Falling apple

I watched my dad iron his clothes one by one. From the time I could remember, he has enjoyed ironing clothes. As he ironed there were two stacks forming on the bed, one had his clothes and the other had everyone else’s. That was really unacceptable to me. After all I was more like my dad, I thought. My clothes belong in the first stack. I protested, and in a very deliberate manner I moved my clothes from the generic pile to the other stack. I said “Like papa”.

I was probably eight when that happened. I have always wanted to be like my dad. He always seemed to have a very reasonable explanation for the things he did. When we were commended or punished it always came with a clear explanation. So I always tried real hard to be a lot like him. Starting from the mock episodes of shaving where I applied his shaving cream to my face and used a stick to scrape it off to the time when I started driving and copied every single driving style of his, it was always about doing it the way he did it.

Over the years I have lost that obsession. I guess moving away from home and living far away for several years probably did that to me. I assumed that the similarities might have waned off. On the contrary, when I pay attention to some of my mannerisms, as I grow older, I realize that I have become even more like my father. And this time I was not even trying. These similarities are hardly as superficial as the way I shave or drive but rather more to do with my mannerisms and approach to life. Even when I deal with day to day issues I come to the pleasant realization that most of it is a mirror image of his life.

Its funny how I have become more like him when I was trying the least. I guess the apple doesn’t really fall too far from the tree after all.


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