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A Child's Cry

Since the time, I boarded the plane on my way to uncharacteristically welcoming shores of the far west to the US, life has been a roller-coster. The period spent in US, albeit small was decidedly an eye opener of the sort. Totally in contrast to what SRK had us believe in the efforts to promote his last movie, My Name is Khan, the country seemed to be quite welcoming. Visa was approved with just two questions, and came through a system which was admittedly smooth. Most unsmooth area through the entire travel was getting passport renewed here in India and overcoming serpentine queues to get through immigration here in Delhi. Met extremely warm and colorful set of people there in US from all over, all looking very similar under the face of respective national typecasts, the cautious and reserved Russian friend, Peter ( I am told in Russia, it is not pronounced thus), scholarly swiss trainer, Wily, the Americano, Briggs, supported by quintessential European with promising pauses, Fritz and off course, the great Mojito lover from Italy, Alessandro, and the Chinese lady, Echo Lim, who came across as more Indian that us. All the people, driven out of training sessions by a desire to buy clothes and toys for their kids and primarily for their daughters. I do not know what is this about daughters which renders their fathers so helpless.
Is it the awareness that their moment in the Sun, their role as the most important man in their daughter's life is all but fleeting? Having a daughter, makes the fun out of travel abroad reduced a great deal as not having her with me makes it look more serious and more work-like. All the agendas of travel, since those lovely two little feets started dancing in my home, have reduced to sub-plot to the greater design, which is to get things for my daughter. And looking at people across the nationalities who became great friends there in the US, this is a tendency common across all us fathers there. Peter from Russia, on day two rushed to the Stonebriar Mall and having looked through the marvel of Steve Jobs, ended up buying clothes for his two daughters as first shopping in the US. Peter from Germany also ended up doing the same on the last day, and shared as he gave us lift to the Mall, how concern for offsprings saw him opting out of the love of bikes.

Well, coming back, days were taken up with travel to Bangalore for business visit, catching up with customers in India. 
The days were pressed and one night as I tried to get my three year old dressed into her lovely pink night suite, with Pajamas printed with cute kitties, she started running around. Tired after a full day, I pushed her and put her into her dress. And then I looked at her, eyes all welled up with tears.
And something snapped inside, a crack inside the core of my heart as I could feel a sudden empathy with the helplessness which my three year old must have felt. How could I have made her feel so helpless, making her see that the world around her runs with its own design. It kept on coming back to me, she has to know sooner or later that the world will move its way and the best we can do is to reduce the impact of the large machine which runs oblivious to our choices and desired by appreciating our limited sense of control over lives. It is this understanding which helps us maintain some sense of control over life which in general is absolutely unpredictable. I kept on thinking of it, and when I read a book called "Flipnosis" on the way back from Bangaore, I came across a quote stating that it is a mistake to think of the cry of a child as weak, it is one of the most poignant sounds in human history which moves every human soul with great power and the child knows that. I read that and a smile slowly travelled from my lips to my eyes. Love you my child and while I can not offer you a world which listens to you, I can offer you an insight which will help you understand what part of world you can control and what part of world is uncontrollable, inevitable demon, and I can offer you an assurance of an unfailing love.

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