The Septuagenarian Prince

March 2015, Ferrari World, Abu Dhabi: I can feel the slow, familiar rise of adrenaline coursing through my body, seated on the front row of the world’s fastest roller coaster, Formula Rossa. Buckled in and pumped about experiencing more g-force than astronauts do during a space shuttle takeoff, I look over at my co-rider.

“Pa, when was your last time on a roller coaster?”

My father nonchalantly shrugs and shakes his head.

“What?! You’ve never been on a roller coaster before?”

A lurch at the pit of my stomach that has nothing to do with the imminent ride makes me realize how particularly ill-timed my question was. How utterly irresponsible of me to allow my theme-park novice dad, well past sixty, to ride one of the craziest coasters ever built! I stare at the tracks in front of us, swallowing the nervous lump in my throat as the countdown to launch begins. My self-reproach is quickly taken over by a feeling of being in charge.

“Keep your eyes open throughout. If you feel giddy, focus on one point. It’ll be over before you know it.” I instruct gently. He smiles back at me, calm as a cloudless summer night sky.

1 minute 32 seconds later, I’ve checked off a bucket-list item. But I couldn’t care less.

“That was fun, but I think I’m going to have to sit down for a bit!” He laughs. I hold his hand, finding us a bench. Worry is all over my face. “I’m fine, really.” He reassures me. 

“I can’t believe you did that with me. I’m so proud of you…” In that moment, I felt an overwhelming sense of affection and an urge to protect, a potent mix which led to the reluctant reminder of being a grown-up.

My dad always wanted a baby girl. He was stubborn in his prayers and the heavens simply had to oblige. And so, I grew up under his adoring, protective care - the center of his universe. Nights, before bedtime, were usually reserved for our cub fights; these were my earliest lessons in building physical strength and mental fortitude while concocting defense moves in an attempt to defeat him. I always went in with a new plan to take him down. I always lost. And it drove me nuts. Through that game my dad conditioned me to shake off defeat and get back on my feet. Every single time. He toughened me to face the little pains that prick us now and again. And sometimes, just to keep my spirits, he would lose a fight :)

One of the quirks of my childhood was being an integral part of my parents’ social circle. I was usually the only kid in a group of about 10 adults, mingling away happily in their doting company. My parents never left me at home when they went out to party or on vacations. My dad shared his friends and his social life with me through my growing years. I loved hanging out with them, even as I came of age. I was offered my first drink by my dad at one such party, and till date he is my favorite companion to pour a glass with after a long day.

I grew up admiring his panache, his intelligence, his sincerity, his wit, his uncanny perceptiveness and most importantly, his boundless love for his family. I can’t help but sometimes envy his ability to strike a conversation with anyone on the face of the earth and build a meaningful connection. Life was so easy wrapped in his embrace. I would feel undefeatable.

Whether it’s our shared love for scotch and jazz (yes, I picked those up from him!) or our immaculate organization and planning skills, he has imparted the best of himself to me. But he has also allowed me space to develop my own identity and interests, supporting me every step of the way. After all, who fearlessly gets on the front row of a roller coaster, or paraglides in mountains, or parasails over the ocean to create memories with his daredevil daughter?

December 15, 2020: Type... delete. Type, type, type... Nope. Delete, delete, delete.

I was struggling to articulate my feelings and pen down my thoughts as I began this piece. For no words could do justice to commemorate the strongest familial bond known to humankind - the father-daughter relationship. Anything in black and white was a bland attempt at surfacing the technicolor emotions decorating the deepest walls of my heart. Perhaps, this wordlessness itself is testimony of the beauty of the love we share. And so, wordless it shall remain.

Today, the first man in my life turns 70. That’s huge. And scary. But I’m sure he’ll reason that it’s just another number. In the run up to this day, I have been leafing through the pages of the shared portion of our lives. And, I’ve come to realize how much of a reflection I am of him. Some of my biggest individual strengths are simply inheritances.

So, as you celebrate this milestone, I just want to say thank you for letting me be a little bit of you. Happy 70th birthday, papa!