Original subtitles

Ladies and gentlemen,

please welcome to the stage

the one, the only, the man, the myth, the legend,

Mr. Zakir Khan!

This is great!

Sit down. Sit down.

Thank you so much. A lot of love to all of you.

Give yourselves a big round of applause.

The show's called Papa Yaar. How many of you already knew that?

Now, how many of you have actually brought your father with you tonight?

Okay, okay, okay.

So, to all the dads who are here tonight, wherever you're sitting,

let me assure you

by the end of the show, you'll be celebrated.

But the next two hours are going to be a little rough.

So no unnecessary dad behavior like, "What's going on here?"

This isn't your house, okay?

People often say fathers are like coconuts.

Hard on the outside, and on the inside?

Soft.

Maybe yours are.

Mine somehow missed the "soft on the inside" part.

I don't know at what age I'll finally stop being terrified of that man.

Just last week I was in Indore, lying on the couch watching TV.

My dad… came back from the market.

There are some traumas triggered by specific sounds.

One is the sound of his scooter.

The other is the sound of our front gate opening.

I don't know what happened to me. I switched off the TV and grabbed a book.

Am I taking any exams?

Are my exams due?

And yet, I'm still scared of this man.

My relationship

with my father went downhill

when I was five.

It was not like we were having meaningful conversations

before that anyway.

Here's what happened.

One day, my father had to visit the home of a very senior government officer.

He was like, "I need someone with a mature personality."

"Should I take Zakir with me?"

So my mom requested me,

and was like, "He's an okay guy. He's my husband after all."

"He's your father, and we're living in his house too."

"Go with him, if you feel like it."

So I went out with my dad for the first time, without my mom.

To someone else's house.

Every house has it's own fragrance.

Its own atmosphere.

And that's the best part of childhood, you're observing so much.

The tiniest details, like, "What's this color?"

"What's that? What's this? What's that?"

Man, the guy whose house we went to was such a fool, I can't even tell you.

That day I learned a very important lesson in life.

Just because someone's successful

or holds a big government position, or their business took off,

doesn't mean they're not an idiot.

Men have this weird belief

that once they become successful, nobody will ever call them an idiot again.

Maybe not to your face.

Right?

Behind your back, they still do.

Some people think that because their business is doing well

or they cleared some big exam, the sun now shines out of their ass.

Being successful is a different genre,

being a better human being is a different genre.

You still have to work on your personality, right?

You'll have to check your ego every day.

"What am I doing? Am I doing this the right way?" Right?

Now this big grown man picking on a five-year-old kid

for absolutely no reason.

He asks me, "What is your name?"

I said, "My name is Zakir Khan."

He goes, "No, you should say…"

He just said 'No.'

How does my own name become wrong, man? It's my name!

Then he says, "No. You should say your name is Master Zakir Khan."

I was like, "Get lost, man."

And his wife, what a beautiful, dynamic woman.

We've all seen couples like that. They're everywhere in society.

A complete loser, dumb husband

and this incredibly dynamic, polished, intelligent, amazing woman. Right?

You've seen that couple?

What did we learn from that, folks?

If the matchmaker is good, anything is possible. Right?

She served tea and coffee and all that to the grown-ups.

Then she noticed there's a kid accompanying,

so she brought me my own plate filled with Bourbon biscuits.

I'd never seen Bourbon biscuits before.

I thought

this is what drugs are.

Now here's the problem, guys.

Before leaving the house, Mom had warned me,

"If someone offers you food, don't just start gobbling it up."

So I had to maintain at least a little decorum.

So, very quietly, without anyone noticing,

I started counting the biscuits on my fingers.

Who's going to notice that?

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.

I picked up and ate one biscuit. My mind was blown.

I couldn't process it.

Now I have to eat one more. Only then I'll be able to process it.

How many biscuits are left now?

No idea.

I only know how to count. I didn't know addition or subtraction yet.

So I have to start all over again.

What else am I supposed to do?

Every age has its own issues.

So I started counting again.

One, two, three, four, five, six…

Seven.

This time I ate it slowly, devouring each bite.

Now here's the problem, folks.

I'd already eaten two biscuits back to back.

I can't just go straight for a third one.

Right? You should atleast wait for five minutes.

Five minutes must've passed by now.

It's been five minutes, right?

It's been five minutes, no?

I can have another one now, right?

