For you Daddy

Barcelona, Spain

 You were our anchor,

You were our rock

The years together formed,

That feelings never get lost 

Feelings of love 

That we feel for you..

They stay in the Universe,

Way after you

Feelings remain locked in our

Deepest insides.

A heart of love,

A gut of fire,

The imaginary world where you are beckoned when I desire.

My Daddy you were and will always be,

The greatest example of how a person can be free,

You dedicated your life to doing something good,

You are still a symbol of sincere brotherhood 

You did so much to take so few,

You did out of duty,

Not because you wanted the glory 

To you which you thought was due…

You are and were my biggest

Star,

You are so near 

Even if you’re far

Today is my Dad’s 🎁 birthday…even though he passed 19 years back, I remember him a lot. 

Similar posts here

https://lekhawrites.blogspot.com/2016/04/my-daddy-strongest.html
 

https://lekhawrites.blogspot.com/2012/07/my-first-hero.html

https://lekhawrites.blogspot.com/2012/07/no-one-like-parents.html

 

The Chronicles of the youngest Child - Part 3

Pic courtesy S. Libert 

When I was about five years old, I had gone with my parents to our native village. This was a month or so of very hot summer vacations. I was the youngest of four children and was born very late to my parents. Even though I always felt I didn't have any luxuries growing up, I know I was very lucky compared to my older siblings.

During our vacations we stayed at the homes of our relatives who lived all over the state of Kerala. I remember being asked to walk with my parents in the hot sun. For some reason, I was very cranky. Probably thirst, hunger, the heat and the travelling had gotten to me. I was walking alongside my father and my mother was a few meters behind us. All of us were sweating a lot. The heat was omnipresent and there seemed to be no cool, shaded area on our path. 

Suddenly, I started feeling really upset and asked my father how far we needed to go. He was someone who was very calm and he smiled and said, "not far". I continued walking for what seemed to me like an eternity. I caught up with my father and asked, "can we talk a bus?". He replied, "We are nearly there". We walked on. I turned to look at my mother, who was very slow and probably felt as hot as me. I thought of walking back to her and trying to get her to find a faster solution. Even though I was very young, I knew that my father would decide what we were to do at that moment. I repeated pleading, " Can we take an auto-rickshaw?". I was only five years old, but I knew my parents never took any public transport that cost a lot of money. I don't remember getting into auto-rickshaws as much as getting into trains and buses. 

As expected my father said "No". There it came, the No. I knew that once my father said No, he rarely ever gave in. I knew that I had lost my chance of getting what I wanted. On top of that the heat was now unbearable. In normal circumstances, I would have just not asked him anything anymore. But I found myself in this fit of rage, hunger, tiredness and overall uncontrollable helplessness. I started throwing a tantrum. I jumped up and down on the side of the road. I screamed on top of my lungs. I went on for long enough for my mother to reach my father and me. My father had not stopped walking, he just had slowed down, turned around, looked at me once and not said or done anything. 

I was now in a fatigued state of having given out the final drops of energy that were left in me. I asked my father, sobbing, "Can you at least carry me?". He didn't say anything. He continued walking. I dragged myself behind him. The world was so unjust, my daddy is ignoring me. I now felt that the top of my dress was wet with a mix of sweat and my tears. I had stopped wailing, I was just sobbing, there were sad sniffles in between each breath. I asked him to hold my hand. He didn't. I started wailing again.

We were now on the street near my uncle's home. My uncle's family lived in an independent house which had a porch which led to a front door. But on the side, there was a stairway that led up to the terrace of the home. When we reach the gate, here, my dad held my hand and firmly led me upwards towards the terrace. My aunt had noticed us enter. She saw my face all shrivelled and my father's silent and stern look. She sort of understood something was amiss and started following us upwards. I looked back towards her and beyond. I saw my mother enter the gate of the property. She looked at me. I didn't think she would follow us up as she was already exhausted. 

I was now crying with a sort of fear and foreboding. I wanted to run free into my aunt's arms. But when we went upstairs I knew I was alone in this. No one would be able to help me. My father had been the father figure for everyone in our family. He had brought up even my uncle. I saw my father switch on a tap at the side of the terrace. He looked at me and I looked at him, howling. He filled the bucket and switched off the tap. 

I was unprepared for what was going to happen next. My father lifted the bucket of water and poured its contents all over me. I stopped crying. I felt cool and nice. I was stunned. My father walked away into the house and I felt my aunt’s arms around me. All was calm again.

Note :- I would like to add that I never felt that any of the punishments my parents ever gave me were traumatic. Their intention was very clear and my naughtiness was constantly at heads with their idea of proper behaviour. I share these stories with a lot of love for my parents.  

Liked this story

Read Part 5 here The Chronicles of the youngest Child - Part 5 - Enacting our real life personas

Read Part 4 here The Chronicles of the youngest Child - Part 4- Getting 3rd Rank

Read Part 2 of this series here https://lekhawrites.blogspot.com/2025/03/the-chronicles-of-youngest-child-part-2.html

Read Part 1 of this series here https://lekhawrites.blogspot.com/2025/03/the-chronicles-of-youngest-child-part-1.html

The Chronicles of the youngest Child - Part 2 - Amma goes missing

Somewhere in France
Pic courtesy B. Libert

 In my childhood most of the ladies of the house didn’t work. It was no different in my home in Mumbai. My Mummy stayed at home and my Daddy went to office. I had learnt about their youth as I started asking questions to them about where they came from. I had a mental image about my father being very able, social and the one who handled the outside world well. At the same time, my mother who was the whole day at home, was an amazing homemaker. I knew that as every meal was made with love, every part of our home was clean and her presence gave us a sense of security. For many things, I thought of them both as equal. But, the reality was, I didn’t have many examples of their roles being reversed. I had never seen mother travel alone or go and handle any bank or school work. I had not seen my Daddy cook or clean the house. Their roles were well defined and consequently, we as spectators had certain ideas in our heads.

