Dad…

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It was mid-session of 10th grade. We had just returned from Dad’s overseas posting and I was applying for admissions to various schools in Delhi. We had a transfer certificate and the rest of the paperwork in place, but it was Grade 10, that dreaded year when board examinations were considered, entirely incorrectly though, as nothing short of herculean milestones. A combination of nerves and a completely different middle school learning made sure I didn’t clear the mandatory entrance tests at two schools. “We don’t admit mid-session in Grade 10 anyway. Why don’t you complete Grade 10th through ‘correspondence’, the third ‘advised’.

I was holding up in front of them. But once in the car, I broke down. Dad, gentle and dignified in front of the school staff, turned into a tiger in the car. “It’s not your fault at all. It’s the school’s loss. How can they behave like this? The education system in this country is so ridiculous. Schools these days are business. Playing with children’s lives!” He kept venting, to my surprise, till I had a smile on my face. And he repeated, like at least five times in that ten-minute vent – “it’s not your fault.”

Those lines stayed with me. And I cleared the next school admission like a breeze.

For Dad, it was never ever my fault.

Bad marks in class test? Dad would say: “Teachers these days! They just don’t know how to teach children. Only create pressure.”  

Can’t finish milk or tiffin? Dad’s solution: “Elder sister will help you hide it; we’ll find a way so mom doesn’t get to know, and you don’t get scolded.”

That moment I was going away with my husband right after getting married. Dad: “You’re a very brave girl.” When I knew he was the one trying to be brave because I, the apple of his eye, was going to live in my husband’s house now.

Once he came back very late and very tired from office. I had been a very naughty girl all day and mom, understandably, had scolded me. Dad came home and couldn’t see his little girl sad. He had a shower and left for the neighbourhood market, to buy me a doctor set. So he could see the sparkle back in his six year old’s eyes. And yes, the sparkle did come right back.

Love You Dad. Miss You. You Were, Are & Will Remain The Best.