Now how many biscuits are left?

No idea. No idea.

He talks about counting again, not eating another biscuit.

From the beginning. One, two, three, four…

That's when this idiot goes,

"Hey, son, why are you counting every biscuit before you eat it, huh?"

"I've been watching you this whole time. Doing one, two, three, four."

"Just enjoy them! We'll get you more!"

I was like, "You villian."

"You absolute moron."

"Saying such things in front of strangers?"

"If you'd said it in front of my mom, I could've handled it."

"But why did you have to say it in front of my dad?"

"Do you think I am on talking terms with him?"

Dad just stared at me like he was about to reduce me to ashes.

And then, to make things worse, once home, he told the entire family.

He's like, "Stupid boy!"

"The whole family has to chase him around with food just to get him to eat."

"I take him out once, and he's counting and eating biscuits. Shameless boy!"

Dad just kept scolding me and scolding me and scolding me.

The problem is I've had ADD or ADHD-type issues since I was a kid.

If you keep talking for too long, you're the one getting tired.

I have mentally checked out already.

My attention is on this bug

which is black in the front and red in the back.

"How many legs does it have? One, two, three, four, five, six…"

"And how many do I have? I've only got one, two, three, four."

"So when do my other two legs grow out?" I'm thinking about these things.

But folks, you have to live in this world.

You're living in their house.

So if the man's putting this much effort into yelling at you,

the least you can do is make a crying face.

Even if you don't actually feel like crying.

You just lock into one note…

In the meantime, the bug flew away

and my attention shifted. "Oh, there it goes."

"It flew away."

Then someone said, "Hey, why is he sitting on the floor?"

Round Two. Dad came in with all the stuff.

A jar of sugar. A packet of biscuits. A packet of chocolates.

And he dumped everything into my lap.

"There! This is what you went crazy over, right?"

The chocolates and biscuits scattered. The sugar jar stayed in my lap.

I do like sugar.

He goes, "This is what you lost your mind over. You embarrassed me there!"

"Now eat! Go on, eat! Eat! Stuff yourself! Eat! Eat! Eat!"

There are a lot of dads here tonight, so I'll say this to your faces.

Maybe you guys are wonderful

but your choice of words is awful.

When someone talks to you that badly, of course you're going to cry. Right?

So I went…

Am I doing something wrong?

I'm just doing what you told me to do, am I not?

And then he just goes into denial.

He says, "Look! Look at your son!"

What do you mean, your son?

I'm not eating on my own, I'm eating because you told me to!

That day was enough. To this day, I don't trust this man.

Inconsistent fellow.

He cannot make up his mind and then gets mad because I ate.

Dads have this thing,

every 3 months, dads get a chest congestion.

Not cough, but an hour long speech.

And the title of that speech is always,

"I've given you facilities

that even Elon Musk doesn't give his kids!"

"I never had any of this."

"Because I was the poor farmer Hariya's son."

"I had to crawl 900 kilometers on my elbows,

cross rivers of acid,

swim through crocodile-infested ponds,

climb over barbed wire, walk through dragon fire

just to get to school."

"One day the crocodiles ate both my legs."

"Yet, I did not stop, I did not give up, I did not get tired."

"I flew up in the air and reached school."

"The teachers were stunned."

"'Son, you don't even have legs. How did you make it to school?'"

"I said, 'Ma'am, my passion for learning brought me all the way here.'"

Don't…

Don't over-appreciate their stories.

Deep down, even I knew the story was fake.

But the problem is I was living in his house.

So I thought…

Just listen.

Whether the story's true or not, I'm still living under his roof.

Why disagree?

So I decided,

let me praise him a little. That way nothing comes back on me.

I will not cross-question him.

Like, "How exactly did you swim across" and all that.

Just use minimum words. I just said, "Amazing, Dad."

Safe? Safe? Safe?

And this man somehow turned that against me.

He goes, "Of course, I am amazing."

He said, "When will I ever get to say, 'Amazing, Son'?"

Tell me, is he a trustworthy man?

"We feed you the best food."

"We get you everything…"

"You ask for."

"Last birthday, you said you wanted skates."

No, I didn't. I asked for those five birthdays ago.

"Go ask your classmates. Nobody has skates as nice as yours."

"But what happened?"

"They're still sitting on top of the cupboard."

"Huh?"

"Covered in cobwebs."

