On Sunday mornings I speak with my dad, though the word "Speak" may be used kindly here. Dad is a man of few words and fewer outward emotions. Our conversation seems to flow in the vein of Duane's conversation with his dad on Prairie Home Companion. Monosyllables. Pulling teeth. Etc.
If I am able to get my dad out of his shell, the conversation can get more interesting. Even animated if I can get him into an argument. But that's rare. Our phone call goes something like this:
Me: Hello Appa
Dad: Hello
pause
Me: How are you doing?
Dad: good.
pause
Me: What were you doing?
Dad: Oh just watching TV. Not much to do here.
Me: How's the weather?
Dad: Hot.
Pause
I then speak about a few things going on in my life and we are back to talking about the weather:
"It's getting very cold here".
"I see".
"Has it rained there?"
"Not really, we didn't get much rain this season".
"ah okay".
Platitudes.
I am not exactly blessed with the gift of gab myself. When the usual topics are checked off I use my customary "what's amma doing" which prompts him to give the phone to mom with a sigh of relief.
This conversation is frankly longer than any conversation I ever had with my dad growing up. As a kid, I was always nervous around him, anticipating a good beating if I ever came face to face with him. (and he never ever beat me). Power of a parent figure I suppose. Or I was constantly guilty of something perhaps.
Today I am a grownup who (ostensibly) has worked out her issues and able to love her dad unconditionally. And there is much to love about the man. The fact that he was passionate about his causes, always helping the poor. Always fighting for justice and fairness for others. That he treated other people as equals without regard to their status and invited everyone to dine along with us. The fact that he came from an orthodox family but had nothing orthodox about him. Yep, I am proud of my dad. He had the right values. And he lived by them.
Which is why I was not too pleased when our conversation took this turn:
I ask him: So How was the wedding, I thought you went to a wedding?
Dad: It was good.
Me: That's good. How was the food?
Dad: It was good, it was in the temple. A lot of people. They served us inside and of course the shudras were also served. Outside the temple.
Me: what?
Dad repeated what he said.
Me: didn't it bother you? that they were served outside and not allowed to come into the temple?
Dad: No. That is the way it has always been for centuries
Me: Yes but I thought you would find it offensive
Dad: Me? No. They got the same meals and treatment we got.
Me: But this is 21st century. How can people be discriminated like that?
Dad: That's how it is here in India. And those people are more about caste than we are if you must know. They didn't want to remove the caste question even on the census. They want to keep it alive. Not us.
Yes it is always them.
At this point my dad had raised his voice and so 11 year old girl in me appeared and she decided to back out. No point in pushing those buttons. Plus the feeling of getting the phone thrown at me... duck.
"What's amma up to?" I asked politely. And to both our relief, I was now talking to my mom.
If I am able to get my dad out of his shell, the conversation can get more interesting. Even animated if I can get him into an argument. But that's rare. Our phone call goes something like this:
Me: Hello Appa
Dad: Hello
pause
Me: How are you doing?
Dad: good.
pause
Me: What were you doing?
Dad: Oh just watching TV. Not much to do here.
Me: How's the weather?
Dad: Hot.
Pause
I then speak about a few things going on in my life and we are back to talking about the weather:
"It's getting very cold here".
"I see".
"Has it rained there?"
"Not really, we didn't get much rain this season".
"ah okay".
Platitudes.
I am not exactly blessed with the gift of gab myself. When the usual topics are checked off I use my customary "what's amma doing" which prompts him to give the phone to mom with a sigh of relief.
This conversation is frankly longer than any conversation I ever had with my dad growing up. As a kid, I was always nervous around him, anticipating a good beating if I ever came face to face with him. (and he never ever beat me). Power of a parent figure I suppose. Or I was constantly guilty of something perhaps.
Today I am a grownup who (ostensibly) has worked out her issues and able to love her dad unconditionally. And there is much to love about the man. The fact that he was passionate about his causes, always helping the poor. Always fighting for justice and fairness for others. That he treated other people as equals without regard to their status and invited everyone to dine along with us. The fact that he came from an orthodox family but had nothing orthodox about him. Yep, I am proud of my dad. He had the right values. And he lived by them.
Which is why I was not too pleased when our conversation took this turn:
I ask him: So How was the wedding, I thought you went to a wedding?
Dad: It was good.
Me: That's good. How was the food?
Dad: It was good, it was in the temple. A lot of people. They served us inside and of course the shudras were also served. Outside the temple.
Me: what?
Dad repeated what he said.
Me: didn't it bother you? that they were served outside and not allowed to come into the temple?
Dad: No. That is the way it has always been for centuries
Me: Yes but I thought you would find it offensive
Dad: Me? No. They got the same meals and treatment we got.
Me: But this is 21st century. How can people be discriminated like that?
Dad: That's how it is here in India. And those people are more about caste than we are if you must know. They didn't want to remove the caste question even on the census. They want to keep it alive. Not us.
Yes it is always them.
At this point my dad had raised his voice and so 11 year old girl in me appeared and she decided to back out. No point in pushing those buttons. Plus the feeling of getting the phone thrown at me... duck.
"What's amma up to?" I asked politely. And to both our relief, I was now talking to my mom.
