Fathers of Daughters
I was barely ten when I watched DDLJ, the Bollywood movie that broke records of all kinds. To be honest, I enjoyed it too. What was there not to like? For the 90s kid in me, a dose of NRI lifestyle, London, breathtaking Swiss Alps, and Eurorail trip with friends was new and fascinating. There was something that didn’t feel right from the very beginning though.
Simran’s father was damn scary. He was stern, unbending, unapproachable, orthodox, and a strict disciplinarian. So much that his adult daughter had to live a double life and do all kinds of gimmicks to get permission from her father to travel. I was still ready to give him the benefit of doubt until he declared, that he had betrothed his daughter to his friend’s son when they were just babies. My child brain went, “WHATTTTTT????? How could he do that? Has my father done the same for me too and waiting for me to turn twentyone to ship me off to some stranger? I hope not. I hope not. I soooo hope not.” The whole idea was just jarringly unacceptable for me.
During my childhood and teenage years, I thought my father was a time-traveller who has come from the future. He wasn’t orthodox like the fathers I noticed in movies and real life. He never imposed unnecessary restrictions on me just because I was a girl. There was never an issue with the hemline of my skirts, friendship with boys, or “non-girly” interests.
His idea of watching out for me has always been very different. When girls were saving the phone numbers of their male friends under female names in their new cell phones, my father encouraged me to be friends with good people irrespective of their gender. He wanted me to invite them at our place if I wanted to. I wasn’t asked to fast for a perfect husband. I wasn’t taught to let my gender decide what I wanted in life. I wasn’t living a double life. I still continue to be my authentic and real self around him. We aren’t always on the same page on every matter, but we agree to disagree. And I am immensely grateful for that.
Recently, two movies “Thappad”, and “Gunjan Saxena: The Kargil Girl” reminded me of my father and his parenting style. The fathers of protagonists were the kind of fathers, we Indian women were eager to watch on screen. Mainstream Bollywood had been offering us either “Pratishtha, Parampara, Anushaasan” kind of an unyielding mountain or a stuck in his youth kind of a comic buffoon.
Amrita’s father (Thappad) was someone who stood by his daughter through thick and thin. From her decision to be a homemaker to seeking a divorce after a single incident of physical assault, he was both a sounding board and the voice of reason for his daughter. I loved how his eyes lit up when he saw his trained dancer daughter dance at a party. He didn’t care if she was dancing on a global stage or at her husband’s professional success party.
He never looked down on her for choosing to leave her dancing career and become a homemaker. He was happy with what made his daughter happy. Even if that later meant Amrita realizing that she was worth more than what she was getting for side-lining her professional aspirations. He never tried to convince Amrita to kiss and makeup with her husband, not even when her pregnancy came into picture.
Amrita’s father knew how harsh the Indian society can be to a woman who is a divorcee and a single mother. Yet, those hardships were worth his daughter’s dignity and self-respect. He helped his baby take baby steps in the new world beyond her marriage, while she was carrying a baby. It takes unimaginable strength to see your child’s world fall apart and her idea of a perfect life shatter like that.
How do you help someone deal with such seismic shifts in their life? Yet there he was, having her back as she was navigating her new reality. He helped her face her doubts and fears. He neither painted a glossy picture of the future that awaited her, nor did he scare her away from standing up for what’s right.
Gunjan’s father (Gunjan Saxena: The Kargil Girl) belonged to the same breed of fathers as Amrita’s father. His challenges were different. Right from allowing his daughter to dream without letting her gender come in the way of her aspirations to finding the confidence to make quick lifesaving decisions in the face of war. How do you let the piece of your heart pursue such a complicated untrodden path in life, knowing very well she might encounter discrimination, challenges, and struggles on a different level altogether?
Gunjan’s brother wasn’t on board with his sister’s choices initially. He loved his sister and trusted her capabilities. However, for him protecting his sister meant deterring her from venturing into the big bad world of boys. Both the men in Gunjan’s life loved her deeply, but her father was a league apart in helping her being her most authentic self from the very beginning. He knew if he took away his daughter’s dream, she would never really be herself and will lead a life regretting not trying. And that was just unacceptable for him.
Gunjan’s father stood by her even when his wife and son questioned the kind of freedom he let his daughter enjoy. He knew he didn’t own his daughter. Her dreams were her own. Her freedom to choose was her own. All he could do was enable her to pursue her goals with the right guidance and support. And he did that spectacularly.
Both men set an example for the fathers of daughters everywhere. They did not brainwash their daughters into taking the more socially acceptable route. They knew the odds were against their child. These fathers allowed their daughters to feel vulnerable and gave them all the strength, motivation, and confidence for making the choices that were right for them. And that’s all a child wants from his or her father.
“She did not stand alone, but what stood behind her, the most potent moral force in her life, was the love of her father.” — Harper Lee
