An ode to my Daddy

My father's death came as an absolute shock to me; his unexpected death "knocked me for a loop" as they say. I think of daddy almost every day and all through the day as memories that I thought were long forgotten come to life again. It happened again as I set down to write this down. I thought that I would write about the time when I used to wake him up and ask him to rock my son, his beloved grandchild to sleep, while I completed my quota of the much-needed beauty sleep; or write about those days when he was our Mummy too as Ma had come over to Dhaka to visit my granny; or of the time when he had his first stroke, also the first time that I realized my daddy was also human and could feel pain and suffering; or the time when my son was born and daddy became self-appointed nanny – not only for the baby but also for me :-D….too many memories…some just too painful to even pen down here….

After daddy passed away, there were times when I was overcome with sorrow and regret, I still am. But I have to take care of the living now, my son and my mother and so I go on.

I can’t say the usual stuff that you hear people often say as to what a great man so and so was in eulogies and such. My father was not a great man, but he was a good man, a complex man and a flawed man. He was very generous, was always there for my mom, sister and myself and when he was healthy he lived his life fully. He loved my mother, my sister and me as much as he knew how. He was also at times hot headed, impatient, and undisciplined.

He always tried to be the best dad possible. He tried to fulfill each and every wish of his family and often unreasonable demands put forth by yours truly. He loved cooking and would spend most of his time at home cooking up delicious and scrumptious treats for us. For him, we were everything – he would never think twice before sacrificing his own desires, wishes and wants to fulfill some selfish need of his kids (especially me, cos my younger sis has always been the mature and reasonable one in the family)! He loved helping out strangers, and was often naive to take people’s words at their face value.

The last ten years were not good ones for my Dad. He suffered from multiple ischemic strokes, resulting in severe health complications in the form of diabetes mellitus and hypertension, both of which were aggravated due to his allergy to doctors and medical institutions – and he was always uncomfortable :-( He didn't keep his body in great shape and it started to fail him. He went from ayurvedic to homeopathy to herbal therapy to god knows what else - in the hope of finding some miracle cure to recapture his youth, strength and vigor and when this did not happen, he fought depression. In the end he was not even able to eat properly and had to suffer the further indignity of suffering from incontinence. We thought we still had years to go and in the end we found that we had only hours.

I realize now, long after his death, that my daddy was an amazing man. They say that most children go through a stage of feeling superior to their parents, a condition to which Mark Twain once quipped, “When I was a boy of 14 my father was so ignorant that I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be 21, I was astonished at how much the old man had learned in only 7 years.” My father’s expansive talents never afforded me such illusions. I knew that I never measured up to him.

As a child growing up, I held two immutable facts about my father:

1) He was the strongest man alive.

2) He contained a genetic repository of all the world’s knowledge and wisdom.

While my own strength has grown, and my knowledge expanded, my respect and amazement for my father’s wisdom remains unchanged. I still look inside myself and wonder do I share his gifts of generosity, farsightedness, giving without holding back and affecting change in a world today much different than my daddy’s era? Does my son ever think of me as I did of daddy – an individual of courage and love?

My father wasn’t afraid to be himself and taught me how to be independent. He let me lead when I felt strong, and forged ahead when I was too scared. He taught me how to ride a bike, make an omelet, prepare scrumptious pasta and plant a garden. He taught me to stick to my beliefs and see them through.

My father unconditionally put his family first and modeled unceasing selflessness.

THAT was my father, my Daddy … ♥

Today since morning I have been thinking of this soliloquy to Hamlet:
To be, or not to be: that is the question: Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream:

Daddy, I hope you are sleeping and no longer in pain or suffering and if you do dream I hope your dreams are of a daughter who misses you dearly each day and always tried to give you her unconditional love, though she often failed. I love you Daddy and I am sorry that I couldn’t do much to ease your pains and your sufferings or even tell you properly how much I loved you.

Dhaka - land of opportunities or tribulations?

June 11, 2010                                                 Dhaka                                                                   10:33 pm

Dhaka. Yes, today she is going to be the topic of my blog.

I have often wondered as to what is it about Dhaka that her detractors despite criticizing her 24/7, still can't resist the charms of the city, and keep coming back for more and more? Many a foreigner has whined and cried about the ills of the city - the traffic situation, the dearth of public transport, the insecurity of life while traveling in the green CNGs (baby taxis so called because they run on CNG gas as fuel), the lack of sophistication amongst the common man on the streets, the humid and sweltering heat of summer, the pools of dirt and muck lying around in every nook and corner during the rainy season, the ever-rising prices of essential commodities, the bad habit of distorting foreign names of brands/shops/stores and trying to pass it off as the original (!), ... and ... well, the list is endless. I could just go on and on and on.... But that's not the main issue that I want to talk about today, so before I digress further ... let's move on to the main point..which was ... with so many problems, WHY do some people keep returning to this place time and again??? 

Is it because this city with all its negativity, still holds some positive attractions for them? Is it because these very foreigners are valued more here than they would ever be in their own countries? Could the reason possibly be that a handful of dollars go a long way here? Or maybe it is the prestige, respect and status accorded to their lighter and fairer skin color? Yes, dear reader, u read me right...here in Bangladesh and not only in Dhaka but nationwide, a lighter, fairer skin tone accords you an enviable esteemed position cos Bangladeshis (and most people from the developing nations) are often suckers for white skin! {Anyways, here I digress again!}. Mind you, I am not talking about the white skin acquired by using Fair & Lovely and similar beauty creams, but the skin tone acquired as a natural deficiency of melanin :-D And here one thought that S.Asians had eventually been freed from the effects of the British Rule!!!

Anyways, Dhaka is one such place where simply being a foreigner (often with a lighter skin tone) is enough to guarantee you awe and admiration from most quarters. This is highly evident in the discrepancy of remuneration (in almost all sectors) amongst equally qualified incumbents...where the only difference is usu. in the origin and nationality! Even in cases where the local incumbent may be more qualified and a better contender, s/he is often surpassed by the foreign candidate...because having a foreigner as an employee is presumed to add more value and esteem to the organization (!)

I know what you might be thinking right now, that poor lil me might have had to bear the brunt of being a non-foreigner and  hence the rambling....well dear friend (or foe :-P) sadly (for you) nothing as dramatic has happened yet in my own life, but what irks me and eventually led to this blog today is .... the constant criticism and derision evident in the musings/acts/behaviors of the foreigner, while s/he goes about enjoying all that the city has to offer them in terms of respect, status, facilities, admiration, blah, blah, blah...and all because they don't belong here. And instead of being thankful for all this, what do they do in return for the city - shout out their disdain and make a complete mockery of her short-comings! So to all such people out there ... to earn respect you have to learn to give respect, and despite what you might think, there are still many people out there who CAN and DO see through your idiosyncrasies and often tend to ignore it, not because they approve of it, but because they think U R JUST NOT WORTH THE EXPLANATION! So please, if Dhaka bugs you so much, then LEAVE...no one's stopping you ... except you yourself :-D  

And just for the record, all you people out there reading this, kindly refrain from assuming that I am in love with Dhaka, because in reality I am not. However unlike certain others, I don't believe in putting the city down ever chance I get, cos I know that a'int cool or even justified! Despite all her negative aspects, there are many good things too that Dhaka has to offer - but one needs eyes, common-sense and the capability to feel and acknowledge gratitude to figure that out :-P