My Dad’s ‘Selfish’ Habits Masked a Heart of Unseen Kindness
My father passed away years ago, leaving a void that still aches. While I truly believe he was a great dad, a part of me always harbored a secret resentment, seeing him as deeply selfish, especially when it came to his own well-being. He lived by his own rules: greasy street food was a constant, a cigarette always between his fingers, and alcohol, well, that was his other indulgence.
It wasn't that he was an angry or disruptive drunk; never that. But on those big, boisterous Indian wedding nights, he'd transform. After a few pegs, he'd become the life of the party, a beaming, portly spectacle on the dance floor, twirling and stomping like a majestic walrus until 2 AM. The aunties, bless their hearts, found him utterly endearing, hooting and cheering him on. But for me, it was pure agony.
Every time, a tight knot of embarrassment would form in my stomach. I'd cringe at the whispers, the thought of "log kya kahenge" (what will people say?) burning in my ears. I was always the designated "retrieval squad," tasked with the unenviable job of coaxing, dragging, and sometimes literally supporting his heavy, swaying frame back home. My mother, ever patient, would be at her wit's end, her quiet pleas lost in his drunken revelry. Those nights felt endless, a heavy burden for a young boy to shoulder. Looking back now, through the lens of grief and a wiser heart, I realize my perception was tragically incomplete. What I saw as selfish indulgence, I now understand, might have been something entirely different.
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