Daddy's Little Girl

Yesterday, I was watching the TV show 'Koffee with Karan' (Yes, I admit...I am totally hooked on to that show) and the guests on the show were Amitabh Bachchan and his daughter Shweta. Amitabh Bachchan...also called Big B...the living legend...larger than life personality...and yet on the show with his daughter he was simply her 'Pa'. It was endearing to see the father - daughter bond and set me thinking on my own memories with my Dad.


My Dad has been and continues to be my biggest supporter....my inspiration. One of my earliest memories with my Dad is of the bedtime stories he would tell me every night...not read from any book but narrated from memory. ..of kings, of queens, from the Ramayan and the Mahabharat, of Akbar and Birbal, the list is endless and the stories priceless. Another fond memory is associated with Big B himself...Dad and I have watched together almost every Amitabh movie released in those days...Dostana, Namak Halaal, Laawaris, Mr. Natwarlal....just naming these movies makes me nostalgic. My Dad has always encouraged me no matter what. I remember the days I was learning to cook and the very first chapati I rolled out was not a round shape..in fact it looked like the map of some country. Yet Dad insisted I serve it to him and after eating it declared it to be the tastiest chapati he had eaten. Of course it was Mom's honest criticism of my cooking that has made me a somewhat of a decent cook today...yet it was Dad's encouragement that kept me going back into the kitchen. My love for reading, my passion to write, my love for films even.....all come from my Dad.


On the show, Amitabh was asked to name the one thing about his daughter that annoyed him and he said...that she does not write enough because she is a great writer. Ironically, the one thing that my Dad has told me over the past many years is that he wanted me to start writing again. And even as I am typing this up, I realize two things...one, I have never told him how precious my memories with him are and two, he does not know that I have started writing again. So, after I post this, I am going to send him a link to this post. Daddy, this one is for you. Thank you for giving me a wonderful childhood. No matter where I am, no matter how old I become, I was and shall always remain your little girl.


Before I sign off, I have to mention and in fact I am quite proud to say that my 2 and a half year old daughter is like me totally and completely her Daddy's little girl.


Signing off with loads of childhood memories and this poem which I wrote when I was 14 years old.


Every monsoon when the raindrops created music on the roof,
My little hand my father would hold
And when a rainbow majestically appeared in the sky,
He would tell me that at its end there was a pot of gold.


My little eyes would widen with surprise
And I would run to reach the rainbow's end
And the more I ran, the farther away
The rainbow in the sky appeared to bend.


My heart always wonders and wishes to know
What the pot of gold would hold,
I guess it was just an illusion
For there never was any pot of gold.


But, a rainbow in the sky has always cheered me up
Through the dark corridors of sorrow
It has always stirred some strange hope in me
Of maybe...a better tomorrow.


The rain pours even as the sun peeps shyly from the clouds
And my daughter's little hand I hold
I point to the rainbow in the sky
And tell her 'Darling, at its end is a pot of gold.'