I think the inveterate showman in me comes to the fore rather involuntarily when someone compliments my daughter about something and asks which school she attends, like it happened at the pool today when a lady said that my baby’s got long, muscular legs and that she seems like an athlete, followed by the inevitable question.
It’s so smooth that it might well be practised when, with a wave of my hand and with no change in tone, I dismiss it with,
Oh, she doesn’t go to school. She just does what she wants.
I wait until their eyes, which have grown big as saucers, have come back to regular size, their eyebrows have lowered from their zenith, and their mouth has closed before reeling off the stuff she does, ensuring I am speaking casually,
She likes to run middle distance competitively and is learning to play the piano and speak Mandarin, which is her 6th language after Hindi, English, Marathi, Nepali, and ISL; she loves to play chess and solve the Rubik’s cube in her spare time, when she isn’t baking or solving jig-saw puzzles and Sudoku. And yes, she goes to a casual gymnastics class in the evenings, just to keep her muscles limber.
Then, I give a pause as if that’s done, before concluding,
‘Ah, yes, forgot to mention that she rides horses too over weekends when she isn’t swimming or reading or learning maths and science.’
I know. I know. I know. Privilege.
I also know she isn’t the prodigy she seems from my deliberately cultivated throwaway tone and the long list of activities. It is designed for my natural flamboyance and showmanship. I am having a laugh taking the mickey out of people who are basically straightforward, conservative, simple folks with a straightforward, conservative, and simple view of life.
I mostly make sure she isn’t listening because it would go to her head. But when she is in earshot, she rolls her eyes until they disappear under her eyelids. I am indeed one of those fathers who cannot stop talking about his child, even when the kid in question is so obviously embarrassed of her loquacious and openly boastful father. I wonder how I would react were she to actually win something of note later in life. I guess I’d have to be committed to a rehab just to get my heart rate and adrenaline back to normal, or whatever counts for it in my case
Of course, those who ‘know me’ know me know I’m just having fun, pulling people’s legs (I love to do this, though it isn’t very evident on social media, where I am more mindful), and making it seem so cool that almost everyone I drop this on has an instant inferiority complex about their parenting.
The truth is (and as I said, those who ‘know me’ know me know this) that I am struggling as much as the next dad (probably more, much more), and so is Tashuji as much as the next mum. Kym is simply an average kid with extraordinary privilege and two committed parents.
The truth is also that it is indeed cool, not gonna lie, and while privileged, Kym is leading a rather charmed life. But then, she is (and anyone who’s interacted with her will vouch for this) also a balanced, smart, calm, curious, thinking, and happy child, which her mother and I both believe is most likely to lead to a balanced, calm, curious, thinking, and happy adult.
That said, today’s workout, run, core exercises, and swim was made even better for her because both her parents were around as she frolicked in the club’s pool with her mum in there with her and her Baba telling jokes and laughing from the poolside. Afterwards, she had a chicken club sandwich and a strawberry milkshake, and later, picked some random flowers in the parking lot to give her Aji, something she forgot to do because she was late for her marathon maths, science, and language classes, after which she told her mum she needs to catch up on her reading and so, went to her room.
However, when Mamma Bear entered her room on tippy toes, so as not to disturb her, what greeted her was the little one fast asleep, having tired herself out from all the activity, the list of which Baba Bear likes to casually throw at unsuspecting strangers just to see their shock, so he can have a good laugh, but which sometimes makes a tiny little 8-year-old drop from exhaustion, a full stomach, and the joy of a morning spent as a family.
She’s so beautiful, my baby. And I’d do anything for her. Because she’s already given me everything I need.
