tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-88786354033451943072024-03-24T10:28:39.555-07:00Adventures in FatherhoodSamyakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01604898080407059558noreply@blogger.comBlogger140125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8878635403345194307.post-16395523328042574792024-03-20T17:37:00.000-07:002024-03-20T17:37:40.723-07:00Wisdom of a Dolt<p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Beckett: Not my problem!</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Me: When will it be your problem?</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Beckett: When I’m a dolt!</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Me: Heh??</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Beckett: A Dolt! Like You.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Me (miffed): What?</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Beckett: A Dolt! Grown up! Like you!</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Me: Adult? Ahh..</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Beckett: Yes.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Me: (So much life wisdom in this exchange) <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span> </span></p>Samyakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01604898080407059558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8878635403345194307.post-86113816804485428482024-03-04T07:25:00.000-08:002024-03-04T07:25:18.397-08:00Its Okay - Finch Masterclass<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I have a sand clock on my table that Finch finds amusing. Turning it over is one of her consistent requests whenever she comes to my den to bug me while I'm working. I always oblige and then both of us, wide-eyed, look at the grains of sand falling down, one by one, gradually forming concentric circles; she marveling at the precision of the patterns being created by these insignificant particles; me philosophizing what their falling signifies.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Today, she tried to grab the sand clock and it fell over. No damage done. But the pedantic father in me wanted to use this as a teaching moment. So I picked up the sand clock and asked her,</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'તુટી જાય, બધી રેતી ઢોળાઇ જાય, તો આપણે શું કરવાનું?' (What are we to do if it breaks, and the sand falls all over?). I was hoping she would say I'll be careful or something to that effect.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Instead, the two & half year old critter, just look back at me and said, કાંઈ 'નઈ પપ્પા, It's Okay કહેવાનું!' (Nothing Pappa, we should say It's Okay!).</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Naturally, my jaw drop was a sight to behold. Of course my 80s-socialist-India conditioned brain had difficulty fathoming the simplicity of this American-abundance-as-default conditioned response.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Today's kids I Tell You! </span> </span></p>Samyakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01604898080407059558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8878635403345194307.post-8631748826563220792024-02-28T19:51:00.000-08:002024-02-28T19:51:46.203-08:00Keh Keh & Kung Ung<p><span style="font-size: medium;">Finch: 'Keh Keh!'</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Me: 'Heh?'</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Finch: 'Kung Ung!'</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Me: '?'</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Finch: 'Keh Keh!'</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Me: 'Kung Ung?'</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Finch (now laughing): 'Keh Keh!'</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Me (getting the drift): 'Kung Ung!'</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Finch (laughing all through the rest of the conversation): 'Kung Ung!'</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Me (putting my CAT logical reasoning skills to work): 'Keh Keh!'</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Finch (Pappa figured it out. He's a genius!): 'Kung Ung!'</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Me (now laughing along): 'Keh Keh!'</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Finch: 'Keh Keh!'</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Me: 'Kung Ung!'</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Finch: 'Keh Keh!'</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Me: 'Kung Ung!'</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Finch: 'Keh Keh!'</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Me: 'Kung Ung!' </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">(Both of us rolling on the floor laughing uncontrollably)</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Can't make this shit up. </span></p>Samyakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01604898080407059558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8878635403345194307.post-39815746188247898272024-02-25T00:39:00.000-08:002024-02-29T11:29:00.305-08:00Table Tennis & Gulab Jamun<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>Watching Beckett learn to play Table Tennis over the past 6-7 odd months has been fascinating, inspiring, and deeply satisfying. </span><span>Missus was a national-level Table Tennis player back in India and I've played it on & off, mainly dictated by access to a Table, since I was 9.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Seeing her go from being barely able to make contact between paddle & ball, to consistently putting the ball on the table, to going toe to toe with Missus & me on rallies, to now learning how to chop & spin, has been lots of fun. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>While she goes for regular coaching, I thoroughly enjoy playing the game and transferring some of what I know to her. </span><span>I'm surprisingly not an overbearing father or teacher when it comes to Table Tennis. Also, much of what I talk to her is about the stuff between the two ears and not about the technique or skill of the game.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">One of the first things I did when we moved to our current home was to get the Table. Preetesh and one of his friends, my eternal gratitude to both of them, helped assemble it, and after a month or so of Missus & I playing regularly, it had been stoutly ignored for a little over a year till Beckett started playing. For the past 6 odd months, it has been an investment that has repaid itself multiple times over for the entire family - given that today we had Finch play for the first time (standing on the chair, with Missus holding her hand & paddle).</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Finch is now fully potty trained. Achievement unlocked. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She called me Gulab Jamun a few weeks ago. I thought she was making a reference to the increasing girth of my waist and increasing elasticity of my face, but then realized that this was a moniker of affection for everyone she is comfortable hugging. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She also scratches the living daylights out of anyone close to her when her mood is running afoul & trimming her nails is a herculean 3 person task, as challenging as getting her to gulp down medicine.</span></p>Samyakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01604898080407059558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8878635403345194307.post-6173557593139802052023-11-11T15:38:00.000-08:002023-11-11T15:38:04.977-08:00The Questioners<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">One distinct trait that Beckett has developed, an impending boding, as she hurtles impatiently towards her teenage years, is to argue about and question almost everything.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I am in equal measure both thrilled and concerned about it. The exercising of agency, standing up for herself, and the logical reasoning I love. The need to always be right (at any cost), the potential abdication of responsibility, and the possible unimaginable collateral damage (both to her and others) in its wake, I dread.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I will consider myself an immensely successful father if I can impart to her a good sense of knowing when to stand her ground and knowing when being right will not be the right thing for her.