"Huh?"

"Huh? Huh?"

"Huh?"

Dads have this fantasy

that while they're scolding you,

you should actively participate.

I mean, if he's yelling, you'll listen quietly

or will you jump in, "Yes, you are right, Dad!"

"Oh my God! Dad, what an incredible observation!"

"Yes! They do have cobwebs on them!"

Man, a normal person just stands there and listens.

"At least you could've learned to skate. It would've made me feel better

that at least my kid knows how to skate."

"But no. You set 9,000 rupees on fire."

"You flushed 9,000 rupees

down the drain."

Sir, please pick one.

Either I set it on fire or flushed it away. It can't be both.

And then, you can't even take him anywhere.

One time, in the seventh grade, he came to school for the PTM.

This man grabbed my hand and dragged me to Class fifth D.

He didn't even know what class I was in.

I had to stop him at the classroom door. "Dad, I'm in seventh grade."

He goes, "Earlier it used to be here."

No father ever admits their mistakes.

Sorry, sir. Sorry.

And it's not like my dad is uniquely like this.

The entire species is the same.

Okay, I see a few moms here too.

You're all enjoying that the dads are getting roasted.

Relax. I'm coming for you too.

I'll come to you. You're not exactly saints yourselves.

This was back in twelfth grade. My childhood friend Kuntal,

some of you might know him.

So in the twelfth grade, one day Kuntal said,

"We've never done a night stay."

"Come over Saturday. We'll stay up all night studying."

This was on a Tuesday.

So we made the plan for Saturday.

Folks, I need some technical help from you here.

Do we ever have a direct conversation with our dads?

No.

What's the proper procedure?

We tell Mom. Mom talks to Dad.

And Dad says no.

Remember this, folks. Our moms are only our moms part-time.

Full-time, they're Team Husband.

If something's bothering you or troubling you,

if you need to vent or share your feelings,

tell a rickshaw driver.

Don't ever tell your mom.

Never share with her.

Zero trust. She's an absolutely zero-trust person.

Minimum trust.

Tuesday came. I told this lady,

"Talk to your husband."

My mom says, "Sure."

"Will you drop me at Smita Aunty's house?"

Guys, is this a business deal or not?

-Yes. -Are we in a deal here or not?

Yes.

Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, I was slaving for this woman.

It's fine. I swallowed my pride. No problem.

It's okay.

Saturday, everything will go smoothly.

Where are the moms here? Raise your hands.

Guys,

Saturday morning, she let her husband free.

What exactly did I pay for then?

Why is the promise not being delivered?

She wouldn't leave her husband for even a second.

Peeling garlic beside him. Chopping ginger beside him.

The man's got onion fumes in his face. But she goes on and on.

She didn't bother to take two minutes and talk to me.

Guys, tell me if you agree.

Tone matches tone. Rhythm matches rhythm. Right?

If I walk into a room and say, "Hello."

-How'd you respond? -Hello.

Right? But if you're in a room,

and I peek in through the door,

look at only you and quietly go, "Mom."

How can its response be, "Huh?"

I mean…

Due to this, her husband notices.

He goes, "What happened?"

She goes, "I don't know. You only ask him."

I'd heard of stabbing in the back, but she hit me with a bulldozer.

Now I had to explain myself unnecessarily.

And sit through another lecture about barbed wires,

dragons breathing fire, crocodiles eating his legs,

about the 11,000 rupee skates he bought me.

and how I wasted 11,000 rupees.

-What? -9,000.

Are you people crazy?

The amount goes up every year.

That's compounding. What are you talking about, man?

At 3:00 p.m., I reached Kuntal's place.

We chatted about girls for a while.

I mean, whatever there was to talk about.

At 3:30 p.m., we opened our books and started studying.

Ten minutes later, he looked at me, I looked at him and he said,

"Let's go for a bike ride."

"We'll come back,

we'll come back and study with a fresh mind."

With what mind are we going to study?

Fresh.

Any students in the house? Give me a cheer.

If you want to succeed in life, take my advice.

Start studying with an unfresh mind.

My life fell apart because of this attitude.

I kept waiting for my mind to feel fresh.

It never did. So neither did the studying.

I said, "Okay." Kuntal had just bought a new bike.

And when a teenager gets a new bike,

their mental balance shifts a little.

Their mental state gets disturbed.

They have no idea what to do with it.

