You do not really get to realize that you are aging unless a fine morning, not your better half but your daughter who until now was thought to be a kiddy, admonishes you for not having gone for a morning walk. This is particularly true for all artists and more so for writers, I guess. We tend to write on hypothetical permutations, emotional culminations, ideal conditions, or extreme complicated issues which have got nothing to do with “normal sweet life’ which goes on at its pace be what may. This is exactly what happened to me this Sunday.
I have carried over all the traditional wisdom & knowledge and undisturbed routine thereto of taking it a little easy on Sundays like many other fellow Indians. Owing to 3 days off from office in a row and no imminent spine-chilling policy level meetings scheduled for the coming weekdays, I took all the liberty of being the only boss in the only place that I can be, home, and forayed onto the heavy breakfast. But to my utter dismay, my daughter just in adolescence who I always thought was a nicely pampered child of mine, took that away and asked me to exercise first, since walk time was anyway over. When I retorted, her answer left me bewildered as never, and she said, “so next time onwards, please do not preach me for any such thing like playing outdoor games in lieu of indoor games or exercising”.
You know what is this called as- a perfect and absolutely Indian style of saying “Papa, Don’t preach” with the only difference that someone more beautiful and outspoken than Madonna has said it. You won’t mind this Madonna Mam, Please don’t.
Good evening and see you next time.