Revisiting Home
and my dreams....
Two Sundays ago, I noticed that my father was ‘last seen’ on whatsapp at about 5.30 pm IST. On Monday morning, it was time for me to panic, as it was now several hours since the whatsapp addict had checked his phone. I made some calls to him and he did not respond. I called up my uncle, who also happens to be his business partner, to check if my father was in office and by about noon my uncle confirmed that he had not come in. It was time to go and check on him and prepare for the worst. Very long story short, my dad was lying unconscious on the floor, unable to get up and we rushed him to the hospital. He is recovering. It is nothing too serious, but he was diagnosed with chikungunya. For those concerned, we are still keeping an eye on his prognosis, but he is back home and recovering well.
In the last two weeks, because I was back home, I revisited all the places that I grew up in and was reminded of all the childhood experiences in these places- my church, the market, the hospital where my sisters and I were born and my mother died, the florist from whom I buy flowers, the cake shop from where we bought cakes for our birthday, my school, the neighbourhood grocer, the fish mongers, the cold storage, the stray cats and so forth. Given that I was sure I had lost my father, I couldn’t help but think of the ways in which he raised my sisters and me, and all these places stored memories of these snippets of conversations and situations that all came rushing back. Before I proceed, I want to make it very clear to you, without going into many details, that my father could have been a better father. I have written countless diary entries and secret blog posts, and spoken for hours to make sense of some of the choices of my father. In short, I have seen better fathers.
These past two weeks have been about looking after my ailing father. For the first time in my life, I am seeing him as old. Through all these thoughts, memories and actions, I concluded that what my father wants is service, not care. It hurts to come to that conclusion as service does not necessarily involve care. Care, however, involves service. If there is care and no service, most often, care is only a placatory word (think of all the husbands who ‘care’ about their wives yet won’t open the door for them because someone else will do it). If you think about it, you expect customer service but not really care when your phone sim card is not working. But you expect a little bit of service and care in a vet’s clinic for example. Care just makes the service so much better because it means the vet remembers your pet’s name and knows exactly how they like to be petted or the doctor remembering your child’s name and how it’s spelled without you even having to say it. Service, on the other hand, is the tea appearing on your table on time irrespective of you wanting it to be stronger. Service is important, but soulless. Anyone can serve and often they do, as service has come to resemble a transaction. But very few people can care. And there are some who do both, and I suspect that it is the combination of these two that probably ensures a quality longevity of one’s life.
The difference between care and service is what has been my father’s parenting strategy. He has confused service with care while also being very mistaken about the idea of service. His service has meant provision. He only provided and mistakenly believed that it equaled care.
The one thing that he provided to me (among other things) is ambition. He owned a business because he never wanted to be at the mercy of an employer who had power over him. Today I know it is part of his hegemonic masculinity, but according to the 1990s neoliberal trope, it was called self-made, creating jobs, and perhaps, building the nation. However, every time, I went to his factory, I saw him as a boss (now, problematic) and knew very early on, that I also wanted to become an entrepreneur. At the age of 9, I wanted to become a commercial artist. My friend named Gauri would be my business partner and I had designed the logo for our business too. From our home, we would cross MIDC (short for Maharahtra Industrial Development Corporation) Andheri to reach my father’s office and I used to dream of my own office space here- logo and all.
Strangely, when I went to Andheri, this past week, I had to work at a co-working space in MIDC for a few days. I took the same old streets to reach MIDC and crossed the same old buildings, with the logos and realized how far I was from having an office in MIDC or anywhere. I reflected so much on who I always wanted to be and who I have become in these past few years and concluded that in all the big things I want to do, I forget about the small things that can lead to those big things. I have been planning to re-register InteGRAL, open a company bank account, find an office space and hire people to be part of my team. None of this has been easy because there are countless factors determined to make you fail, and to my deep chagrin, I have realized it is doubly hard for a woman.
It can be so easy, for women, while being caregivers, to begin to see ourselves only as caregivers because those models abound. Women entrepreneurs, on the other hand, renting offices and running businesses are still rare. And so, despite everything, as I look at my father sitting quietly sipping his tea, made just the way he likes it, I feel gratitude to him. For giving the 9-year-old me one feedback- that my business logo could become much better.
This article made for a difficult read, as my eyes kept tearing up while reading your account of memories and the pain it evoked. You raise many issues and this comment box is far too inadequate to discuss them. But one thing that I would like to say as a carer for my aged parents is that I go through a continuum from care to service, back to care......, and your post made me aware of this. Thank you!! Helped me put many things in perspective - truly thoughtful and candid of you!!