Living a life as your daughter wasn’t easy. Trust me. Being a politician’s child, I was under the constant scrutiny and judgement of the society. And I still am.
My every move and every action was judged. I held pride in being called as ‘Dada’s daughter’( what you are fondly called by your people). But we had to make our share of sacrifices for that.
I was in grade 3 when you won your first local elections. I was a proud daughter then and a proud daughter now as well. You never bribed people to vote you. You won because you had conquered people’s hearts and not their pockets. And we respect you immensely for that. But a social worker overpowered a father.
For you, your society was a priority and family took a backseat. You never came to school for any of dada’s or my annual functions or report days. Maa had to compensate for that.
The only time I saw you in school was for somebody else’s school admissions. I wish I could show you how my name was written on the blackboard for standing 1st/2nd in class. We missed you being around during our growing years.
You never woke up early to see us get ready for school. Probably you were busy the previous night, releasing someone from the police station, all thanks to some local fights. You never sat with us with our homework or studies unlike other parents.
We never had family dinners together, because you were always late. Sometimes, dada and I slept before you would return home. Like every other family, I too wished to go on family trips, but you were always busy with your schedule. The farthest we have been is to Ratnagiri.
During the wedding season, you were the last to arrive at our family functions, because you probably had a list of events, engagement ceremonies, weddings, inauguration programs to attend. Had we been a nuclear family, Dada and I would have suffered. But thanks to kaka, kaki, Anna and a bunch of cousins, we survived.
Anna took us to water parks, amusement rides and dinners during summer vacations. And not to forget my Konkan trips with kaka and kaki. That’s the only time of the year I went out of town.
I hated watching TV in the living room, the guests never stopped coming and the countless ‘chai’ Maa made for them.
You always wore the typical White Kurta pyjamas, it made you look old. I remember you stopped wearing them when my class teacher referred to you as my grandfather.After that, the white clothes were out of the wardrobe.
Pappa, as much as I enjoyed the luxurious life of a politician’s daughter, I wish if we could live a simpler life.
A life where you would drop us to school, have family dinners with us, where we could go on vacations and plan Sundays together, where you would come home early and ask us about our daily routine at school or take us for Diwali and birthday shoppings.
I wish we could have a normal family life, where our family was restricted to us and not the entire society. I wish!
Your proud daughter,