Who would know the third Sunday every June is the international father’s day! Not me, the least of all. Concerned mostly with how the next penny will come from writing, I’m decidedly not the candidate to remain abreast of occasions such as this. But could I overstep what had to happen this Sunday? No luck.
The day started as it should – a late-morning cup of tea with the day’s papers alongside. Leisurely pace notwithstanding, I soon came across Ananda Bazar Patrika’s lead story in its Sunday pullout. There it proclaimed that today was father’s day. Indeed! And then commenced the chain of events I wasn’t prepared for.
First, it was my moody daughter who wanted to celebrate the day, emerging briefly from fresh exchange of congratulations with her friend on account of father’s day. What does that mean, I charged. I didn’t know her friend’s father, nor did he know me. Why bother, she inquired calmly. But in case I felt I must know him, she might ask her friend to dispatch her father to me. Oh no, not at all, I got alarmed at the prospect. At this, my daughter smiled assuredly while gently relieving me of a tidy sum.
If didi showed the way, why should he be left behind? My son took in the scent with effortless ease. Soon it was his turn to further lighten my already-slim purse. That wasn’t all. On came the demand to dine out, which, I was told, was awaiting a suitable occasion for long.
Capping them all was the late-night disappointing game Brazil played. What a father’s day it was! In my childhood, every Sunday used to be a spine-chilling father’s day, what with no liberty to do things own way. This Sunday was no different. Sigh..
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