{"id":559,"date":"2016-07-29T03:02:33","date_gmt":"2016-07-29T03:02:33","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/13.201.39.237\/?p=559"},"modified":"2016-07-29T03:02:33","modified_gmt":"2016-07-29T03:02:33","slug":"father-daughter-relations-arre-ho-ja-re-gender-farrah","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/13.207.105.184\/?p=559","title":{"rendered":"My Absent Abba"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

I<\/span>t has been sixteen years since Abba\u2019s death.\n\nAbba was a popular man in our community. Friends would call him Kader Rangeela because of his colourful personality. But that was just a fa\u00e7ade. Nobody knew about his internal demons and the life he lived, often on the edge of the law. Nobody knew about his alcoholism.\n\nEvery night, he would return home drunk and lose his temper at the slightest provocation. My Ammi bore the brunt of his alcohol-induced abusive avatar. While a part of me would get angry at how Abba treated my mom, another part of me would be worried about him. Whenever he stepped out of the house, I\u2019d wonder if he would come back home that night. I\u2019d run to the window and stand there for hours waiting for him to return. I\u2019d breathe a sigh of relief when he returned, but my peace would be short-lived, as he would invariably be inebriated and once again hurl a volley of abuses at my mother.\n\nI surmised, over time, that some of his anger also came from regret. He always wanted a son, but my mother bore him two daughters. Perhaps, Abba thought that if he had a son, he could have worked with him to turn his life around. Perhaps, a son would have shared his burden. Maybe even shared his drink.\n\nStill, Abba did not hold his yearning for a son against me. He never raised his hand on either my sister or me. He was never mean. He looked after me, but never expressed his love. He asked me about school sometimes, but never helped with homework. I don\u2019t remember a single conversation with my father. I have no memory of any special moment with him. We never went for walks together. We never played any games together. In fact, I don\u2019t even have any photograph of us together.\n\nIt was Ammi who taught me everything \u2013 how to walk, talk and dress up, how to greet people, keep the house in order, and cook. I learnt everything my mother had to teach me and I learnt it well. But I never learnt how to ride bicycles, play cricket, fly kites, and make paper boats. Abba wasn\u2019t around to teach me any of these things. I wonder if he thought that I didn\u2019t need to learn these things because I\u2019m a girl. Or maybe it was because I am a girl that Abba didn\u2019t think there was anything he could teach me. I am clueless to this day. And to this day, I don\u2019t know how to ride a bicycle.\n<\/p>

But our fathers can teach us so much more. They were young men once \u2013 fearless, powerful, ambitious, and rambunctious. Everything that our mothers were not.<\/blockquote>\nI grew up asking my other friends about their relationship with their fathers. Oddly enough, most of these young women said that their mothers too had played a greater role in their lives. And while their fathers\u2019 lives were not as complicated as my Abba\u2019s, their memories of father-daughter conversations were limited too. Apart from help with homework and crying buckets at the bidai, all they remembered of their dads was a stern advice to return home before sunset.\n\nBut our fathers can teach us so much more. They were young men once \u2013 fearless, powerful, ambitious, and rambunctious. Everything that our mothers were not. They have in them a lifetime of lessons that are different from the lessons we learn from our mothers. Fathers can teach their daughters how to deal with men, how to interpret signals, and spot inappropriate behaviour. Fathers can teach their daughters how to throw a punch, kick harder, run faster. How to nurture ambitions and never to settle for less than what we deserve. How to fight for our rights. How to never give up. How to be responsible and how to look after our families.\n\nBut for this, fathers have to start talking to their daughters. We live in a society where sexual segregation is a part of our culture. But why does that stop fathers from being close to their daughters? Does sharing an emotional bond with a girl child make men feel less manly? Why is there a persistent awkwardness that comes between a father and daughter that is different from the natural, free-flowing bond between a father and his son?\n\nI met a father on Arr\u00e9 Ho-Ja Regender<\/em><\/a>, a reality show I participated in. He was in the vehicle-towing business; I went to work for him as part of a task<\/a> on the show. I was dressed as a young man and had undergone a complete makeover<\/a> to look the part. I introduced myself as Farhan and this old man didn\u2019t suspect that I was a girl. Over the course of the day, as he taught me the intricacies of attaching towing equipment to illegal vehicles, he lamented the lack of interest his son-in-law showed toward the business. As he blessed me, he said that if he had a son, he would be like me.\n\nThat day, I felt loved by a father. He had said everything I wanted my Abba to say. I had repressed my feelings of loss after my father died. But after meeting this gentleman, the floodgates had opened. I couldn\u2019t stop crying, once I got back home. So I had my father\u2019s name tattooed on the nape of my neck. This way, I could always feel his hand on my back, encouraging me to face life.\n\nSome people say, those who leave us watch over us. Can you see me Abba? I\u2019m not a son, but I\u2019m the breadwinner of our family. I\u2019m looking after Ammi. I have realised my dream of becoming an actress, but I haven\u2019t forgotten my responsibilities. I even got my sister married off. There\u2019s so much I\u2019d like to say to you. There\u2019s so much I\u2019d like for you to say.\n\nI miss you Abba. I wish I\u2019d known you more and I wish you\u2019d known me better.\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

My Abba and I barely spoke. And while the lives of my friends\u2019 fathers were not as complicated as my Abba\u2019s, their memories of daddy-daughter conversations were limited too.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":89,"featured_media":560,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[40],"tags":[953,954,18,955,443,956,19,957],"class_list":["post-559","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-first-person","tag-arre-ho-ja-re-gender","tag-daughter","tag-family","tag-farrah-kader","tag-father","tag-father-daughter-relations","tag-india","tag-re-gender"],"yoast_head":"\nMy Absent Abba<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"My Abba and I barely spoke. 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