Unlike the Little Flower, I grew up in a non-Catholic household which lacked the warmth and love that she so fondly writes about. To begin with, I had a strict upbringing under an equally strict father. Even though he was an ex-Indian Air Force sergeant (voluntary retirement in 1975) he tried to impose the Air Force rules on us all - his wife and three children. He was an alcoholic who would drown himself in his drinks every evening after coming back from work - now he was a mechanical engineer at HSCL but behaved as if still in the IAF. We were terrified of him - unlike Little Flower, neither I nor anyone of us ever sat on his lap or knees - his mere sight was frightening enough. So we all maintained our distance from him - even my mom. But we used to face dire consequences if anyone was found doing anything wrong - he had strong ethics, unlike my mom. She didn't reprimand us if we stole mangoes or guavas from the neighbour's trees and thus we had to finish them before evening so that dad could not find us eating them. We could not lie to him about how we had got those. We were scared of lying to him because he somehow came to know the truth. I am still a bad liar - all thanks to him.
But he had a rare vulnerable side as well which he showed me from time to time. But it was all before I reached my teens - from my teenage years, his malicious drunken side took precedence. He started turning into a terror because of which I kept revolting against him. I did exactly what he told me not to do.
But before that, he wasn't all that terrifying. I remember so well how he made me list down twelve gifts for my 12th birthday. I was surprised and happy that he would buy me all the 12 gifts I would write down. So I took a lot of effort to list down the 12 things and I remember getting them all. But unfortunately, I don't remember what I had written on the paper with the pen he had given me - I just remember the doll and the Chinese pen which was so expensive and in vogue at that time. He taught me to tighten the cap on the pen itself so that it could not be lost. I still do that - this habit has left a great impression on me.
Another vulnerable aspect of my dad that I still remember is his laughter when I coyly admired his clean-shaven face. He was laughing aloud when I said that I liked his clean-shaven look - I liked him because he was clean-shaven. Was there a twinkle in his eyes and did I rub my face against his face? I don't know. But how I wish I could remember because it is his clean-shaven looks that I searched for in my Prince Charming as well. The ones with beards and moustaches have been a put-off right from my childhood. I rejected them on the spot. The reason I accepted when hubby proposed was because he was cleanly shaven which gave him quite a decent look.
My dad also bought fruits while coming back from work. He used to tie them in his big handkerchief and hang it on the handle of the Yezdi motorcycle. He washed the grapes to give me while studying in the evening.
These are some of the fond memories of my father before his drinks made him hostile towards us. The more he dominated the more we rebelled against him. My mom too was not much support as she was not able to show much affection - lesser than my dad also - I don't have any fond memories of her from my childhood days because she found me ugly and was not able to show me any real affection. She was not too proud of me and found my cousins prettier than me and thus petted them more than me. I was her constant embarrassment and my little mind was able to fathom that. She had cut my hair like the boys and made me wear boys' shoes to school. I couldn't do anything about it because I had no option. I was constantly made fun of for my looks and hair and my clothes and even my name. I lived in a perpetual inferiority complex mode. Not being good in studies worsened the situation.
My elder brothers lived their lives and thus I kept making friendships outside of my home and jumped from one friendship to the other. Sometimes it led to the wrong people but I couldn't confide in anyone at home as it lacked love.
As I said in the beginning, I grew up in a non-Catholic household wherein I did not know the Lord till I got baptized in April 2001. As I was forced into Christianity by my mother-in-law after marriage, as a sign of my rebelliousness, I hardly attended the RCIA classes on Sunday evenings. I found excuses not to attend. Moreover, I conceived my first child in December 2000 and stopped going altogether because of mood swings and nausea. I had trouble with finding godparents as well. So I secretly wished that I not be given baptism based on my absenteeism. But the formalities were carried out and I was baptized during the Easter vigil on 15 April 2001. I wasn't at all happy because no one except hubby was with me. Mother-in-law had fought with us and thrown us out of the house on Maundy Thursday. This was the second time of been thrown out of their house. They were very proud of their house - they still are!
So I had cryingly called up the couple in the RCIA who was heading the ministry and were good to me. Immediately they told me to stay with them till my baptism. We were relieved. I still remember their kindness. Now I realize that they lived their faith.
Thus coming from a non-Catholic household I didn't know the importance of Sundays and the first confession that the Little Flower writes about in Chapter 2. My first confession was done most casually to a priest named Fr. Hugh Fonseca of the Immaculate Conception Church, I C Colony, Borivali. As I had played truant in my RCIA classes I did not know the importance of confession and wondered why I had to confess my sins to a priest. Nevertheless, I obliged to it and remember feeling light after it. I did not know the what and why of the confessions but I did because l liked Fr. Hugh. He was soft-spoken and had advised us to do our marriage preparation course and he was the one who celebrated our wedding Mass along with another priest. So I quite liked Fr. Hugh for his soft-spokenness. But he succumbed to depression and is no more. May the Lord give him peace and may his soul rest in peace!
Again coming back to my non-Catholic upbringing, I was forced to pray to all sorts of gods and goddesses. I did not do it sincerely because I could not connect to them - I wondered why so many gods and goddesses. I was told that some dire thing would happen to me if I did not do certain things to certain gods and goddesses. So I rebelled there too and did not carry out certain devotions to check whether something dire would happen to me. But I loved Diwali because of the rangoli and the lights and would spend hours amid the colourful rangoli and lights. I did not like it when I was told during the RCIA classes that I could not celebrate it. So for many years, I did not celebrate Diwali until the catechist training course's intensive week during Diwali 2015. We were told that Diwali is the festival of lights and that as Jesus is the light of the world, Catholics should celebrate it. So I started the Diwali celebration in 2016 with diyas and flower rangolis. I still celebrate Diwali.
So unlike the Little Flower, I was a Little Rebel.
I did not even like being a Bengali. I just hated it.
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