The room is sweltering hot, this awkward silence seems to dominate the room, and all the people in the room seem to have nothing to say to each other, probably because they've never met each other before. Some are trying to make small talk, but the air is heavy with expectation and anxiety.
It is the beginning of a counselling session, counselling for the future. Something like what the character of Ewan McGregor- Mark Renton, in Trainspotting said- "Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a starter home. Choose dental insurance, leisure wear and matching luggage. Choose your future. But why would anyone want to do a thing like that?"
Well, turns out lot of us have to choose life, because unlike Mark Renton, most of us don't want to fall back upon a euphoric heroin-addicted state of living, although there may be exceptions!
Let's not get diverted. Where were we, yes, it's a counselling session on the brink of beginning. Students have been asked to wait for the appearance of the authorities, in the hot, depressing room described above. I sit there, studying my nails intently, because there really is nothing else to do. Suddenly, a face pokes in the doorway, the figure is holding up a hand and calling someone from the room to go upto him. All heads turn up to see who it is, and the figure is all-too-familiar, the white hair, untucked shirt and trousers, and the belly, courtesy his sedentary sarkari naukri- it is none other than my father! And who is he calling to from across the room...no surprise there, really.
Now all heads in the room follow my agonizing journey from my seat to the door, while I'm thinking, "I thought parents were supposed to wait downstairs, who let him up here?!"
And why did my father call me out of the room, let's say the reason is not worth mentioning. Dads are always too cautious about little things.
After satisfying his curiosity on a minor detail, my dad disappeared. During the counselling session, some of us had the guts to actually start talking to each other, and the task of filling up the forms became considerably less onerous. Suddenly, a voice behind me says-"Hi Dinna!" Well, well, well, it's daddy dearest again, this time wondering how long I would take to fill a single form.(It was 6 pages, back-to-back! 6!!)
There were three fathers, who were hovering around their daughters, and guess what, all of them were Bengalis. I thought, this might be a generalization, maybe any other father would also be there for his daughter, but no...my suspicion turned into a certainity when my new Bengali friend said- "Gosh, Bengali fathers can be so funny! I told my father to stay back home and that I can handle this, but no!"
That's right people, Bengali fathers are not anything if not protective, concerned, anxious, impatient and sometimes plain nosy. And surprisingly, my father is none of these things otherwise. He's very calm and composed, never gets fazed. You know, years of bureaucracy can do that to someone. Just that day he metamorphosed into this anxious, nervous, worried person. This new avatar of his is what my brother calls the "senile Baba". My father!
Maybe the company of other Bengali fathers affected him so! But most probably he was just plain bored. Because the counselling took a gruelling 3 hours to complete. Ordinarily, a very busy man, what could Baba do in the circumstances? He was very sweet, brought me cold water, photocopied some documents, which was my job to do, and solved all my queries accurately :)
"Baba, what's our permanent address?"
"Baba, you won't believe this, they're asking for the village and post office where I was born. Asansol's not a village, what do I write?!"
"Baba, I don't know your monthly income...(pause)...wow, really? I didn't know the 6th Pay Commission could be generous. Do I get a raise in my pocketmoney...?"
I told him- go back to the car, and enjoy the air conditioning. But my selfless, sacrificing father would have none of that. His mysterious disappearances once in a while were when he was walking around the campus in the heat, on the lookout for forms for accomodation. Accomodation
for me. He was also probably reminiscing his days of education in the same campus.
Aren't fathers the best, except when they're frowning so much you think their faces would get set that way... :D
Well, I guess littering the area around the TV with chocolate wrappers, and bottles of water(doesn't chocolate make you very thirsty?) does warrant certain amount of frowning...
But let them frown, all the frowning just disappears when they give you a beautiful smile, when you've done something to make them proud. (Seems a while since I were on the receiving end of "the smile", and the frowning is kind of tipping the scales...)
Anyway, the day was a great success, all thanks to my father. Were it not for his eye for details, fast thinking and meticulous planning, I would probably be wailing my lungs out!
Baba, you're the best.
