Mannil Virinja Poove, Nee Sugam Alle?

You've turned 57 this year. A little close to becoming the 'senior citizen'. That never bothered you much, isn't it? You've always been young at heart. I still picture you in the la Rajinikant avatar with your bell-bottom pants, dense and stylized hair. A smile that seeped out to your dimples. Eyes with a lovely gleam. You've always had this charm about you, haven't you? I bet, Amma fell for the smile. 

Appa, Appu and I have always admired your love for Amma. Although, your fights would always begin and end with 'Iruvadu varsaham ore vishayata chollind iru' or 'Uma, please, at least, Poojai nerathla kathade', the two of us knew how deep your love has been for Amma.

We've always loved the way you'd buy her a gift and send it through us. We've always known that you're a die-hard romantic. A romantic who chose to be shy about it. I've read the letters you and Amma exchanged during the courtship period. I never really managed to read a whole letter, but I've read enough to know the romantic in you. I've always loved the way you'd narrate the ponnupaakal incident. It gets better each time. I am glad you chose to spend your life with Amma, in spite of the high-on-acidity Sambhar and Uralakazhangu kari. In spite of Athai and Paati having threatened you with dosham.I'll always remember you as the die-heart romantic who took the heroic stance to stand by his lady love.(Of course, I've exaggerated the whole episode. But, I like to remember it that way.)

I don't know if you remember our waltz to Baharo Phool Barsao. I distinctly remember every bit of it. I was in the fourth standard; had just received my final exam mark-sheet. I had been given an 'A' grade. Ah, my joy knew no bounds! It was a Saturday. I remember the day because you were usually home on Saturdays. You were busy with your usual routine of swaying to Old Hindi Songs. I came home, rung the bell and displayed my report card as if I had bagged a Gold Medal at the Olympics. Baharo Phool Barsao had just begun on the tape recorder. You held my tiny hands and swayed with me to that Suraj's classic number. In my mind, I had clicked a picture of us dancing. A fragment from my memory I always go back to when I am overloaded with joy. Especially on occasions when I want to sway to old hindi songs. Did you know that I've bequeathed that art from you? Oh, yes, I have.

I vividly remember us opening the first bottle of alcohol in the house. I was surprised how Amma wasn't perplexed about it. When Amma let me gulp down an entire glass of that delicious wine, I sat there baffled, looking at the joy in her eyes. Do you remember how Amma and you would ask me to slow down, while I tried to hurriedly gobble up those luxury chocolates. What joy!
Do you remember that one anniversary when little-hippo Appu and I cooked up a half-cooked, wholesome, hearty meal consisting a sandwich of sorts, and some chat. The naïve attempt at setting up a candle-lit ambience; the two of you were embarrassed. Appu and I lifted our shoulders and held it up high after that night.

©Rameez Kakodker Photography

I will always cherish these episodes from the days of our lives. There's a lot more that I want to write you today, Appa. I am unable to write as these tears are messing up the keyboard. Please don't get me wrong when I say tears. These are tears of joy, and sense of contentment. I want to take a walk with you through the lane of soulful memories. Of times you and Amma spent in raising this family. Thank you for bringing us into this world; you virtually showed me the world on your shoulders; maad madiri valandootum I chose to trod the streets sitting on your shoulder. Amma and you have carefully knit this family with the most comforting fabric. Thank you for being a friend, philosopher and a guide in disguise. Thank you for letting us have you as our father.

Happy Birthday, Appa.