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Finch, on the other hand, is an empath questioner. Her questions don't yet stem from a need to be right but from a place of reflecting and mirroring, immediately followed by curiosity.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It goes something like this (In Gujarati):</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Me: 'Baa is going to India on Saturday.'</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Finch: 'Baa is going to India?' 'In a plane?'</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Me: 'Yes'</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Finch: 'Then we'll talk with her on phone?'</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Me: 'Yes'</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Finch: 'When will she come again?'</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Me: 'I don't know but maybe next year?'</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Finch: 'Next year?'</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Me: 'Yes'</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">May the questions from both the girls never abate. May they never get easier. May they always be answered. </span></p>Samyakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01604898080407059558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8878635403345194307.post-33299722739753478132023-10-30T20:00:00.002-07:002023-10-30T20:00:35.283-07:00Brothers & Sisters<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Beckett is 6 years older than Finch. I am 10 and a 1/2 years older than my brother.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The day-to-day chronicles of Beckett & Finch remind me a lot of our childhood. Lots of similarities, but also lots of differences.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Both Beckett & I adore our respective younger siblings and think the world of them - highly intelligent, emotionally ahead of their years, and lots of fun to be around. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Our respective siblings also possess the ability to drive us nuts.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The fundamental difference in our respective relationships is that of power. Finch can get away with things that Atman could not. It is very much the age difference and gender at play here.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Finch can scratch, pinch, bite, and shout, and get away with it, almost always. Atman could get away with it only on days that I found the benevolence in my heart to let him get away with it.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Despite the occasional 'I wish she would not exist' up until a few months ago, Beckett is generally a protective & motherly elder sister. She wants to teach Finch new things, has already taught her a bit of English, and wants to lift Finch up - something that Finch isn't most comfortable with. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She's also had a not-so-trivial role in Potty training Finch and mentally preparing her for Daycare when Baa goes back to India. Finch didn't cry at all during her first week at Daycare not only because she has dropped Beckett off at school with us for some time now but also because Beckett has been priming her about school and how wonderful it is. She understands that Mummy & Pappa are not going to be at school and going to 'School' is a Big girl thing.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">My brother is my closest friend, someone who learns from me, but also inspires me; he is the strongest link to my past but also probably the most likely to stick around for the rest of my life my quirks & foibles notwithstanding. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">As I'm typing that I hope that Finch & Beckett share the same type of bond that Atman & I share, Finch just sauntered past me yelling at Missus asking her 'Can I wear this?'</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I'm getting used to this English-speaking, yet preposition & verb omitting Finch.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">P.S: Both Beckett & I got our white belt with yellow stripes after passing our 1st Tae Kwon Do test. Onwards & upwards. Here's to breaking more wooden boards. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p>Samyakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01604898080407059558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8878635403345194307.post-30934293080445348762023-09-02T18:26:00.002-07:002023-09-02T18:26:39.908-07:00'Done!'<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">'Finch is now talking'.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">That sentence is about 6 months old. At that time, the extent of her talking was limited to Mumma, Baa, Dahi, and Done.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Yes, at 19 months she knew that when she was done eating yogurt and needed a ride out of the high chair, the magic word was 'Done'.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Of course, she learned it from Beckett. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Now, at a little over 24 months, she speaks full sentences; much to my pleasure and relief, in Gujarati. And to my amusement, in Gujlish (Gujarati + English). 'Done', 'Look', 'Help' and some other words have crept into her vocabulary.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">As of this writing, I've laughed out loud on several occasions after hearing her belt-out words and phrases in chaste Gujarati that only the most devoted Gurjari lovers can use and appreciate.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">These include words & phrases like 'Maathachik' (hassle), 'Naarangi chupa chup khai gai ti' (I ate the orange with a lot of relish) and 'Ola' (that). </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And every now and then she will exclaim 'What?' with two hands & shoulders out or 'Can I?' with the palm facing up and fingers curling.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The clincher definitely has to be 'Hu naani hati tyaare savare saanje 'Lo Mai Aa Gaya' karti ti' (When I was young, morning evening, I used to do 'Lo Mai Aa Gaya' (which is a line from a popular Hindi movie song).</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I've been a much better father to Finch than I was to Beckett. But Beckett's childhood is significantly more thoroughly documented than Finch's. I don't know how many such things we've lost to the mists of antiquity because I missed writing about succumbing to the tyranny of the humdrum and the urgent.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">But as they say in my beloved mother tongue, Jagya tyaar thi savaar (Morning starts when you wake up). Here's to hoping that I'll be writing more here and elsewhere going forward. </span></p>Samyakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01604898080407059558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8878635403345194307.post-121686752641779382023-01-20T08:23:00.002-08:002023-01-20T08:23:41.801-08:00Letters to Beckett - 4<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Dear Beckett,</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">As you grow older, I see more and more of what I did to my parents. All the joys I brought them and all the ways I found to hurt them. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I see more and more of what they did for me. Their superpowers and their limitations.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I experience goosebump raising gratitude for the books, music, travel, safety, love, friendship, wisdom, and so much more.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I also find myself wishing that they had done a few things differently. I wish they had pushed me a bit more, and sheltered me a little less. I wish my father had hung around longer than his almost 40 years.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I also find myself realizing, acknowledging, and accepting that they were doing their best.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I couldn't have asked for better parents. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I hope Missus & I can make you and Finch feel the same about yours.