Man’s best friend…

My daughter has a new superhero. Or super heroine. Every night I tell Myra stories of this super heroine and she is all ears, picking every word, wide eyed, watching the pictures unfold as I tell her one of the many adventures of Zeboo. Yes, Zeboo, my pet dog, my friend, my sister.

Years ago, eighteen years to be precise, I fell in love with the world’s most adorable puppy. It was love at first sight for me. As I was walking up to my friend Prashant’s room, there by the stairway, Lucy, his cute Spitz, and Ricky, his giant Alsatian, sat with their litter. Lucy was fiercely protective of her pups. Seven of them, all white and brown, and Zeboo slept her time away. The next day I returned to see her, sleeping again, curled up by her mom. As much I hated taking her away from her Lucy, I was thrilled that Zeboo was going to be with us.

Zeboo was immediately accepted in the family, she didn’t have to try hard, the moment she looked at you with those puppy eyes, you would fall. Then began her many adventures, growing up in a over-protective family. It helped her that we lived on the ground floor, and has the whole courtyard and mom’s garden to play in. For a untrained canine, she was immaculately well behaved. She never messed up the house; she would always use the bathroom, always ate in her bowl, slept in her rug and knew all the communication skills well.

She knew the good guys from the bad, and always reserved her fiercest barks for the real nasty guys. And she knew friends. She could be as playful as she could be shut off. And then she did all the cute stuff like chasing sparrows and crows, running after the cricket ball and growling if anybody wanted it from us. She even played cricket with us three brothers. She’d ride on us on the bike, she would pressurise my dad for the walk every night, even if it was raining. Yes, she could be pushy. And she could be a vegetarian for days at end, devouring tomatoes, cucumbers and bananas. She’d stay up late in the night till she was convinced that there was nobody coming to harm us and then snuggle up close with one of us in our beds.  

Of the many stories that I tell Myra about Zeboo, the one she has decided to call “Zeboo and the dirty boy”, the one where she fought a boy bravely who had broken our window pane with a cricket ball and snatched it away from him. The other one is “Zeboo and the crow” where, Zeboo chases the crow that is damaging mom’s garden. And when I tell her “Zeboo and the doctor”, Myra is pained because the doctor gives her a big injection. She looks forward to a story every night, and it is not difficult for me to narrate one to her, because Zeboo has had so many wonderful tales.

Zeboo left us six years back, before my daughter was born. And every time I saw Zeboo’s photograph, or watch a canine movie, I can’t help having tears in my eyes thinking that she is no more with us.

But she is there; she’s still with us. She belongs here. And she lives on. In the stories I tell Myra, and in Myra’s heart.

Sports Day!

The last time I was at a Sports Day in school, I was sitting at the back of a giant population of kids in my school, completely disinterested in what was happening. There were some kids running around trying for a bunch of medals, God know why, is what I thought then. Obviously, no parents were there to cheer them ’cause all this was quite frivolous then. Those were the times and then there are times like now. Schools celebrate Sports Day as some huge annual gathering of kids and parents. It is a big big event, one that is never to be missed by parents.

I attended sports day at my daughter’s school on Saturday, and it was an experience in itself. Parents were warned to come in by 8 am (yawn), and take their seats immediately after handing their kids to the teachers. Another stern warning was that no parents should be seen near the tracks or the sports day would be called off. Diligently, we landed there at 8 am, and dropped out little tot to prepare for her race. We then took our place in the parent’s shamiana, right by the tracks for a good view. The kids – ages 2.5-3.3 years – are a fantastic way of enjoying. Their overpowering sense of non competitiveness is actually so very cute. Kids running with their hands in the pocket {mine ;-)}, kids seeing their parents and stopping to wave, the kid who is leading suddenly feels lonely and lets other catch up by waiting for the mid track, kids who kept running cause they didn’t know the concept of the finish line… Amazing!!! The parents, too bonded very well cheering one and all and the spirit of any competition that they would have harboured evaporated immediately. The parent’s races were again so overtaken by this spirit that people were actually enjoying the prospect of just the running. Yours truly finished the race, with a tumble on the ground in the mass of fathers running for their kids! And the mother didn’t hear the whistle and hence ended up a on the starting block!

But the gem is what my daughter Myra said to me after we got home. When I asked her why she didn’t run fast, she said, “No pappa, you were not there, you didn’t see me running, I won the race”. Suddenly it dawned on me, that for her, it’s the spirit of taking part, not competing is what I need to grow in her. “Yes” I said “You did, my baby, you won”.

A man in a woman’s world!

