What matters

This title could well encompass a whole host of factors, issues, circumstantial occurrences & so much more. But I will not get into them here at my Blog. Blog is a cute cosy space for sharing warmth and love, in crisp form :D So, yeah, I was born small. I mean, really, small in size :)) And when friends of my age were growing taller & I was not, it was a "matter of concern" to my parents. They got me to doctor & I was prescribed doses medicines for 6 months long but all that went in vain, I think, as I could only manage 5'2" :D

But apparently, the "matter of concern" was somehow taken care of. After then, as I reached adolescence, my parents' friends grew concerned about my tom-boyish attitude & "ugly" looks. They would comment directly & discuss openly how difficult it is, to raise me & to get me married. It used to hurt me badly. I don't know about others, but I feel hurt when you tell me that my ugliness is a "qualifier" for something. But you see, I am a quiet person. I write so much. I do not express as much. I was worse, back then, when I wrote silly poems, to express :D 

But you know? Dad is the most kind man I know. He listened patiently, to all the rants of his friends, but never retorted badly. And he *knew* how I felt. After these 'friends' left, he would quietly come to me, sit by my side, look at me, and say "Don't worry about what they say. The day when you emerge an Engineer, nobody will question your looks". I used to feel so positive then, and I hugged my dad. I mean, it's not that I had to become an engineer to feel happy, it's just that Dad was so sensitive. His love and warmth was all that "matter" to me. I personally never bothered about what people talk. I forgive their narrow-mindedness.

And then, I grew up further. Got admission to one of the NICE engineering colleges in India :-) It aroused the curiosity among "people". They continued ranting about my lack of efforts in grooming, and then my Dad spoke up. He said to them: She is my girl who believes in simple living and high thinking. They stopped talking, for good. 

I feel grateful for having a Dad, who understood my depths, who was sensitive enough to provide me with the warmth that I could never "ask for" at times when I felt hurt. It is just not fair that he is no more. Anyhow, what matters is, his sensitivity, his depth of understanding, his patience, his warmth, and his love is nurtured in me, by me, or so I believe.

Love.

Mishti.