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I also hope I don't screw you or Finch up by projecting my insecurities on either of you.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I hope we can help you get the better of your regrets. Not by letting you not have any, but by helping you get ahead of them. So that you have the necessary tools and foundation to stare them down and move on to your next adventures.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I hope to see you determined to shine as bright as the Sun, but without burning out. I hope to see you give wings to your dreams and let run rampant your wishes to soar high. </span></p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>Samyakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01604898080407059558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8878635403345194307.post-28420014717842803752022-10-03T23:57:00.002-07:002022-10-03T23:57:28.027-07:00Little things you do<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> Dear Finch,</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I love how you make sure to keep a toe or a finger or your arm or your shin in contact with some part of my body to feel the security that I'm still around.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I love how you explain everything that you want either by gesturing, crying, or just lunging toward me. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I love how Yogurt feels like God-given ambrosia to you.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I love how Turkeys seem to be your favorite animals and that the mere mention of those weird birds brings a smile to your face.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I love how you've made this little game out of handing trinkets to me and then asking for them back.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I love how in the last one week you decided to learn everything - walking, saying Haa (Yes) & Na (No), eating with a spoon on your own. As if you needed to meet quarter end targets.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I love how you have a heirarchy of people you want - Mumma, Pappa, Baa, Beckett, and then the lady who helps us.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I love tickling you with my stubble. You love getting tickled.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The past 5 odd days have been some of the happiest of my life. And I have you to thank for them.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I love you 3000.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p>Samyakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01604898080407059558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8878635403345194307.post-52527176329433578652022-09-06T22:49:00.002-07:002022-09-06T22:49:35.111-07:00Sticks & stones may break my bones<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Both Missus and I subscribe to the Bezosian philosphy of letting the kids tinker around. I'm paranoid about road safety (especially because the danger there comes from others). But I'm reasonably intrepid in my tolerance for getting injured while playing or indulging curiosity. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">As a result, Beckett is really good at monkey bars. She is obsessed with skipping 2 and then 3 and then eventually just jumping from the first to the last bar. She is further obsessed with turning every other apparatus on the playground into a monkey bar.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">So one fine July evening, while using a zipline as a monkey bar, her hand slipped and she fell. About 10 feet. On a tan bark grounding. I was not there but Missus knew immediately that it was not a regular fall. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Dislocated Humerus, broken at three places. Writhing in pain Beckett. Inconsolable Missus. Yours truly was questionably calm throughout the whole thing and just wanted to confirm that there was no head injury.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Missed Calls, 911, ER, pain killer drip, anaesthesia, lots of anxiety, surgery, three pins in the elbow, a pink cast and two days in the hospital later Beckett was back home. In pain, but home.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Was incredibly grateful to get the right treatment in time. Was even more grateful that my Mom was here and taking care of Finch and that we have family & friends who we can lean on </span><span style="font-size: large;">near by</span><span style="font-size: large;">. It would've been very difficult otherwise. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The cast is now off and it'll be a few months before Beckett is doing monkey bars again. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I don't know how this whole incident will affect her dauntlessness. I hope it doesn't. Life shouldn't be lived worrying or being scared of something.</span></p>Samyakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01604898080407059558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8878635403345194307.post-11505334185186738122022-07-14T09:16:00.001-07:002022-07-20T22:22:59.844-07:00Lots to catch up on<p style="text-align: justify;">Finch turned a year old a week and a day ago. And I've missed documenting almost everything that has happened since October.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">She is the happiest baby I've ever seen and reciprocates our smiles as if on cue.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">She doesn't crawl or move on her haunches yet but, stands when someone makes her stand. She's either slothful or has mesmerizing control over her parents to get them to do her motile bidding.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">She has 4 teeth already and has had them since she was 8 months old.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">She babbles. A lot.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I sing my riyaaz paltas to her in as disciplined a manner as possible.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">She is really loud. And she gets angry when she doesn't get what she wants, very angry.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Finch loves to take a bath. She hates her face having to deal with water and soap and she absolutely hates the after-bath ritual of drying up, getting moisturized, and putting her clothes on.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">She loves Beckett (and Beckett her), but she doesn't like Beckett lifting her or trying to lift her.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Finch displays patience and kindness much beyond her 12 months and a week. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">The trust she puts in me when she rests her head on my shoulder to sleep without any care in the world, the way her face lights up when she sees me after a long day of being away, how she makes a lunge toward me to lift her in my arms is terrifyingly overwhelming. It is one of the greatest joys of my life.</p><div style="text-align: justify;">Beckett and Finch are two very different people. Beckett is the quintessential, gregarious, connection-seeking, flitting and frolicking Gemini. Finch, on the other hand, even though it is too early to tell yet, can be a pensive, brooding, yet elated and beatific Cancerian.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">And while both of them belong to the future and not to either one of us, Beckett is Mumma's girl; Finch takes after yours truly. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p> </p><p><br /></p>Samyakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01604898080407059558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8878635403345194307.post-47236457113707920932021-12-12T13:28:00.002-08:002021-12-12T13:29:50.522-08:00Beckett @ 6<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This post is about 6 months late.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Beckett turned 6 on June 18th, and as she always does, gave me a masterclass on life.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We spent the long weekend celebrating her birthday and playing and having fun with her birthday gifts. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Many of the gifts were related to airplanes (maybe we have a rocket scientist in the making).