Home   |  Issues  |  The Daily Star Home | Volume 5, Issue 23, Tuesday June 10, 2008



Father's Day Special


From a father

My cheeks were still burning in the aftermath of the slaps whacking mercilessly, but my revenge was burning even fiercer in my mind. After all these years, memory is hazy about the reason for the laceration, but it must have been something mundane not deserving all this beatings. But yes, I had my sweet revenge; I left those red ants in my dad's trousers! And then of course I kept a long distance from him for the next one month or so.

Days before he died, he somehow could sense his end, he brought me a piece of cloth for trousers (in those days, you could not get the readymade things). I was touched, but did not say much.

Only yesterday, my daughter and I were in the toilet trying to push and shove each other out to get the first claim on the commode seat we both needed a leak badly. There are two other toilets but we won't go there. Finally both of us were screaming that we cannot hold it any longer. I gave up.

And it was only the other day we were traveling together through the dense forest of Rema Kalinga . We both were tired from walking for hours, but we would not give up. Every time we got to see a langur or hear the cackling of a jungle fowl, we were enthralled. And when we were going for scuba diving at Chhera Dwip, she finally gave up because of the fear of the unknown underwater world. As I went ahead, anxiety was written all over her face.

As we lay together in my room for nights talking gibberish and we have our own way of doing it, she asks me which Greek god would I choose to be if I had the power and I would ask her the same, or we would make out grotesquely funny stories about the end of the world and the life in heaven we would forget that her bed time was hours over and that any time now her mother would appear with a thunderous voice. Or we would lay together, her legs over my belly and my hand curled around her neck, me reading Stiglitz and she Haper Lee. I would ask her to read Globalisation and Its Discontent and she would listen to the IMF's wrongdoings. She would ask me why the blacks were so much denigrated in America and get furious at the ugly head of racism. She would say she would become Arundhati Roy if she were given a chance to be. I tell her she can be one, because I know she writes much better than I do.

At nights when we plan of mischiefs like how to sneak a new dog into the house or how to play pranks on my colleagues in office, who are by now her best friends, we know we two are good buddies and that I love her way too much. And I know if she gets to read this piece I will be way too embarrassed for she will be taunting me for being a softy. In that case she will get a big kick in her butt.

By Inam Ahmed

Photo: Zahedul I Khan, Model: Shakhawat Hossain, Zaima Hossain, Shadab Hossain We express our sincere gratitude to Anita Haque for arranging the photo shoot.



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