The kid was sitting on a pile of clothes, she had taken out from the cupboard. I was in a hurry to dress her up and she was reluctant in getting dressed anywhere close to being descent. She figured out a torn blue t-shirt and pink faded skirt whose elastic had been compromised since last few months.
She kept nagging me to dress her up in a whimsical, uncoordinated dress that was sure to pass me us an inattentive mother. I tried all the handy instruments of polite talk, cajoling, negotiating and even light dose of threaten. All, in vain.
The day was not good, anyways. I woke up with a baggage of indecisiveness. The everyday thought-battle of continuing the job versus quitting it till the kid grows up. A fracture in the kid’s left elbow fuelled the confusion even further. The lines between aspirations and expectations were blurring out. My expectation from myself was drifting away from life’s expectation from me. Extreme emotions and contradictory thoughts were ruling my charts. I never compromised on my work before, I didn’t want then also. I wanted to excel all things in upbringing of my kid as well. The need of all things perfect was leading to consistent failures.
Like the punctuation marks, I was tossing various decisions on my life to see how the different meanings of same sentences are possible. No matter which permutation I was zeroing down, finally I was seeing something been compromised. All the pieces of jigsaw puzzle were apparently making the picture whole, but were not tightly fitting with each other. “Compromise” is what I could see from the gaps of those unfitted pieces.
When in doubt, call Dad. That has been my mantra till date. He always doesn’t have answers to my questions, nor he is ready to give suggestions, but in his way of bypassing a question, I usually get my answers. He gives me clues and hints, and leaves me to construct the decision around. I asked him if it is still raining in Kolkata? Is Trinamool still on its way to self-destruction?
.. and then I meekly posed my question “Baba, if I quit my job, will that be a right decision?”
He said “I am not sure whether it will be a right decision or not, but I will be happy that finally you would be making a decision. That’s what matter more to me.”
The man threw the wisdom right back to me. He was certain in his uncertainty. He told me beyond the rightness or wrongness, it is the power of making a decision that matters the most.
I came back to kid’s room, calmer and confident. She still was holding her blue torn t-shirt and elastic-less faded skirt. I saw, she had already decided. I had to obey, I thought.
I dressed her in her choice of clothes. I kissed her forehead.
She was looking ragged, but the happiness of her own decision was beaming from her dilapidated clothes.