</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhb1RTwp57swhzS5Cwon9PLXrlz7ROEAdGWEdKlP3FwaDHyQQ6xKHCBfnKY0epAULH0SMZy0sYjxjjQTQ6eczQcyIQxlHl1kMrg8wW1zraOm5rB96Ei_WMHT_LGacm2VOlkZjdY-SupvtnftiBDx3mg0pH1wQA1xcD3gQKoKbLAqri3CM3wHfBATXYCjw=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhb1RTwp57swhzS5Cwon9PLXrlz7ROEAdGWEdKlP3FwaDHyQQ6xKHCBfnKY0epAULH0SMZy0sYjxjjQTQ6eczQcyIQxlHl1kMrg8wW1zraOm5rB96Ei_WMHT_LGacm2VOlkZjdY-SupvtnftiBDx3mg0pH1wQA1xcD3gQKoKbLAqri3CM3wHfBATXYCjw=s320" width="320" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhb1RTwp57swhzS5Cwon9PLXrlz7ROEAdGWEdKlP3FwaDHyQQ6xKHCBfnKY0epAULH0SMZy0sYjxjjQTQ6eczQcyIQxlHl1kMrg8wW1zraOm5rB96Ei_WMHT_LGacm2VOlkZjdY-SupvtnftiBDx3mg0pH1wQA1xcD3gQKoKbLAqri3CM3wHfBATXYCjw=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhMhsq0a97iUF73PwHsbYIDFaPSpXtie2vXcnOgUW-D4tUFYP2x5odeGlw3ENNJsrBtjpT1wvUhCHn99FoOV0tBIdWMK0BTs6JsPlUmMhHj3uO7vPQx9mlTOXCValGBWiG5FRhd5XinHNyEvmCHl0gjIwF3nsfpirodtXvgson80z5-lVocPOpmCDPd-Q=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhMhsq0a97iUF73PwHsbYIDFaPSpXtie2vXcnOgUW-D4tUFYP2x5odeGlw3ENNJsrBtjpT1wvUhCHn99FoOV0tBIdWMK0BTs6JsPlUmMhHj3uO7vPQx9mlTOXCValGBWiG5FRhd5XinHNyEvmCHl0gjIwF3nsfpirodtXvgson80z5-lVocPOpmCDPd-Q=s320" width="320" /></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiT5Lsc0m1AgVQ_GtiBvkhmEC0d42jv8y6oS3g-DMF3xU_T5EnrreuMVqSEW5IjiwIIWY8k2exXL2H_5ZZ06O2-CoUjh2OrwSoq9e42PxO_07FY-_nxlT-DJzUF2mAfwttbWG0HcLgUfRXM6-Nb9icC8Ue3SmPVqEf66_GWtj60Jrvf8cqEGfeHZ1HBIw=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiT5Lsc0m1AgVQ_GtiBvkhmEC0d42jv8y6oS3g-DMF3xU_T5EnrreuMVqSEW5IjiwIIWY8k2exXL2H_5ZZ06O2-CoUjh2OrwSoq9e42PxO_07FY-_nxlT-DJzUF2mAfwttbWG0HcLgUfRXM6-Nb9icC8Ue3SmPVqEf66_GWtj60Jrvf8cqEGfeHZ1HBIw=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiT5Lsc0m1AgVQ_GtiBvkhmEC0d42jv8y6oS3g-DMF3xU_T5EnrreuMVqSEW5IjiwIIWY8k2exXL2H_5ZZ06O2-CoUjh2OrwSoq9e42PxO_07FY-_nxlT-DJzUF2mAfwttbWG0HcLgUfRXM6-Nb9icC8Ue3SmPVqEf66_GWtj60Jrvf8cqEGfeHZ1HBIw=s320" width="320" /></span></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj5SOjKlt12xZj4kEygmI5mKdlKcGYYCBi75S-Gxkzf77bp6R2NJGwnGMp-929Y3gef0V3-8I6PER82PfQw3CiHLS6RTOjG_Db0XlhdmZNKqGMqWuuO_j7O8wn1gjL5qcxxKlc3FFngjfJKcwt1sbx6aDL0zoxYT7Bd48MZa2yYMu4U7pEbJ7GffJ8ZFQ=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj5SOjKlt12xZj4kEygmI5mKdlKcGYYCBi75S-Gxkzf77bp6R2NJGwnGMp-929Y3gef0V3-8I6PER82PfQw3CiHLS6RTOjG_Db0XlhdmZNKqGMqWuuO_j7O8wn1gjL5qcxxKlc3FFngjfJKcwt1sbx6aDL0zoxYT7Bd48MZa2yYMu4U7pEbJ7GffJ8ZFQ=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj5SOjKlt12xZj4kEygmI5mKdlKcGYYCBi75S-Gxkzf77bp6R2NJGwnGMp-929Y3gef0V3-8I6PER82PfQw3CiHLS6RTOjG_Db0XlhdmZNKqGMqWuuO_j7O8wn1gjL5qcxxKlc3FFngjfJKcwt1sbx6aDL0zoxYT7Bd48MZa2yYMu4U7pEbJ7GffJ8ZFQ=s320" width="240" /></span></a></div></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">As you can see in the pictures, we made paper planes, and assembled gliders, and then made one out of cardboard. The cardboard one took the most time to make, wasn't aerodynamic by the looks of it, wasn't very pretty. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">So when it came to taking the planes down for a flight, I took the paper planes, the glider, our kite, and started heading down. But Beckett being Beckett stopped me.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>'Pappa, what about the cardboard plane?'</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>'I don't think it'll fly, Aarvi.'</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>'Why?'</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>'Because of how it is made. Its structure seems to be incompatible with the principles of flight.'</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>'Heh?'</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>'Trust me, it won't fly!'</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>'But Pappa, we've got to try. If we don't try, we will never know!'</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I run a startup for a living, swear by the power of the possible, day-in and day-out distort reality for myself and for others, to bring highly unlikely possibilities to life. That I would discard a possibility without trying it, simply because of my estimation of the laws of physics, felt like one tight slap on my being.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Naturally, my jaw-drop, as usual, was a sight to behold.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">So I gathered the cardboard plane along with the pieces of my shattered pride, but ever so grateful to Beckett, and headed to the park with her.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We had lots of fun flying all the different planes & the glider & the kite. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The cardboard plane didn't fly. But we wouldn't have known for sure if we hadn't tried. It also led to Beckett asking me why it wouldn't fly and me teaching her about principles of flight - Lift, Drag, Thrust, and Gravity. It also led us to discuss and figure out what we needed to do to make the cardboard plane fly.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Our children are Sorcerers gifted to us by the Universe. They send us on wild treasure hunts, push us to go pursue our personal legends, in the guise of teaching them how to learn, discover, and enjoy life.* </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">While we think that we are raising them, it is, in fact, they who compel us to go see the Pyramids and discover how beautiful they are. Without them we would not venture to see the Pyramids, nor discover how beautiful they are.* </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Beckett now wants a rocket for Christmas.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><i>* The references are from The Alchemist. Reading it may be a good use of your time if they didn't make sense or resonate with you.</i></div></div></div><p></p>Samyakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01604898080407059558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8878635403345194307.post-45877558103316479332021-10-31T01:17:00.003-07:002021-11-05T05:38:28.139-07:00The Songstress<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">One of my first memories of Beckett is me singing 'Ho gaya hai pyaar tumse' to her and she flashing the most beautiful smile in the world back at me.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">That Beckett was a completely different person from the vivacious, gregarious Gemini who assertively, yet gently replies with a 'No, Thank You!' whenever I ask her if she wants to practice her scales. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">6-year-old Beckett is a relentless negotiator who is always wanting 5 more minutes in the park, 5 more minutes of TV time, or 5 more points of whatever we are playing. 6-year-old Beckett is a voracious story listener (gradually becoming a voracious reader), budding storyteller, Showwoman, and incorrigible problem-solving mediator.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Her first song was 'I hope you dance' by Lee Ann Womack, gifted to her by The Status Message Aunt, and true to that song, she rarely if ever, misses a chance to dance the dance of life.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Finch, on the other hand, seems to have taken to music. I can sing anything to her, and as if on cue, the beatific angelic smile is staring back at me. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I've spent hours sitting next to her, both of us listening to Hindustani Classical Music. Sometimes she joins in and sings - whatever babble is the closest version of a 3-month-old child singing. Sometimes she just listens and stares in turn at the ceiling fan, the photos on the wall, and me.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Her first song is 'Runaway' by Aurora, gifted by yours truly, and I cannot wait to take her (& Beckett & Missus) back home. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><br /></p>Samyakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01604898080407059558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8878635403345194307.post-90879656674343965302021-07-20T22:41:00.000-07:002021-07-20T22:41:12.239-07:00Finch<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Finch arrived early morning on July 7th. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">While Missus was in the most painful throes of labor, all yours truly was thinking about was the date 7/7/21, and going all - 'She's going to be such a powerful sorceress when she grows up!'