"Should I ride it into the bathroom?"

Around 4 p.m.,

we went out on Kuntal's bike

for a quick ride of just ten-fifteen minutes.

Then at 12:30 at night…

we were 200 kilometers outside Indore…

having tea at a roadside dhaba.

That's when Kuntal's mom called, "Where are you?"

I said, "We are nearby, Aunty."

"Where's Kuntal?"

I said, "Right here." She goes, "Put him on."

Now, a mother is worried, stressed. Should I hand him the phone or not?

Those who agree, say yes!

Yes.

-Those who don't, say no. -No.

The people who said yes, let me tell you,

you had a great upbringing.

But what a boring childhood you had.

Boring.

No, you can't hand him the phone.

Because Kuntal did not reach my house as many times

as the number of times he left for my house.

I said, "We're almost there, Aunty. Almost there. Almost there."

We covered 200 kilometers in two hours and twenty minutes.

When I got off the bike, my hands stayed like this.

Aunty was waiting at the door. It seemed like she was going to thrash us.

Just as we reached, she goes,

"Where were you? You could've at least told me."

"He's asking me. What am I supposed to say?"

"I don't even know where my own son is! At least tell me before you disappear."

Tell you where we went?

So you can run and tell your husband?

So that it ruins whatever fun we're having.

Yeah, right. Nice try.

Brown-nosing woman.

I told her the story we all know.

I said, "Aunty, actually when we were coming, just before our eyes,

we saw an accident."

She said, "What accident?"

Kuntal says, "Huh? There was an accident?"

With old friends, you don't pre-plan the story.

You just go with the flow.

Kuntal thought he could add something too.

So he goes,

"Yeah, Mom, actually a bridge collapsed."

I was like, "Huh?"

"The bridge collapsed?"

"The whole bridge?"

But the rule of friendship is simple, guys.

If your buddy says the bridge collapsed then the bridge…

Collapsed!

If your buddy says we have to do this, then…

You have to do it.

So I said, "Yeah, Aunty. A bus fell into the gorge too."

Well, of course it did. The bus had to fall in the gorge.

Aunty burst into tears.

She grabbed us by the collar, dragged us inside,

went to the kitchen, came back.

She says, "Do you know why that bridge collapsed?"

I said, "The engineer?"

"The cement? The contractor?"

She said, "No!"

"Ever since Kuntal's father got promoted,

his sister and his brother's wife are burning with jealousy."

"They are perfoming black magic on us."

"They are doing voodoo on my house every day, dear."

"Sometimes we find bangles.

"Sometimes lemons."

"To everyone wishing my family harm, may you be ruined!"

Friends,

every family has that one person doing black magic.

She's always your father's sister,

your father's sister-in-law,

your mother's sister-in-law and your paternal grandma.

But that person is never your mom's sister or your maternal grandma.

That's the narrative that your moms have spread.

Except for their own mother and sister,

everyone else is evil, dear!

Guys, you all know

how hard your maternal uncle worked to build his career. Right?

But your paternal uncle? Total scoundrel.

Around 3:30 a.m., we had dinner.

By 4 a.m., we finally opened our books.

Kuntal looked at me.

Ten minutes later, I looked at him. He said,

"In the morning,

with fresh mind…"

So we went to sleep.

Seven in the morning, there was a kick on the door. Bang!

The villain enters.

It was a single bed.

I was sleeping against the wall. Kuntal was on the outside.

I opened my eyes.

Kuntal's dad took three giant steps and was standing over us.

Zero communication.

He yanked his hair and pulled him up.

That's where I first understood the definition of a right angle triangle.

Direct question.

Quote-unquote, true story, guys. I'm not making this up.

He said, "You rascal. My wife may be innocent,

but I'm not an idiot."

"A bridge collapses in this city and it doesn't make the newspaper?"

Valid question.

Like father, like son.

Kuntal goes, "Dad, the bridge collapsed late at night."

"Till then the papers had…"

Already gone to print.

"Already gone to print."

I thought it was a good answer. Genius answer.

Made sense to me. Not to Uncle.

He started beating him right there.

Grabbed him by the hair, turned into Singham. One. Two. Three.

Now, guys, I want you to track my geographical location.

I'm a guest in this house.

Guests have a certain respect. And the host is supposed to show him that.

The guest here,

is lying here.

And the host

is getting beaten up right here. Right next to me.

