Chapter 9: Daddy Cool, Part 1

Tania jogged in the park, long even strides, her tight ponytail bouncing from side to side as Sia crooned on the i-pod in her ears 'I am t-i-t-a-n-i-u-m.'

Her mom had had a chat with her today. More a discourse. Tania needed to respect her father, talk with him more, he cared for all of them etc., etc. Tania didn't understand why it was her burden to bridge the gap between Dad and her. Why didn't Dad have to try? For him, it was either work or golf. Even when at home, he wasn't quite with them.

'Fire away, fire away. You shoot me down, but I won't fall. I am titanium.'

Five. She counted as she darted on the last stretch to the start of the jogging track in her pink and grey New Balance sneakers; the rosebush with the pretty yellow flowers was her marker. Five more to go. She skipped to the next song. Aerosmith's 'Livin on the edge'.

She remembered seventh grade. She had scored A in all her subjects for the first time. She was excited, triumphant. All day, she had imagined her Dad's reaction, the grin spreading on his face as he read through the report card, the bear hug. She had refused to go to bed, waiting for him to return. When he came home, she waited by the door and put the report card under his nose.

He spent forty-five seconds with her, congratulated her limply, ruffled her hair and moved on to his bedroom. She had been so deflated. Her mom consoled her. He had a bad day there was a lot going on in his office. But she had understood that day. Her successes, her failures did not matter to him. They were not important. Only his office was. And his office should be important to them too. Not fair.

She wiped the beads of sweat on her forehead. Her red tank top, with patterns of inverted triangles over mountains, stuck to her back. It was getting warm and yet the park was full of early evening walkers. Overweight neighborhood aunties in twos and threes, walking at their own pace. She hoped she wouldn't get misshapen like them when she got their age. She liked the way she looked tall, slim, and athletic.

She slowed down a bit and nodded a mute namastey to Sharma aunty, as she passed her on the south-east corner of the park, besides the old Banyan treewith its roots hanging in the air, hiding its trunk from view. In the soft light of dusk, the little girl in the floral top jogging towards her looked like Pari. Even the top seemed familiar. As she came closer, she realized it was Pari.

When they met, Pari ran alongside her.

"Wanna go bowling?" Pari panted, struggling to keep pace with her.

"With you?" Tania asked, an eyebrow raised. A cigarette butt lay amongst the fallen rose petals and made her angry. Why did people have to litter?

"And Daadu Daadi," Pari said.

Daadu Daadi had arrived from Chandigarh a week ago and Tania felt guilty about not having spent enough time with them homework, tests, Facebook. Daadu had an irrepressible wit, finding humor in everything and Daadi was very 'now' in her outlook. But Daadu Daadi bowling?

"How did you get them to say yes?" Tania asked. Pari would try everything. There were no constraints in her world. She would ask Shahrukh Khan over to their house for a dinner, if she had his phone number.

"Just asked them nicely." Pari smiled. When Pari made her puppy face, you were left with little choice but to say yes.

She stopped running and looked at Pari. "Do you think Mom will let me drive?"

As it turned out, she did. And Tania did get them all to the bowling alley in Badarpur in one piece, even though Dayal, their bespectacled, perennially serious driver, was on the edge of the seat, all the way, willing traffic to move out of her way.

"You're pretty good. Drive us back to Chandigarh next week," Daadu said.

The bowling alley was packed with Saturday evening crowd. She loved the orderly noise of the place. The crack of the ball hitting the pins, the clackety clang of the gate when the standing pins were removed and fresh ones placed, the grinding sound of the ball returning. People celebrating strikes, ruminating gutters. She had looked up the net on the origin of the game. The earliest form of the sport was played by ancient Egyptians going back three to five thousand years. The ball was made of corn husks covered with leather and tied with strings.

As they reached their assigned lane, Daadi sat down on the chair, her feet tucked under her saree, all set to watch them, as if it was a given she wasn't playing. Pari worked her charm again to get her to don the shoes. Halfway, after five rounds, Tania led with a score of eighty-two. Daadu, dapper in his dark blue polo shirt and white trousers, followed six points behind. Not bad. He was back in a bowling alley after a decade. Pari was next and Daadi with her first three deliveries as gutters brought up the rear.

"It's such a simple game. I can't understand why you don't throw straight and hard," Daadu said.

It was then she started throwing straight and hard and got her first strike. By the end of eight rounds, she was number two, leaving Daadu feeling sheepish.

"Beginner's luck," he rationalized.

She needed nine points in the last delivery to beat Tania. And got another strike. She whooped, gave them a fist bump, imitating the dudes in the next lane, who looked curiously at her. The portly old woman with salt pepper hair and a broad red bindi on her forehead. By the time they left, she was offering them advice on how to throw a curve ball to maximize impact.

Dayal didn't part with the keys on the drive back home, despite her pleading.

Daadi was on a high. "I'll introduce my kitty party friends to bowling. It is fun."

"Play for money," Daadu said.

When they reached home, under her mom's approving gaze, Tania gave her surprised dad a big hug. Whatever. It had been a fun evening.