</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">7 is the most powerful number in the universe. 7 days, 7 notes, 7 colors in the rainbow, 7 heavens, 7 underworlds, and so on. And this one had a triple dose of 7s in her birthdate.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Missus, who was being an absolute champ, did not appreciate my resorting to Harry Potter voodoo as a mechanism to cope with the long and complicated labor. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I could not be more grateful to the incredible doctors of the Golden Gate group and the wonderful nurses at CPMC Van Ness for holding us closely through Finch's birth and immediate care thereafter.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">While the last couple of weeks have been intense & sleep-deprived, they've easily been the most rewarding period of my life in a long time.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Finch has been pretty kind to us, and Beckett has been an amazing elder sister. I don't find myself triaging as much between Finch and Beckett. Partly because Beckett has naturally gravitated towards prioritizing Finch over herself most of the time, and partly because her grandparents are here and taking care of her.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I also feel incredibly grateful that my work & work place allows me the luxury of taking this time off.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">That said, it has not been all rainbows & butterflies. Emotions, and stress - both mental & physical, run high after child birth. Living with in-laws, who can be especially unkind to me, have not made matters easier. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">On the brighter side, given that sleep is now always punctuated with disturbances, I've started lucid dreaming. My dreams are lit as F*** and now I remember them as well. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In short, Finch has given me kindness, the most fulfilling fortnight in a long long time, a break from work after 7 long years, and literally my dreams.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Being Beckett's & Finch's father</span><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.</span></span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>Samyakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01604898080407059558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8878635403345194307.post-75383574400528888932021-07-10T12:11:00.003-07:002021-07-10T12:11:52.256-07:00Conflict<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Conflict is one significant thing you experience when you become a parent to more than one child.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">For many, it is not obvious; sometimes it is a blindspot; sometimes there isn't a conflict because the choice seems blindingly obvious. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">But once there is more than one child in the melee, you are constantly triaging. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My current conflict is whether to write about Beckett's 6th birthday and the lessons she taught me 3 weekends ago or whether to write about Finch's dramatic arrival and how she's going to be an insanely powerful sorceress.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">While it seems obvious that Finch's arrival is a much bigger occasion than Beckett's birthday - (Beckett has been teaching me lessons for the past 6 years, whereas Finch's arrival is a one-time event) I feel conflicted about which one to write about first.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I'm a big believer in embracing conflict. Actually, I'm a big believer in embracing everything that comes my way; both serendipities & zemblanities. And this is a beautiful one that I feel incredibly blessed to be experiencing. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">So here I am, embracing it, and writing about conflict.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Here's to many such wonderful, delicious ones that my brain will manufacture in the future. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"> </p><p><br /></p>Samyakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01604898080407059558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8878635403345194307.post-36507535015264304002021-06-27T16:59:00.000-07:002021-06-27T16:59:03.017-07:00Dear Finch<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Dear Finch,</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I must confess that your name did not jump at me the way Beckett's did. I played around in my mind with Stark, Everdeen, Granger, Francon, and Taggart. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Beckett already named you Kaju Noe, and that is not in line with my taxonomical construct. So it took some more effort to find you a name. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">But when it came to me, it was very easy. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I must also confess that I've not been as enamored or swept up with your approaching arrival as I was with Beckett's. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">But I promise that when you do arrive, I will make up for it in paternal skill & sincerity. I'm a much better father now than I was six years ago when we welcomed Beckett.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Still wedded to silliness, quixotically optimistic, and whimsical in mostly good ways. But also simpler & minus unnecessary drama.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I cannot wait to meet you in person. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And so can't Beckett. She's both excited and nervous, and I can promise you that she will be the best thing to happen to you. </span></p>Samyakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01604898080407059558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8878635403345194307.post-40306548466063139792021-05-29T00:17:00.003-07:002021-05-29T00:17:52.187-07:00Letters to Beckett - 3<span style="font-size: large;">Dear Beckett,<br />
<br /></span><div><div><span style="font-size: large;">There are few things I pray for.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I pray that you find your voice. As early as you can. And keep it with you. Always.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I pray that you write your song. In your words. In your meter.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I pray that you sing it. With your heart. Loud, soft, and silently - in your head. And I pray it sings back to you.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I pray that you play with your notes. Find new ones, change few words, miss a few of them, let them meander.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I pray that Music always finds you. By design. Serendipitously. And everything in between. </span></div><div> </div></div>Samyakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01604898080407059558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8878635403345194307.post-73822760506030231162021-02-07T19:01:00.005-08:002021-02-11T23:33:11.779-08:00Player 4<p><span style="font-size: large;">Folks,</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Player 4 has entered the fray. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Code Name: Kaju Noe.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Excited, Nervous, Scared, Much Wow!<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">More updates later.</span></p>Samyakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01604898080407059558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8878635403345194307.post-70471017427171156552020-08-23T23:53:00.001-07:002020-08-23T23:54:24.334-07:00Beckett Learns to Bike<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">That's the post. That's it.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">She learned how to ride a bicycle this week. Wednesday, August 19th, 2020, to be precise. Pappa is a very proud father.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I couldn't do diddly squat when I was 5. I didn't have a bicycle either. She's had one for a couple of years now.</span></p>Samyakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01604898080407059558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8878635403345194307.post-41590523165989559762020-08-11T20:48:00.001-07:002020-08-11T20:48:06.498-07:00The Petal<p><span style="font-size: x-large;">Presenting Beckett's first original story, The Petal.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;">Goes from Interesting --> Fun --> Spooky --> WTF</span></p><p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/SLvnyAKf0BE" width="320" youtube-src-id="SLvnyAKf0BE"></iframe></div><p><br /></p>Samyakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01604898080407059558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8878635403345194307.post-66727565709007565112020-07-01T22:32:00.003-07:002020-07-01T23:18:58.820-07:00The Lesson<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span><font face="times" size="5">Beckett recently taught me a lesson about incentives. </font></span></div>