I mean, if the guest breathes too hard, he'll also receive the beating.

So I played dead.

I'd learned this back in third grade.

If you see a bear, don't run.

Play dead.

Ten minutes later, despite the brutal beating,

Kuntal walked back in, still fixing his hair.

That guy was built different. Nothing embarrases him anymore.

He goes, "You want breakfast?"

I said, "Put yourself back together first."

"Your leg's still over there."

He goes, "Are you scared?"

"This is Dad's way of showing love."

I said, "Your dad really loves you, man."

Monday passed. Tuesday passed. We figured we were in the safe zone now.

On Wednesday, Kuntal says, "Mom made halwa. Wanna come over?"

Guys, I'd go to hell for the halwa.

We reached his house.

They had this iron gate. We'd always kick it open.

It was a big iron gate. We'd always kick it hard.

Aunty would be sitting on the veranda. I'd say, "Hi, Aunty."

She'd greet me and head to the kitchen.

That day, the same routine. I kicked the gate open.

Just as I was about to greet her,

I looked up, and it wasn't Aunty. It was Uncle.

Wearing a sleeveless vest, revealing nipple line

and blue checked lungi.

Dark blue, light blue, Dark blue, light blue.

You got the idea, right? Big checks, not the tiny ones.

And spread out in front of him

were Monday's, Tuesday's and Wednesday's newspapers.

I looked at Kuntal and I said, "I'm leaving."

He goes, "Yeah, bro. Go ahead."

If you kick the gate, won't his Dad notice?

Uncle goes, "Well, well, well. The revolutionaries are here."

"The future of India has arrived. Please come in."

"Roll out the flowers for them. Come on. Come on."

One thing I need to tell dads.

What is this way of talking to us?

Even on our worst days, they just taunt us.

I walked up, touched Uncle's feet, "Greetings, Uncle."

He goes, "Live long, Khan Sahab. Live long."

"So, Shah Rukh, Salman,

come here."

"Where's that bridge-collapse script of yours?"

I said, "What do you mean?"

"I didn't get you."

He goes, "You were out all Saturday night."

"The bridge collapsed, right? Where is it?"

Kuntal jumps in, "Dad,

the bridge really did collapse."

I was like, "What the hell, man?"

I had no idea where he was going with this.

Even his dad looked confused, "So?"

Then Kuntal goes, "You know what our country's like."

I was like, why bring the country into this now?

Uncle was shocked. He took off his glasses.

"What do you mean, what our country's like?"

Kuntal goes, "Dad,

after the bridge collapsed

the contractor bribed everyone,

and completely…"

Buried the story.

I swear, there was respect in Uncle's eyes for Kuntal.

For a second he was like, "Is he actually my father?"

Even I felt like bowing down at Kuntal's feet.

Right then, Uncle stood up,

pulled his belt out of his lungi…

and beat the life out of us.

He's like, "You scoundrels!"

"There's a limit to lying."

"What bike racks up 600 kilometers in one week,

just going to school?"

He belted us. He really went to town on us.

After the beating, Kuntal asks,

"You okay? You didn't feel bad, right?"

I said, "No. Why?"

He goes, "You know what this means?" I said, "What?"

He's like, "This means my dad loves you too."

I said…

I said, "You know, I'd be perfectly fine if your dad loved me a little less."

That trauma never healed.

Not because Uncle beat me. That's not the trauma.

It's okay, he's my friend's dad. It happens.

The real trauma? I saw Uncle in his underwear.

Who wears French-cut briefs, man?

You know, school days were something else.

Every street, every corner, every square was yours.

Every neighborhood, had a house where you'd get fed.

There's nothing like growing up in your own town.

Right?

Life is actually fun and games,

till it is actually not.

Ever notice that? Life changes gears without warning.

Goofing around, goofing around, goofing around,

goofing around, goofing around, goofing around,

debt!

How the hell did that happen?

I wasn't prepared for this.

Nobody tells you this is where life is headed.

It happened to me too.

At the age of twenty, I had to leave my hometown.

How many of you have seen Tathastu?

If you haven't, that's okay. If you have, you know what I mean.

I'd gotten a little too carried away. I was kind of a gangster in Indore.

"Gangster" is a stretch.

I just wanted to be famous in my city.

So I got a little carried away. Dad did not know.

He said, "You need to leave this city."