 

I want to concede that my life is dominated by women. There is not a single decision I make that does not take the aid of a woman. It doesn’t make a pretty picture, but I have come to terms with this. Now, before you think that I am a metrosexual, let me correct you. I am not. I might be the new breed called Ubersexual. Maybe, but just partly. But I am still in the evolution phase. I mean, if there is a evolution curve for ubersexuals, I might just be making it past the caveman era!

 

Anyways, coming back, women rule my life. At home, work, in my social circle – everywhere. Here’s how –

 

Mom – Need I say anything? From the education I have to the wife I have, she’s been the one who’s called the shots. Its a pity that my failures to rise up in life cannot equate her to a status of being a Jijamata to a Shivaji. Sob!

 

Wife – Thanks for everything dear! (hope dinner is happening tonight, see I was nice to you!)

 

Daughter – Am the perfect rag doll for Myra; as Megs calls it. (This part – the rag doll – I love!)

 

Work – Working in a gender neutral organisation is a different experience. My boss is a woman, my boss’ boss is a woman, my ex-boss was a woman, my team has more women than men! My partner on a cross departmental project is a woman; my agency is led by a woman. Whew! Such is life. No country for old men!

 

And it’s just not me. Men are at the shallow end of the pool today when it comes to power. I have proof. I did a quick dipstick (not lipstick, dodo!) to figure out what it meant to be a man in today’s world. I asked a few women and men on what they thought were the 3 manliness qualities today.

 

The findings were –

 

My sense is as below –

 

Women are smart. Yes, smarter than men. They are naturally programmed. The figure above tells us that they are the bosses. Men have been tuned by the women. See, the percentage of women who think it is a sign of manliness to be sensitive is same as the percentage of men! Sensitive??!! Couple of decades earlier, a sensitive man would be known as a sissy. Seesee what I mean!! Actually, I don’t know how much to make of these findings, let me know if you see any sense in it.

Confessions of a first time father…

This too is edited from one of my earlier posts on my old but now redundant blog!

That’s me! My daughter was born on almost three years back in October, 2005. After months of speculation and desiring a daughter, God finally made me the happiest guy around. Those nine months have been a roller coaster, more for me than Megs, my wife. I was the one who panicked at every small thing. And Megs has our good friend Ash Mo to blame. She thinks that he has drilled the concept of panicking in my otherwise ok head. But anyways, she has her right of opinion, and I am nobody to challenge that, hence I agree. You would too, if you were married to Megs. There’s no other way!!!

Anyways, there have been a lot of firsts in these months. First time Megs told me we were expecting a child was sometime in Feb, I guess. I had taken half day off from work and was taking a nap, when she gently woke me up and told me of the home test results. I was so happy; tears welled up in my eyes. That day, I guess we would have entered the Guinness book for the world’s best hug, but no one was watching! Old wives tales suggest that we don’t reveal this for three months, but we just had to tell Ash and Trups Mo about this. So we told them and then Ash sat me down and gave me the rundown on how to take and give tension! According to him it’s our right to panic and behave like that.

Time passed fairly quickly and before long Megs was making trips with her mom to finalise the hospital and she narrowed down on one. For some reason she asked me to have a look at it before they finalized it. Taking advantage of her asking me for once, I made a few grumbling noises on some miscellaneous non existing issues. I say non-existing because they didn’t exist in her mind. And as already pointed out I had to agree. Throughout the pregnancy, Megs was fed with stories and reasons on why she is going to have a boy. In fact a renowned astrologer whom she bumped into took a long look at her face and predicted that she was going to have a boy. Contrary to Megs, I was convinced I was having a daughter. (I‘d like to meet that man again and laugh at him!!).

Myra decided to make a grand entry into this world 5 days before the scheduled date. One day Megs was shopping at Food Bazaar and that’s when she had to be taken to the hospital and I was promptly called and told that the baby was ready. I was in office and was planning to be there till about 10 that night. But I had to cut short my plans and make a dash for hospital. I made it in 40 minutes flat from Worli to 4 Bunglows at 8.30 in the night. Hey does anybody clock these timings??

Anyways I was hanging outside the hospital trying very hard to behave like a expectant father, pace up and down and smoke cigarettes. And then when we heard it was a girl, I went in and saw this tiny little thing trying to understand where she was and why there was so much noise and light around. The feeling was overwhelming. I will never forget the first time I saw my daughter. Its there stuck in my mind for eternity. The first time I held her was on my birthday a week later, the first time I changed nappies was another week later, and the first time I patted her to sweet slumber on my lap was the same day. Its been a fantastic three years, with every day bringing greater joys watching Myra grow. But nothing compares to the moment when she looked at me directly in the eye and gave me the most wonderful, beautiful and cutest toothless smile in the world!