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<span><font face="times" size="5">We can title it - <i>The unintended consequences of misaligned incentives. </i></font></span></div>
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<span><font face="times" size="5">She has a habit of unleashing a Masterclass on or around her birthdays.</font></span></div>
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<span><font face="times" size="5"><br /></font></span></div>
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<span><font face="times" size="5">Every day she cleans her room, she is promised a dollar. No money changes hands, but if she cleans her room enough number of days, a dollhouse, a lego set, or something that she might like is on the table.</font></span></div>
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<span><font face="times" size="5"><br /></font></span></div>
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<span><font face="times" size="5">She doesn't usually keep the room clean unless yours truly throws a hissy fit. So she has less than 10 dollars to her name yet.</font></span></div>
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<span><font face="times" size="5"><br /></font></span></div>
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<span><font face="times" size="5">Last week, she decided to clean her room. I had just thrown one of my hissy fits. The apartment was in an especially abhorrent condition. My hissy fits work sometimes because I threaten to throw away all of her things that are strewn across the house and not in their rightful place.</font></span></div>
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<span><font face="times" size="5">She cleaned up the room and lamented how much time it took. </font></span></div>
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<span><font face="times" size="5">As a wise father, always eager to impart some wisdom, I immediately let told her 'If you keep things in their right place, the room won't get dirty in the first place. So you won't have to waste time cleaning it.'</font></span></div>
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<span><font face="times" size="5"><br /></font></span></div>
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<span><font face="times" size="5">I was beaming with pride, almost patting myself on the back, having taught the 5YO critter a valuable life lesson, when pat came the earnest reply.</font></span></div>
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<span><font face="times" size="5"><br /></font></span></div>
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<span><font face="times" size="5">'But if I don't have a dirty room to clean, I won't get my dollar for my dollhouse!'</font></span></div>
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<span><font face="times" size="5"><br /></font></span></div>
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<span><font face="times" size="5">My jaw drop was a sight to behold.</font></span></div>
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<span><font face="times" size="5"><br /></font></span></div>
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<span><font face="times" size="5">The pesky munchkin had bested me at my own game. Fair & square. Made me a prisoner of my own device.</font></span></div>
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<span><font face="times" size="5"><br /></font></span></div>
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<span><font face="times" size="5">And she was not being sly or devious. She was genuine.</font></span></div>
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<span><font face="times" size="5"><br /></font></span></div>
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<span><font face="times" size="5">So we changed the incentive structure. Now onwards, for every day that the room remains clean, she gets a dollar to her name. No need to clean if the room is already spic and span.</font></span></div>
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<span><font face="times" size="5"><br /></font></span></div>
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<span><font face="times" size="5">The lessons I learned/relearned that day:</font></span></div>
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<span><font face="times" size="5"><br /></font></span></div>
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<span><font face="times" size="5">1. The big one that Charlie always talks about. Make sure incentives are aligned. Misaligned incentives create unintended consequences; and then it is turtles all the way down.</font></span></div>
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<span><font face="times" size="5"><br /></font></span></div>
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<span><font face="times" size="5">2. Some times fear (hissy fits) is a greater motivator than greed (dollhouse).</font></span></div>
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<span><font face="times" size="5"><br /></font></span></div>
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<span><font face="times" size="5">3. The incentive has to be big enough to engender action. A dollar a day is probably not good enough.</font></span></div>
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<span><font face="times" size="5"><br /></font></span></div>
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<span><font face="times" size="5">5. Maybe the $ should exchange hands. The physical manifestation of the reward is just as, or maybe more important, than knowing that you received the reward.</font></span></div>
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<span><font face="times" size="5"><br /></font></span></div>
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<span><font face="times" size="5">6. Sometimes it is about removing friction and not about the incentive. Reduced Friction > Material gain.</font></span></div>
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Samyakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01604898080407059558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8878635403345194307.post-91127008781019752020-04-12T16:26:00.001-07:002020-04-12T16:26:25.897-07:00Lockdown<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">We've been sheltering in place for the past three weeks. It has made me feel like an incredibly lousy father. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Work seems to have taken over my entire life and whatever is left has been taken over by fatigue. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I have been an absentee father while being physically present.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">This is not the work's fault. It is mine. I haven't actively managed the environment or set limits and prioritized Beckett over myself.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I need to help myself break this vicious cycle and take Beckett's next few months just as seriously as I take mine or Ridecell's. </span></div>
Samyakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01604898080407059558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8878635403345194307.post-66845062469926497142020-03-01T18:33:00.000-08:002020-03-01T18:33:43.227-08:0025 Years Later<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">February 23rd was my father's 25th death anniversary. I was almost 13 when he died and right now it just feels surreal that we made it through 25 years without him. He was almost 40 when he died and would've been an unimaginable 65 (I cannot imagine him ever being this old) today. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">So here is a bittersweet, some times with its light moments, some times dark post about my father; about how I remember him, my joys, pain, regrets, hopes, gratitude and more.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">When my father was around 8, old enough to understand life & death, but young enough to not understand consequences, he once called the fire brigade to rescue a crow who had managed to entangle itself in the labyrinth of electric cables that littered his 8 building chawl. My blissfully unaware, yet visibly mortified grandparents trying to figure out why the firemen were looking for him thought that he had indulged in some act of arson. The crow survived and the firemen didn't seem to mind being called to duty to save a life, even if it was corvid and not human. Pappa was a genuinely caring person.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">------------------------------------</span></div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">On one occasion, at a wedding, when asked to hurry up, he put some Dal-Rice in his pockets so that they could leave and he wouldn't have to go hungry. My flabbergasted grandparents realized this halfway on the journey back home and did some serious facepalming. Pappa was really obedient but also knew how to look after his own interests.</span></div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Pappa used to fly kites on the terrace of his chawl. When my grandfather would come home from a long day of teaching students in school and at personal tuitions, he would run back home and open his books to give grandpa the impression that he was studying. He topped through much of school doing the bare minimum needed to get by - something that would come back to bite him in the backside as he grew older and competition kept getting stiffer.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">His pet name in the chawl was Todo (both syllables pronounced the way you would pronounce 'Go'). This was FYI and has no relevance to this post at all.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Pappa studied to be an Architect but ended up working as a Banker. He took up a job while studying supposedly to support the family, but I think it was to gain financial independence and didn't finish his bachelor's until after he got married. He would've been a very good architect. I think taking up the banking job was the biggest mistake of his life but probably saved our life from absolute ruin when during his illness and after he died. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">------------------------------------</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He was at the Bombay Stock Exchange building (his office) the day of the serial bomb blasts in 1993 and survived unscathed because Mom had packed him lunch that day and he didn't go down for a bite.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Instead of coming back home to his worried family, he went out with his best friend from the office to celebrate having escaped death. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">------------------------------------ </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I don't have a specific first memory of Pappa, but it would be one of three things. Him reading me a bedtime story, him playing some old Hindi songs on our Sanyo tape recorder, or him picking me up from somewhere.</span></div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He gave me my love for books and reading - particularly English. Mummy would do most of the Gujarati storytelling, but Pappa would do almost all of the English bedtime reading. I think he was particular about English reading because he was not well versed in spoken English. It probably was a career impediment, a self-esteem issue in post-colonial 70s and 80s India, and he wanted to ensure that his children didn't have to face that issue.</span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcenzIViIt0sYVQ60J5iN7q-QFddSp3BltKAGyKiv8cBHg3xPpS-7mD1ZyNmBvjQNS46RW9gkN66nDo7pXtV_QyN3zH4mdAhDB7PhMsyZPBC6jK5b6T0QJO9ov08JUCRpWIXAwC1YaJLHj/s1600/1582400712928-717104d1-097f-4f1c-89e9-58b4e49650f1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcenzIViIt0sYVQ60J5iN7q-QFddSp3BltKAGyKiv8cBHg3xPpS-7mD1ZyNmBvjQNS46RW9gkN66nDo7pXtV_QyN3zH4mdAhDB7PhMsyZPBC6jK5b6T0QJO9ov08JUCRpWIXAwC1YaJLHj/s400/1582400712928-717104d1-097f-4f1c-89e9-58b4e49650f1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">One of the other things my parents did was get me subscriptions to children's magazines like Indrajal Comics, Champak, Chandamama, Tinkle, and the Russian comics Misha. I always had something to read growing up.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Pappa bought me my first local library subscription when I was 8 or 9. A Rs. 60 deposit and a Rs. 40 per month subscription fee with one book borrowing at a time. I read an insane number of Chacha Chaudhary and Archie comics through that arrangement before graduating to the Famous Five when I started getting access to my school library in Standard 5.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The last book that we borrowed through that subscription was a copy of Atlas Shrugged. We never returned that book and I ended up reading it when I was 17. Changed my life. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">When I was 4, I dropped a glass bottle while trying to serve water to my uncle and then cut my hand while trying to pick up the pieces. It was a bad cut and needed stitches. Even during that chaos, my father asked me which Doctor I wanted to go to - Mehta or Dalal. It was a bad question to ask a 4-year-old who had no clue what either of those words meant. But even at 4, he wanted me to make my own choices.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">He once helped me write a pen pal message on a helium balloon that we then let fly in the sky. Around 3 weeks later we 'received' a letter from 'Australia' in reply to our balloon. I was thrilled to receive a reply from a pen pal. It was only after he died that I saw that letter again among his papers and realized that it was Pappa's handwriting and both smiled and cried a bit.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Pappa also gave me my love and repertoire for music. I know almost the entirety of Hindi movie music starting from the 50s and the 70s & 80s Western music thanks to him. We had a Sanyo tape recorder that we used to listen to music.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxLP0F86uzcHFJfWdGfuvYkxRZ6cATxvXA7odg33qKtr1UFYQLve7RDuPfbhbFKZI7fskCNe451Dj4iDngotpnHTRuG8G8QRmVrqTStLw1CBZkd8-nOyJgyUIsd8cJOuC5_hWKGv_-E7Pe/s1600/1582400752409-3b11ee28-e1eb-40cc-8aea-868c10b614c0_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxLP0F86uzcHFJfWdGfuvYkxRZ6cATxvXA7odg33qKtr1UFYQLve7RDuPfbhbFKZI7fskCNe451Dj4iDngotpnHTRuG8G8QRmVrqTStLw1CBZkd8-nOyJgyUIsd8cJOuC5_hWKGv_-E7Pe/s400/1582400752409-3b11ee28-e1eb-40cc-8aea-868c10b614c0_.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Some of my fondest musical memories are listening to songs of Julie, Chitchor, Saranga, Paying Guest, Baton Baton Mein, and The Greatest Hits of Kishore. There was also Madonna, Abba, and Tina Charles that I can clearly remember.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Pappa very consciously was my best friend along with being my father. He thought that his relationship with his father was distant and awkward and he wanted his children to be comfortable sharing with him anything and everything. This was his way of ensuring that we found company and counsel at home rather than search for it in friends or strangers. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">As a result, my first sip of alcohol was with my father, I learned my swear words from him, and I also discussed my first crush with him.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggutSeHh2MyJxb7tgTAcy3MvHRzSpRfZGT7QvWQtYGRl0xueFlVWPBlPXSzHvFExqB6D9jQURrs5AVn-6yUOdDA8foChAmueq_dT7JoRbujGg13rG_aB8m3ccHxozZJhrMUEXfWNtiXgcz/s1600/1582399876946-77c88d99-06e0-4586-bf79-8812bfa0eb68.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggutSeHh2MyJxb7tgTAcy3MvHRzSpRfZGT7QvWQtYGRl0xueFlVWPBlPXSzHvFExqB6D9jQURrs5AVn-6yUOdDA8foChAmueq_dT7JoRbujGg13rG_aB8m3ccHxozZJhrMUEXfWNtiXgcz/s400/1582399876946-77c88d99-06e0-4586-bf79-8812bfa0eb68.