So the plan was to send me to Delhi.

That's when I thought, "I could be a radio jockey."

I went to Delhi. Checked out some courses.

Came back,

told Mom,

"This is the cost of the course."

"Tell your husband."

A couple of days later, I got summoned.

He goes, "Hey, come here."

When you're 20, you can't answer questions directly.

It is your national duty to talk back.

I said, "Yes?"

"So,

how much?"

I said, "I've got about seven or eight hundred rupees."

He goes, "Have some manners."

"Answer properly."

"I'm asking about the institute!"

Then ask the whole question, man,

that what's cost of the course.

Talking in half sentences, and then blaming me.

I said, "Oh, about that."

"The course is for six months. It costs 80,000 rupees."

He goes, "Will they give you a proper receipt?"

I guess so.

What is this, a hardware store?

Like I'm gonna pocket 300 bucks?

Honestly, UPI ruined everything.

It's true.

I feel bad for kids today. How do you even steal money anymore?

What excuse do you give your parents?

Everything's online now. What a disaster.

I said, "I'm sure they'll give a receipt. It's a big institute."

Dad goes, "Dear, the whole city's talking about your antics."

"How do I know

you wont smoke away 80,000 rupees in six months?"

That one really hurt. It hurt so much.

Despite being my dad, does he not know the rates?

I didn't say it out loud. Just thought it.

Then he said the one thing no son or daughter ever wants to hear.

He said to me,

"I'm coming with you."

And I gave the only sensible answer any son or daughter would give.

"Let's take Mom too."

I said, "Mom…" He goes, "Arbaz and Zeeshan have exams. How can she go?"

"It's just you and me, got it?"

There's a saying that goes that when Dad speaks, you shut up,

and when Mom speaks, you open up.

I couldn't say anything to Dad.

So I went straight to Mom. "Mom,

talk to your husband. Why is he like this?"

Instead of consoling me,

she started complaining,

"I am the one stuck in the middle."

"You say one thing. He says another."

"You both keep fighting."

"The day I lose my mind, I'll just get up and leave."

Really?

It's been twenty years. She's still right here.

She's still here, yet she continues cribbing to me.

I challenge her, "Go on, leave once."

"We watch daily soap every day. Why not base one episode on our family?"

I'd love to see the promo.

"Will Ismail ever bring Kulsum back?"

Am I right?

In front of me, she puts on a performance.

The second her husband walks in, she springs to life,

"Should I make you tea?"

"Tea? Should I make tea? Tea?"

Flatterer.

We booked a ticket for a few days later.

You must know.

There are a lot of dads here.

Sir, you must be aware.

At the railway station or the airport or the bus stand,

if you reach four or five hours early, you get some tax discount, right?

Is that a thing? Tell me.

No?

Then why do you go there so early?

What exactly are you getting out of it?

We reached the station at 12:30.

The place was deserted. Just me and Dad, watching a guy sweep the platform.

Anyone ever traveled alone with your dad? Give me a cheer?

The biggest downside of traveling with dads is

the nonstop life lessons.

They start the moment you get to the station.

"Coal engines are different. Steam engines are different.

"Meter gauge is different. Broad gauge is different."

And then comes the disclaimer. "No one told me but I'm telling you."

Sir, skip it. Even you didn't know. It probably wasn't that important.

Let it go.

Every dad has just one mission.

Turn their kid into a Roadies contestant.

The train leaves at 4:20.

At 4:19, this man says to me,

"Go get a bottle of water."

Could've said that earlier, Your Majesty.

I've been sitting right here.

The water stall looked like a riot.

People were fighting with knives and daggers.

I didn't buy that water bottle. I won it.

I hopped onto a moving train.

And he's busy chatting with random people.

Ten minutes later, he asks the most pointless question.

Wasted the universe's time.

I'm sitting right next to him. He goes,

"So, young guy,

did you get the water?"

What am I holding then? Mango juice?

I mean, I didn't say it out loud.

I just thought it.

Then he asked, "How much was it?"

I said, "Twenty rupees."

He's like, "What's the MRP?"

I was trying to remember if I had a five-rupee coin in my pocket.

I'd rather suffer loss myself

than sit through another lecture over five rupees.

But my luck, not a single five rupee coin.

He says, "What's the MRP?"

I replied, "Fifteen rupees."

He, "So where are the five rupees?"

