Dear Dadda

Dear Dadda,

It feels strange writing to you but I have been feeling like doing so all through today. Mamma and you are asleep in your room and I’m in Amber’s new room. Amber’s room feels unusual but nice. The cupboards are ready but the paint is not on the walls yet. I miss my room and I hope it’s ready soon. I’ve written five sentences and I’ve used “feel” in different forms thrice already. I “feel” a lot right now but I don’t know what I really feel cause it’s a lot of different feelings.

I was thinking back to the time when I was little. I would often sit on your shoulders. I felt like a princess up there. That was the best place for me, on my Dadda’s shoulders. Nothing came close.

I also miss sleeping in-between Mamma and you. Remember how I couldn’t sleep till you tickled my back? I loved it! Why did I have to grow up?

You know what I also miss? Your 1970’s model Canary yellow Royal Enfield. I miss sitting on the tank right under your chin. I would open my mouth and stick my tongue out till it was completely dry and then pull it back into my mouth again. It was fun. Nothing can compare to that feeling.

Ohh and your shendi. You were one cool dad. I remember sitting on your back and platting your shendi for you. Speaking of which, I miss you doing my hair for me. I loved it when you blow-dried my hair for me, when you borrowed Nana’s curlers and made my limp hair curly or when you used the crinkler to give my hair a boost of volume.

I think you’re one of the reasons I’m slightly fashion conscious. All those wonderful clothes and shoes you bought me from your trips abroad when I was a child. You shouldn’t complain now you know. You should have known you'll have huge bills coming your way.

Do you know who I got my first make up lessons from? It was from you and not Mamma. I had applied two circular blotches of colour on my cheeks. You walked in on me and instead of shouting at me for wasting Mamma’s expensive make up you did quite the opposite. You told me that I need to apply the rouge on the “apple of my cheeks”. After wiping the colour off my cheeks (I think I looked like a clown but I’m not really sure) you applied the rouge in circular motions on my cheekbones. My first make up tip, one I’ll never forget.

I often think about how we incubated caterpillars. We watched them cocoon and then transform into butterflies and also how we looked for garden lizard eggs and incubated them as well. I got over my fright of lizards because of that. Speaking of reptiles, I remember when we shifted to the house we currently live in, we frequently had all kinds of snakes in our garden. You would catch them and then we would then go to the safe zone in Yehoor and release them back into the wild. Maybe that’s why I’m a Vegetarian, Dadda. We saved so many animals, birds and reptiles when I young. How could I not possibly turn to Vegetarianism?

I think I got my compulsiveness from you. Everything needs to be perfect – Your clothes, your shoes, your writing, everything! I remember we had come to visit you in Singapore once and one of the cleaning ladies at the hotel told Mamma, “You should be very proud. Your husband is very neat. We have nothing to clean in his room. He even does his own bed.” I didn’t get what the big deal was then, but now I do.

One incident I will never forget is the “pigeon incident”. How could you make me do that Dadda?! You even asked me to cover my head with a dupatta so no one would recognise me. How?! I would never do it now but I did it then. I though to myself, "If Dadda says no one will recognise me then no one will." We spoke about it a week ago and we had a good laugh. Embarrassing “pigeon incident” or not, I don’t think my childhood was anything short of amazing.

I really admire the fact that you nearly never laid a finger on me. The only time was when i drew a scenery with chalk on your brand new wooden almirah. You chased me all around the bungalow with a hanger. I was a fast kid and when you finally got to me you landed the hanger on my arm but with no impact whatsoever. I don’t know how you did it but I was not hurt in the least. I just remember never associating chalk with wood ever again.

Things were going great with us father – daughter duo and then I hit puberty and got all radical on you. You called me rebellious – which I was and that kind of pushed me closer to the brink. I started to think we didn’t get along and in time I believed it.

I’m really sorry for being mean Dadda but I considered myself as a revolutionary in my own right. I had so many question about life and you told me that I was getting way ahead of myself. I began to think you were a hardcore traditionalist and thought that value systems and conformity would only pull me down. I don’t regret thinking the way I did but I wish I were a little more thoughtful towards your feelings.

I don’t know where this letter is going but I think I miss you Dadda. I don’t know if I’ll ever give this letter to you or not. For now I think I’ll let it float around in cyberspace.

We have been cordial Dadda but I miss being your little girl. I miss my throne on your strong shoulders.

Love you Dadda,

Tanu.