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<i>(The cigarette in my hands is a candy cigarette. Not a Tobacco one. The one in my father's hand is.)</i></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Now for the bad.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">My father had a grey side to him. He was professionally neither successful nor happy. We weren't poor but we weren't well to do either during my childhood. I'm reasonably sure that he felt bogged down and trapped in his circumstances. He also had a healthy ego & pride that prevented him from asking for any kind of help. So when he was not my father, I'm not sure he lived a life that he loved. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Pappa also was prophetic in a bad way. He would utter some eerie things that would eventually come true. The trouble was that he didn't realize it when he said those things in jest, but one of those things said in jest also killed him. </span><span style="font-size: large;">Towards the end of his life, from about 6 months before he met with his road accident, his behavior made me feel an inevitable sense of doom as if whatever was going on was not sustainable, and that something had to change. </span><span style="font-size: large;">You can call this coincidence, but it is also scary. This is why I'm extremely averse to saying anything negative, even as conjecture or jest.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">--------------------------------</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Pappa was my biggest champion and best friend. His death shattered me in ways beyond the loss of love, guidance, and companionship. His death made me, Atman, and my mother the object of pity, very well-meaning pity, but pity nonetheless. Till then, I'd been raised as a ferociously independent, self-reliant, bordering on being an asshole fashion. It took me many years of finding my voice, breaking free from well-meaning family members, rebuilding my confidence piece by piece to internally feel not pitied upon anymore.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">It has often, as blasphemous as it may sound, come to my thought that maybe whatever happened, happened for the best. That may be any other way would've been worse and led both me and Atman down a path much farther away from the one we eventually ended up taking. That may be what was in store for him, had he lived was a life probably much worse than death. This thought simultaneous preys on my mind while helping me make peace with what happened.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">My father didn't die from the accident, he died from meningitis that resulted from medical negligence in the aftermath of the accident. It has left me with a healthy distrust and some hatred of doctors who view patients as cases and not as human beings.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">In the past 25 years, I've regularly had dreams of him. Every single one of them has been a nightmare. Invariably, every one of them is premised on me discovering that he is not dead, that he is alive. And every one of the situations in the nightmare is a Faustian bargain where he is either a changed person who isn't my father anymore or alive but in a bad shape, or dies again after my discovery that he is alive. I wish to have happy dreams about him.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">---------------------------------</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The hopeful.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">My father would've been incredibly proud to see the men Atman and I have grown up to become. My biggest regret is that he didn't get to see us grow up. But I'm grateful beyond measure that he left us in good hands - of our mother (My mother is one badass superwoman about whom I'll write someday later) and grandparents; he left us materially secure - we always had enough; but most importantly, in the short almost 13 years I had with him, he left me with enough stories, wisdom, and a trail of breadcrumbs that would help me find, make, or reshape my way whenever I needed it the most.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I wish everyone a father like mine, minus some of his foibles, and with a lot more time than I had with mine.</span></div>
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Samyakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01604898080407059558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8878635403345194307.post-62006972275756637782019-11-27T22:32:00.000-08:002019-11-27T22:32:03.964-08:00The Beckett Podcast<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">So I started recording a Podcast with Beckett the past week.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This episode is a delicious conversation talking about everything from firetrucks to friends - both human and imaginary.</span></div>
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<iframe width="320" height="266" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/zKKY7UT-42c/0.jpg" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/zKKY7UT-42c?feature=player_embedded" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></div>
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<br />Samyakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01604898080407059558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8878635403345194307.post-1227108706879568812019-09-18T06:24:00.001-07:002019-09-18T06:42:00.738-07:00Lost in Translation - Kal ki hi baat hai<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Seems like Yesterday</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I found there in my arms </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I found you</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Feelings that I'd never known</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Who brought them to my world</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It was you</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Your smiles had </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Wrapped in them</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Gifts for me </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">And made me sigh </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The Silence</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">On those lips</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Untold tales</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">In those eyes</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Who brought the spring with her </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It was you</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I found there in my arms </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I found you</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Seems like Yesterday</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Maybe I've done </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Some things so right</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">That I was blessed this way</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I didn't deserve</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">To be with you</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Still, you chose to stay</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Everything else </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Feels so fake</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Whenever </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I look at you</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The way that</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">No night can </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Replace the day's</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Sky so blue</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">How did you bring such love</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">With you</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I found there in my arms </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I found you</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Seems like Yesterday</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">- OST Chhichhore </span></div>
Samyakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01604898080407059558noreply@blogger.com0