next you had a rebellious teen, staring you down, and making you feel archaic, ancient. Everything about her had changed. From neat, parted hair, worn in two long plaits, she went to short, dishevelled crop. From skirts and  tights and kurtas, she went to slim fit acid jeans, washed, even torn at the knees and tees, much shorter than she had ever worn before. From books and more books, she went to facebook and the ubiquitous cell phone. From avid discussions we went to heated arguments. From our daily shared dose of dinner and who-dun-its, we went to solo meals, and double entendre sitcoms, that repulsed me.

It had never been easy, bringing up a child as a single parent. So i figured the best way to do it, would be to treat her as an adult. She had been five, when her mother chose to walk away from our lives, never to look back again. At first she clung to me, so that i had to take a flexitime job, before i abandoned it altogether, and discovered my calling in writing. From sleeping to the sound of the clatter of my keyboard, she grew to reading my drafts, over my shoulder. From baby, she bloomed to child, then teen. My best friend and worst critic, i lost to the vagaries of hormonal surges.

I left the home, after she did, going for a short walk to clear my head, and air my thoughts. These days, i had a lot of time, to catch up with my writing, which was good and bad. Good, because it was what i did for a living. Bad because, it was not as satisfying any more. My thoughts meandered around how i needed to take a "chill pill" as she put it, this vulnerable rebel who lived in my daughter's body these days. Yes, i had to learn to let go. My fledgeling was ready to fly the nest.

I entered the home to soft sobs, that came from the vicinity of the sofa. My heart skipping a beat, i touched her shoulder, "Want to tell me, what happened ?" With a sob, she sat up, then burst into tears. head buried into my stomach, she mumbled something that sounded like, " I've got it. I've got the scholarship to the institute." My heart did the sinking act once again. We had filled the forms together, for the two year course offered by the Institute of Journalism, Australia. Catch 22, situation for me, because much as i loved the thought of her following in my footsteps, i was not prepared to let her go. Not this early, anyway. She was just seventeen. I knew also that it would break her heart if she didn't get the scholarship. It was i who had taught her to dream, to follow her dreams. Ironical then that i should have to pay the price by losing her. Holding her close, unable to speak, i smiled, the tears that sprung to my eyes, betraying my mixed feelings. "I'm so happy for you," I said, when the lump in my throat allowed me to speak. "Go. It's the chance of a lifetime." Wiping the tears from her eyes, she half laughed as she reached to wipe mine. "You are such a cry baby, dad. Boys are not supposed to burst into tears at the drop of a hat."  True, but then, we'd laughed together as much as we had cried.

When my wife had left us for good, and a small hand had reached up to wipe my nose with a tissue, before planting a small kiss on it, i"d cried. The time when her best friend had moved from town, she had cried and we had drowned her sorrows in ice cream, two whole tubs of it. When i took her puddle hopping in the rains for the first time, we had laughed in  shared delight, when she had helped an old blind beggar, across the street, i beamed with pride. When i lay sick and shivering with malaria,  she had, against her grandmother's advice, sat beside my bed the entire night. When the first pizza that i made, got burnt, she solemnly ate the crust, declaring it to be the best ever, how she always praised my efforts at cooking, no matter what it tasted like.

How could i ever let her go.

The next two days were quiet. I retreated into my own world. Grieving at my loneliness, even before she had left. Worrying about how young and impressionable she still was. From her room came the furious clacking of the keyboard. Finally she emerged. "It's done, dad. I've confirmed my applications. For the Institute of Jounalism. Banglore. Seeing the shocked look on my face, she held up a hand. "I'm not ready to go. Australia's been in the news for all the wrong reasons, and so i've decided, im staying here. " Nothing i could say convinced her otherwise.  I held her close. She had grown stronger and more perceptive too, when i was not looking.