Impulse…

So can a woman regret a good impulse!? OH yes!

In many ways there is a part of me that sighs in smug satisfaction at what I just did. That part of me is one that reads Ayn Rand, Paul Coelho, Ethics of Philosophy and The Holy Vedas. Then there is the part of me.. the pea brained, demented soul living on her impulse… singing at a Karaoke bar, driving down to Goa, deciding to leave for Lonavla at 8:00 pm, screaming in a open air café obscenities to mortify a friend (and boy did it work), the footsies, the sculling, the jives…

…the delight of being youthful.

..so I had another impulse, crawling in my brain but, its success was not my fate to decide. So like a dutiful daughter I ran up to him, with the toddler smile, I posed my request. Much to my surprise… Appa agreed… he smiled like a wise man and said… “I call it the dream of every youth and therefore I regret being old”

I rarely spend time with him these days. I forget his unassuming background. I forget how many impulses he might have trampled for me to fulfill mine.

And its not my conscience that smotes me…its his legacy that I have shrugged off that pinches me. Because somewhere in me, in my being that wallows constantly in self pity, there is his heritage. His words are always his to command, a small feat for a man who could often command his emotions- a heroic task for the likes of me.

… I smiled back “…being old makes you wiser Pa, I think I am growing up too”.