I logged on to facebook this afternoon to be told that it was National Girl Child Day. A couple of hours later, a friend of mine had written a blog post titled 'If I had a daughter, what would I tell her?' and it caught my eye. Thank you Nandhitha, and as promised, for the rest of you, you can visit her writing at
http://nandhithahariharan1.wordpress.com/. For want of something better to do on a Friday evening, I decided to give it a shot myself.
As it turns out, this piece is perhaps one of the top contenders on being the most personal and since personal writing calls for a dedication, this is for you, Ma :)
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If I had a daughter, what would I
tell her? What would we talk about and what would she remember? Would I talk of
the birds and the bees, or the loves and the lies? Of people who stay or those
who leave? Of memories that last or others better forgotten? Of lessons taught
or those learnt or others just lost in the conquest? If I had a daughter, what
would I tell her?
I would tell her to not be afraid;
to try and then, perhaps to lose, but to try again. Whether it is jumping the
hurdle on the sports field or solving a math problem, whether it is threading a
needle or writing a paper, to never get bored of trying. She should not be afraid
of loss, of failure, of fear itself. She should open her eyes to the world and
her heart to those around her, unmindful of how long they would all last.
I would tell her to trust; trust
people, plans and perhaps most of all, herself. She should feel confident of
her own abilities, her own person and never be ashamed of smiling at the
mirror. She should know what it is to feel special and she should be able to
give herself that happiness, for I cannot promise there will always be other
people for it. She should trust that as horrendous as it all seems just then,
it will all work out because if nothing else, she will make it happen.
I would tell her to be confident;
in her abilities, her skill and her image. She should feel beautiful all day,
every day. But I know she sure as hell won’t so I would tell her to smile and
cherish the people who never fail to remind her.
I would tell her to sing in the
bathroom without inhibition, dance in the dark without hesitation and act
flawlessly in front of the mirror, with only herself as audience. And if she
does all this on stage, I will pat her on the back and kiss her on the forehead
and congratulate her, for I know how much it takes.
I would tell her to not hurry
love and to look for it in places she never knew existed. She should love her
work and her home, her space and her independence, her friends and her family.
And when the day comes that The Love comes her way, she should have it in her
to give him her all while still remaining her own person, not compromising on
what makes her, her.
I would tell her to cherish the
people in her life. She should speak with a smile to everyone she meets. She
should know the names of the watchmen and housemaids, the drivers and the water
boy. She should be grateful for the opportunities that come her way and the
people who deliver them to her. She should give credit where it is due yet
stand her ground in case of wrong. She should have her girls to gossip with and
her guys to be boisterous with, her best friend to open up to and a circle of
pleasant faces to offer a smile. And she should give it all (and more) back in return.
I would tell her to choose the
voices she lets under the skin. She will have people talking of her height and
her weight, her grades and her contests, her skills and her flaws. She will
have strangers commenting on her clothes and her body, on how she should act
and where she should go and who she should be seen with. She will have a
thousand voices dictating the script of her life. She should know who to listen
to, who to mute out and who to just humour with a (fake) smile and a (polite)
nod.
I would tell her to play like no
one is watching, irrespective of what people say of girls on cricket pitches.
She should feel the joy of keeping gloves in relation to a tennis racquet, a
football in comparison to shooting a three pointer. She should be unafraid of
grazed knees and dirty hands, irrespective of how old she is. And every once in
a while, I will remind her that her mother still bears the scars of adolescent
football.
I would tell her to talk,
unafraid and confident. I would tell her to write, uninhibited and free. On
those few days, I would tell her to cry like the world was ending and if she
asks why, I would tell her that sometimes, the tears wash away the pain and
suddenly it all goes away. I would tell her to laugh like no one is listening
and if they were, to laugh a little harder and spread the cheer around.
I would tell her that I try, I
try very hard to be half the person my mother is. I would tell her stories of
her grandmother; of how I was told so many of these things. I will talk of how
I was taught to live and to love and to be loved, to accept and be accepted, to
comfort and be comforted, to teach and to be taught, to learn and to lead. I
would tell her I am the person I am today because of her grandmother and I hope
someday, I will be worthy of such emotion.
If I had a daughter, what would I
say? Perhaps I will talk for years - till my hair is white and skin is
wrinkled, till I repeat myself and she knows it all by heart, till she has
children of her own and then still go on. Or perhaps, I will lead her by the
hand and take her to my mother and watch the rest unfold.
