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Daddy's Darling - Anu Chopra

The tears flowed endlessly from her mournful eyes. The death of her father was like a mortal blow. The vivacious, glowing soul had finally deserted its harbor, leaving instead a dull, lifeless corpse. Her father, her hero, the man who had taught her about life about everything and who's tantamous influence was unmistakabely evident in her personality. The body was surrounded by her mother, brother and relatives, all equally shell-shocked. He had been ill for some time and though death was expected, no one is really prepared for the finality until it really happens. There is always hope flickering. She looked at her husband, who she had been married to for almost ten years sitting near her father's dead body. She loved her a husband a lot, and though he never really understood her, he untiringly put up with her violent mood swings and intensity. She loved him like no body had ever loved, she fought with him like cats and dogs. He was stable and was never unduly perturbed thank god.

Why was she like that? Had she taken after her father? He was always so emotional. He always liked to be in the limelight. He also cried when he was moved, and easily went into depression when things were unfavorable. He used to be really moved with poverty and did everything he could to help people. No wonder there were so many people at his funeral.

She wondered where she had inherited that self destructive streak in her... Her father was also like that. All the good work he would do would be annihilated because of his erratic behavior. sometimes he just did things which he was not supposed to do, eccentricities like uncalled for rudeness or deriving pleasure from inflicting painful practical pranks on people. which was so unnecessary. She also remembered her own affair with her husband's best friend. What was the point of the affair. She did not even like him. What was the point of sneaking into hotels and putting her whole life at stake, especially when her children and husband were so important to her her .Frankly the sex act with him had completely repulsed her and it was such an effort to put up a show that she enjoyed it. It had gone on for a year, those seedy hotel rooms, covering her face with a duppata and dark glares and the knowing looks of the waiters. And it had ended so messily. On the flip side she was a model mother a good friend smart articulate, lots of fun to be with, thank god she had the sense to camaflaouge her darker side successfully.

She looked at her father's body and thought of her relationship with him. She was always trying to please him and yet also trying to defy him. If she got a good report card she wanted his approval. If she wore a new dress she wanted her father to appreciate it. If something of hers got published she wanted her father to read first .On the other hand if her father extolled the virtues of yoga she saw to it that she did aerobics and dismissed yoga. If her father liked icecreams she would pretend to hate them but she would secretly crave for it.

Some times she tried to psychoanalyze herself. That insecurity, the low self-esteem which she tried desperately to hide, would she ever outgrow it. Would she able to bury her past. Maybe with her father's death she would finally emerge a person in her own right. She saw her husband whom she loved so desperately yet she always compared him to her father .She looked at her dad's body she loved her dad so much too. But only she knew the truth and her dad not even her brother or her mother. After all her dad had been her first lover.

It was probably her fault. Her mom had gone to her nani,s house she had a big gash on her thigh.She had fallen down from her cycle .She had gone crying to her dad ,she was 12 years old and somehow,all this had happened.She had always been big for her age,and when she showed daddy the gash..she did not remember or care to remember.It was never repeated again and it was never mentioned and maybe in her hearts and she hated herself for it she wished dad would repeat it to prove she was the chosen one.

She cried and told herself, it doesn't matter dad I love you there was nothing to forgive. It was my fault I was so overgrown at twelve I looked twenty. This secret is ours. And it is dead and buried with you dad. But then why did it play with her peace of mind. She had put it behind, in some dark corner of her mind then why did it bother her, why did she remember it when least expected. No dad wasn't a child molester she was sure of that, its one of those things that happen and she looked at her dads body and sat close to her mother and hugged her. She knew now she had to look after her mother and try and forget the past. She desperately hoped God would give her that kind of strength.

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