One day, I was travelling back from a party with my parents. It was around 10pm and we were heading back home by the local train. Usually, women and children travel back by the ladies compartments that are present in two parts of each train. One is situated in the middle of the train and one at the end. However, those days, at 10pm, the compartment in the middle of the train became a general compartment to allow for men too. 

We reached the platform and found ourselves standing at the opposite end to the ladies. Frankly speaking, the general compartment was not very crowded, but getting into the train was difficult. Too many people were blocking the area at the entry, I noticed , while boarding the train just after my father. Soon enough, the train started and I turned behind to look for my mother. There were several people there, but no Mummy. I felt this deep fear while I kept looking for her. “Mummy’s not here Daddy!”, I said loudly. My father was very calm. He always treated every situation without any quick reactions. He told me to be calm and that we would find my mother together. We got off at the next stop, while our final destination was actually five stops away. 

I was slightly upset that he didn’t even look worried. When we got off at the next station, we went to the Station Master’s office. We got the person on duty to make an announcement that stated my mother’s name and asked her to come join her family at the station where the announcement was being done. 

While waiting there for those difficult and long 20 minutes, I was very scared. I kept looking at the door hoping to see her come in. However, after the half hour was up, my father asked me to follow him and we took one of the next trains back home. I spent all the time back home aboard  that train,  worried and with a knot building up in my tummy.  

When we got off at our station, we had still to take a bus to reach our home. At that moment, I remembered that my mother never carried a handbag. I didn’t know if she had some cash or small change stuffed in her clothing. Some women carry their change and cash in small purses that they smartly hide either in their blouses or the material of their saris.

This increased my worry and on the route back home, I kept looking out of the window searching for her on the streets. However, this was of no use as I couldn’t really see everything in the darkness.

The moment we reached our building, I ran up the stairs, entered my house and saw my brothers and sister there and searched for my mother. She wasn’t home and I started crying and tearily told them what had happened. My brothers immediately left the apartment together taking the motorbike we owned to go search for our mother.

Sometime passed and while I was being consoled by my sister and father, one of my brothers reached home. My mother had apparently entered the first train that my father and I had gotten into. The only thing that happened was, since the door was too crowded, she climbed into the compartment using the next door which had more space for her to enter. She reached our destination stop easily and quickly. But since she didn’t have any cash and those were the days that transactions happened only with cash, she couldn’t take the bus. 

They found my mother walking home slowly, wondering all this time how we had got lost.

Like what you read? you can listen to me read out this story on Spotify or apple in 'Lekha writes, then reads'. or here https://creators.spotify.com/pod/profile/lwbrussels/episodes/The-Chronicles-of-the-youngest-Child---Amma-goes-missing-e37tkv4

Did you like this read? 

Find the Part 1 here https://lekhawrites.blogspot.com/2025/03/the-chronicles-of-youngest-child-part-1.html

Find the Part 3 here https://lekhawrites.blogspot.com/2025/04/the-chronicles-of-youngest-child-part-3.html

#thechroniclesoftheyoungestchild #olderparents #oldersiblings #largefamilies #pamperedfourthkid 

My Daddy strongest!

Stuck with me for now and forever,

Being a part of you is cherished and a treasure

The man you were, was matched to few

So much we learned then and the findings grew,

Your heart was of gold,

Your skin silken weave

Even your departure,

taught me consciousness while I grieve

For us you were a man of action,

A hero on earth, doing his duties with passion

You taught us so much, You gave us such freedom

Adjusting to life constantly was normal in your kingdom

Cause you were our king, who had us enslaved

with your love and softness, you only gave

Grateful we are for who we are now

Our core is strong as you must have wanted and how!

You show us how a true parent should be,

Even all these years later, Im glad your hand constructed me.

(this poem has been written today, the day my late father would have been 86. He is still sorely missed by his four children )

My first Hero

The first hero in any girl's life is her father. I am no exception to this fact.
In fact, three years after my father expired on his death anniversary I wrote my first spontaneous poem. It was for him, about him and a hope to reach out in some way, anyway possible. Its crazy that no matter how old you are, when you place yourself in relation to your parents you feel like a tiny kid again.


Here is my poem,


Daddy

He was there since we were born,

Woke us up daily with a song,

Mone, Mollu, ambili kutty

made us feel so strong and pretty...

He was a man without whom I couldnt sleep,

Was always busy waiting with a leap

to hold him tight and have the same

given back to me while he called my name...

Lovely daddy, how I miss you,

Everyday I want to kiss you

Even if three years have gone,

You have been replaced by none

In my heart you will stay,

Everyday I will continue to pray

That you live in me for all life long

So that I can sing this song

Mollu mollu ambili kutty

I hope to make them feel strong and pretty ......