Father, dearest

Finally, the evening arrived. I was firmly told by the women not to come into the green room and moral support was provided by family and friends, some of whom had walked this plank before us. Leela Samson’s firm hand on the wheel steadied us and when the curtain went up it was magical. The invocatory prayer soothed everyone and a middle-aged father was wonder struck. Was that my daughter standing demurely by her guru?

And when Leela blessed the novice and presented her with the ghungroos, I realised that acerbic fathers, too, can get misty-eyed and experience a lump in the throat. Fingers crossed we sat through the performance while madam, after a hesitant start before a packed auditorium. Every time she balanced herself on one leg as the composition warranted, one froze. Would she totter? Did she take her multi-vitamins today…silly thoughts. Finally it was over. The ovation to guru and student was gratifying.

My much relieved daughter did her reverential thanks to her guru and other elders and was finally back to her chirpy self. Teachers from school, friends from college, they all greeted her. Suddenly, she screeched with delight: “Amma, aap aagayi?” From the balcony, and our past, emerged 70-year-old Nirmal — our cleaning lady who had literally seen our daughter grow from the day she was born. The elderly woman came forward and hugged my daughter. “Baby, ham ko bahut accha laga.” She then added. “I have been in Dilli since aazadi, but I have visited such a big auditorium before. I had the invitation card and got right in. I am going to keep it to remember you.”

My objection to the Hindi cards seemed so petty. I knew that my late father, a Gandhian to the core, was smiling from somewhere. For me, it was time to light that much postponed cigar and growl again.