I said, "He didn't give them."

He's like, "He didn't give or you didn't take them?"

What do you mean, "I didn't take them?"

What do you mean by that?

Like he was handing me the change, "Sir, here's your five rupees."

and I went, "Oh, hell no, man!"

"Giving me five rupees back?"

"Please keep it. Buy a ticket to Disneyland with it."

"And if there's anything left, save it for your daughter's

wedding."

He practically fell at my feet, "You're too generous, sir!"

I rode here on his shoulders, you know.

Dad goes, "No respect for five rupees."

"Always wasting money." Wasting money?

That's wasting money? That's a huge word for five rupees.

Then came the lecture again. "We walked to school on barbed wire."

"Crossed rivers of acid."

"And I bought you 13,000-rupee skates."

Early the next morning, we reached Delhi.

It was around 6:30. He said, "Come on. I'll buy you breakfast."

I thought, nice. The man's feeding me. He's a good man.

We're walking. I'm a few steps ahead. He calls from behind,

I asked, "What happened, Dad?"

He goes, "The way you walk…"

He gave me feedback on walking.

Apparently I was walking wrong.

You mean I'm not putting one foot after another correctly.

Wow. Really, wow.

Was I walking like this? Like this?

Or like this?

I wanted to have breakfast, so I ignored it.

Figured let him say whatever he wants.

Let's ignore him. Why say anything?

I quietly ate my breakfast. Then I noticed,

he had a bite in his hand and he was just staring at me.

That's when I knew.

I'd messed up chewing the food.

A man who gives feedback over walking will definitely give feedback on chewing.

So I started chewing thirty-two times.

One chew for every tooth.

I again noticed that this man

is not eating and just staring at me.

I started getting nervous thinking he might slap me.

So I finally asked,

"What happened, Dad? Why aren't you eating?"

You know what he said? "Nothing, son."

"Watching you eat feels like I am eating."

What 'oh'?

Come on, Mom has been saying this for twenty years.

So, I said, "Dad,

that's fine, but keep eating with your hands too."

Was I wrong?

I mean, watching me eat fills your stomach,

but keep feeding yourself too.

You know, prayer does help in healing

but you still have to take your medicine.

Right?

He said, "I am eating. You eat. Just eat." So I did.

I kept eating.

When I looked up, I saw Dad was wiping away tears.

I'd never seen him cry before.

Dads don't cry.

Dads look right standing tall,

scolding you, keeping you in line.

A great man isn't one who holds his head high.

A great man is someone

who makes his father walk with pride. That's a great man.

The first time you see someone you love cry,

you feel like setting the world on fire.

If a stranger cries, what's it to me?

If it were my mom crying,

that'd be different.

But folks, basic human courtesy demands

that if someone's crying right in front of you…

So out of basic human decency, I asked,

"What happened?"

He said, "Nothing, son."

"Just that

I remembered something your mom and I were talking the other day."

I asked, "About what?"

"About how you are not coming back home."

I said, "No, I will come back."

He smiled. "Everyone thinks that they'll come back."

"But once you leave home,

coming back isn't that easy."

"This is the nature of a displacement.

"At first, you can't come back because you can't afford to."

"And by the time you can, all the doors leading back are closed."

I said, "But Dad, I'm just studying."

"After a while, I'll try to come home every weekend."

"Then after that,

then comes the job."

"And then

Life gets busier."

"The number of days you visit decrease."

"Then you'll only come for festivals."

"After a while, not even for those."

"You'll build a life in the big city."

"And we'll grow old, waiting for you, in the small town."

"Our lives will become,

'He came this Diwali.' 'He couldn't make it this year.'"

"'He came for Eid.' 'He couldn't this time.'"

"'Maybe he'll stay longer.'"

"'This time he's leaving too soon.' 'This time he's not coming at all.'"

"And one day, we'll die waiting."

"That's life, son."

"I couldn't stay with my parents either."

"That's what people do."

"We like to believe that we've raised you in a way

that you can stand on your own."

"When you are home, a lot of things get done for you."

"Visiting a city and living there, are two very different things."

"When you're home, if you have to leave early, we're awake all night."

"If you didn't like one thing, your mom would cook four more."

"From tomorrow, no one will be here to check on you."

"It'll just be you and the world."

"And the world isn't kind."

And then my dad broke down.

Tears welled up in his eyes.

