When we were scouting for a name to bestow upon our firstborn, a very close friend of mine remarked - "Why bother? His pals are gonna call him something embarrassing anyway." Yea, nicknames. Sometimes embarrassing. Sometimes funny. And almost always makes you wonder "where did THAT come from?" Because each nickname is a unique story. A celebration of one very personal relationship. I'm not talking about those nicknames widely used, but the special ones. The one nickname that only one person (or a close group) calls you by. The one nickname that you feel inherently protective towards. The one nickname that you wouldn't allow anyone else to utter.
It's not the same with our "real" names. We all dream that our name will one-day spread wide and far. We all want our name to live on in history forever. And to achieve so, we spend a lifetime doing what they call "making a name for ourselves". But how about relishing the nicknames, instead? How about cherishing them, appreciating them, celebrating them? How about spending time with that one person (or that close group) who simply refuses to remember what your actual name is? Because your name may very well be forever, but your nickname lasts only as long as the other person does.
---
A very close friend of my dad passed away today. He was the only one in their group who called dad "Johnny!" I always assumed that's an intentionally corrupted form of my dad's name. Never really asked. Or even if I had, never really got an answer. I'd like to believe there's a little story hidden there, from back when they were in college. I guess I'll never find out. While speaking to dad over the phone, a few hours ago, he tells me - "Aar keu konodin aamay Johnny bole dakbe na" (Nobody will ever call me Johnny again).
Thursday, November 21, 2019
Friday, June 07, 2019
Love Multiplies...
There will be a day
Long after you've gone
When everything that you called yours
Will be gone too.
Everything you bought
Everything you built
Every cat dog human you ever loved
Will be gone too.
Every word you wrote
Every note you sang
Every reason that made you once smile
Will be gone too.
Time will engulf
Everything around you
And every tiny proof that you did exist
Will be gone too.
But on that day
Long after you've gone
Only the love that you gave out
Will be alive.
Because everything else dies
Love multiplies.
Long after you've gone
When everything that you called yours
Will be gone too.
Everything you bought
Everything you built
Every cat dog human you ever loved
Will be gone too.
Every word you wrote
Every note you sang
Every reason that made you once smile
Will be gone too.
Time will engulf
Everything around you
And every tiny proof that you did exist
Will be gone too.
But on that day
Long after you've gone
Only the love that you gave out
Will be alive.
Because everything else dies
Love multiplies.
Sunday, May 19, 2019
One Month
Ushno turns one month old today. And in this one month, I have been asked umpteen times by almost everybody I've spoken to - how does it feel to be a father? And the response has always been the same - it hasn't sunk in yet. Maybe because I don't share my physical space with both mother and child. Maybe because I hardly spent any time bonding with the baby, before I rushed back to Pune. My life here has been exactly the same as it was before. I spend five days working and two sleeping. I haven't had to drastically modify that routine in order to accommodate feeding and changing times. As the biological father, I have done absolutely nothing.
I remember an old friend of mine, when I told him we are expecting, had said "there's no feeling of pure love and joy like the first time you hold your own baby". Sadly, I didn't experience that. The first time I held Ushno, the only feeling I had was of pure terror. The only thought I had was - don't drop him don't drop him. Over the next seven days that I was there, that specific fear did go away, only to be replaced in the weeks that followed by a deeper more persistent thought - what exactly does a father do?
Times have changed. Earlier, societal norms dictated that the father's job was only to be a protector and provider. But now, I'm sure his mother is more than capable of being the breadwinner AND the primary caregiver. Which basically means, I am obsolete. Like a home landline. You need one as proof of residence or something, but no-one actually uses it. Some of you might chuckle at that description, but trust me, it's just an attempt to cover up the abject trepidation of being actually useless.
And so, in the absence of having to do anything worthwhile, I spent the past one month doing the only thing that I do best. Reading. I read the articles on how the presence of an involved father can impact the child's emotional and social development. I read the studies that say paternal engagement leads to emotionally secure children, which in turn develops the confidence in them to go explore their surroundings. I read the advice columns. I read the instructions manual. But let's be honest, cramming all the theoretical knowledge in the world doesn't really make someone a good father. Which is probably why they're called hands-on dads. C'mon, ask me again - how does it feel to be a father?
Ushno, I hope someday you get to read this. The thing is, when you're old enough to understand all of this, there are chances I may not be around. On that day, I want you to know that while you were struggling to make sense of this new world, I was a struggling one-month old too. Shine on, you faraway angel.
I remember an old friend of mine, when I told him we are expecting, had said "there's no feeling of pure love and joy like the first time you hold your own baby". Sadly, I didn't experience that. The first time I held Ushno, the only feeling I had was of pure terror. The only thought I had was - don't drop him don't drop him. Over the next seven days that I was there, that specific fear did go away, only to be replaced in the weeks that followed by a deeper more persistent thought - what exactly does a father do?
Times have changed. Earlier, societal norms dictated that the father's job was only to be a protector and provider. But now, I'm sure his mother is more than capable of being the breadwinner AND the primary caregiver. Which basically means, I am obsolete. Like a home landline. You need one as proof of residence or something, but no-one actually uses it. Some of you might chuckle at that description, but trust me, it's just an attempt to cover up the abject trepidation of being actually useless.
And so, in the absence of having to do anything worthwhile, I spent the past one month doing the only thing that I do best. Reading. I read the articles on how the presence of an involved father can impact the child's emotional and social development. I read the studies that say paternal engagement leads to emotionally secure children, which in turn develops the confidence in them to go explore their surroundings. I read the advice columns. I read the instructions manual. But let's be honest, cramming all the theoretical knowledge in the world doesn't really make someone a good father. Which is probably why they're called hands-on dads. C'mon, ask me again - how does it feel to be a father?
Ushno, I hope someday you get to read this. The thing is, when you're old enough to understand all of this, there are chances I may not be around. On that day, I want you to know that while you were struggling to make sense of this new world, I was a struggling one-month old too. Shine on, you faraway angel.
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