Dads

I went to pick up my weekly ration of meat at the butchers today. I call them butchers coz it sounds cool even though Ive seen no animal being brought in on 4 legs, 2 wings and a prayer and come out in a meat pieces. So meat shop. Sure. 

I went to the meat shop before they shut for their afternoon siesta. This siesta accusation could also be totally unfounded since its not displayed anywhere at the shop. Nor do the owners-workers seem yawning and stretching, eyes drooping, cranky at them getting close to nappy time. 

A little about the meat shop. Superb hai. Sab milta hai. Maybe the best i've seen in bombay. a very hustling bustling bandra thing. (much love to my current geography)

Having cleared all of the above, lemme get to the nalli nihari of the matter. The last time I was there, I requested 100gms of meat. The man nodded in the negative. 250gms? I enquire. The negative nod repeats. "Atleast half a kilo". I appeal to the boy next to him, who on earlier meetings had been chatty with patron (not me, not yet), so i thought he could be reasoned with. He deflects my query to a broad shouldered gentleman referred and called to as PaPPa. Yes, there was a stress and pause in the P, hence their repetition. Also reflecting that the decision of selling of 250gms of meat was beyond his his jurisdiction. This was PaPPa territory. Also, amongst heft butchers, someone suddenly being called PaPPA really broke character for me.
PaPPa half turned in disinterest, glanced at me, and told his son, for now called Betta, to comply to my request. 
Happy, I pay what i owe, and go, swinging this raw meat in a plastic wrap, whistling. 

Today though, i encounter similar reservation and denial to my pav bhar meat ki request. This time Pappa's standing facing us, at the counter. Before he can reach any conclusion, I tell him that we've been through this contemplation before. To help him visualise it better, I recount to him the exact above passage. Either the picture i painted with my words was so vivid or that it was the longest conversation of the day so far, he took to really conversing with me. 
"250gms of steak!"were uttered and lost somewhere in the back section of the meat shop. "Pappa" responds to my point of not wanting to keep meat in the freezer for two long as its a single occupancy refrigerator. This sparks something in him He reveals that, back in the day, he had no money for his marriage. (His wife had some, but not much.)
Then, we get to the guessing game part of the conversation. 

"Guess how many people came to my "tilak" aka christian version thereof?
"15-20 people"
"150 people", he replies smiling solemnly, stressing on the fifty slightly. 
"Oh..", is all i deem apt, since I suspect this progression has just begun. 

"Guess how many people came to my wedding"
"The same 150 people?"
"1500"

Either now or earlier he told me he didnt care about money. He just wanted to have 7 kids. Then I asked him how had he done so far. I think he said 3 but I cant be sure because I was slightly panicky as to how much sharing here is good sharing, having already cracked a joke where i thought I was targeting "butcher humour" and it falling flat on its face like some delicious dead meat ready to be diced (pav bhar joke fail hua basically). Now how to gracefully end this conversation so that I can get my paav-bhar meat the next time without the discourse*.
*(it was actually not boring at all)

We shook hands. I introduced myself. The son introduced himself. But he, the "PaPPa to Mark betta", remained nameless. He warmly saw me off too. It felt quite good I must admit. Having these unexpected warm conversations with (no longer) strangers. 

Off late, me and my own father have hit a stasis in conversation I think. No ones to completely blame for this. Growing up, father's going about making a life for his family, etc. So the time we did spend were full of activities and treks and maths tables. Now that there's time to be more in eachother's company, I personally was maybe expecting deep conversations and insights, and laughter. We just want al the moments spent with eachother so full of this quality that a normal hum drum existence and conversation somehow just doesnt cut it. If I'm consuming 5,10,15 second videos that are so concise and fun, why is my real life interaction any lesser. That too from my father. At this time completely disregarding that he too comes from a place and time, up until the present tense. What barometer do we feel we are equipped with to sometime be this critical of him. 
And when "hyper critical" (read maybe frustrated at other ends of life) kids (read very much in their 30s adults) meet "I'm the one who go you here/got you all this" man of the house, its an emotional household bursting at its seams. 

Maybe I want to assuage some guilt of the above practice that happens maybe quarterly in our house hold. Some points withstanding, I want to tell myself to take a chill pill. To tell myself, that if ever, "jab khud ke honge tab pata lagega", then we will see kitni ye baaton pe khud amal karte hain. 

Which begs the question. Do I want a kid like me as a father. Probabs not.