And honestly, I was enjoying this.

I was laughing not because he was crying.

But because all the emotional things he was saying

sounded like features to me.

I mean, what are you saying?

No one is going to pester me anymore.

So, I can wake up if I want or sleep in?

I can go out if I want, or choose to stay at home.

Sounds pretty good.

We reached the institute.

The first time I met the receptionist, I had even asked her age.

No matter how bad life gets,

the procedure needs to be followed.

A process is a process is a…

-Process. -Girls in the house, give me a cheer.

Let me tell you something.

There's a guy who has a crush on you. Perfectly harmless.

Way below your league.

You'd never date him.

Okay?

But the moment his parents show up,

why do you start acting like a perfect daughter-in-law?

The receptionist put on such a show in front of my dad.

The only thing she didn't do was cover her head.

She was one step away from touching his feet and receiving a gift.

"Uncle, don't worry. We'll take great care of Zakir."

"Don't worry, Uncle. We'll look after him."

My dad had caught my love letters at the age of twelve.

He knew exactly what kind of guy I was.

He said, "Dear, don't take too much care of him."

"Or he'll start taking care of you."

"That won't end well for you."

This is why I didn't want to bring him. He says things like this in public.

Then he gave his phone number to the landlord,

to the caretaker,

the guy who got me the room.

Not only this, he gave his number

to the water supplier, to the ironing guy.

Good thing, his train was at 10:00 and it was already 5:00.

I said, "Dad, it's already 5:00. It's getting late."

We rushed to the station.

The moment we got there, he said,

"Come here. I want to show you something."

He walked to the water stall.

He said to the vendor, "One bottle." He gave the bottle.

Dad asked, "How much?", the vendor said, "20 rupees."

Dad goes, "But the MRP is 15."

The vendor snatched it right back.

He says, "Sir, that's the price. Take it or leave it."

I tell you. I've never felt this amazing level of satisfaction.

I had never experienced it, guys.

Peak satisfaction. That day I finally knew what it felt like.

It was awesome.

He got on the train. I thought, once he leaves, I will be free.

Just as the train was about to leave, he said, "Zakir,

don't stick your hands or feet outside."

I said, "Dad, you're the one on the train. You follow this advice."

"Don't share rickshaw with two strangers. Share only if there's one."

This was before Ola and Uber.

I was like, "Yeah, I know, Dad."

He thought I was Gangadhar, but I'm Shaktimaan. I'll manage.

Then he said, "One more thing."

"It's a new city now. It's not your home anymore."

"Learn to be cautious. Staying humble won't kill you."

"If someone insults you, let it go. No need to react."

"Tone down your attitude, okay?"

The train started moving.

So, there should be some closure to the conversation.

I said, "Don't worry, Dad. I'll be careful."

Fair enough?

The train picked up speed. I walked alongside it.

One coach passed. Then another. I thought let's turn back.

I was just about to turn, guys.

True story. My Dad was hanging halfway out of the train, shouting,

"Hey!"

"Forget the last thing I said."

"Don't be scared. Your father's still alive."

"You're a lion's son. Live like one."

When he said this, I said,

"Get back inside."

What an inconsistent fellow.

He confused me all over again.

He'd told me this twice that morning. Didn't scare me then.

Now it did.

Now I am scared.

Because earlier, he was standing beside me.

So, I was not that scared.

Now, he was getting farther away.

So that thing was affecting me.

That's the thing about fathers.

You rarely understand their words while they're beside you.

You understand them after they're gone.

Those who have lost theirs, ask them,

how much shelter his presence alone gave them.

There's an old saying, "When your brother dies,

you lose your strength."

"When your father dies, you lose your roof."

The sun, the rain, the cold, the heat, all hit you directly.

He may be difficult. He may be cranky. But just having him around is a shelter.

I stood there watching that train disappear.

I couldn't turn away for a long time. I kept looking at that train for long.

Because I knew, it wasn't just my father leaving on that train,

my childhood was leaving with him too.

And you know the worst thing about childhood?

Childhood never dies slowly.

It dies in an instant. Like an accident.

Everyone remembers that moment when something inside says,

"It's time to grow up."

After that every childish thing you do feels fake.

Even resting in your mom's lap is fake.

It is just a memory

of how innocent you used to be.

I once wrote, "I sold my innocence long ago."

"I sold my innocence long ago."

"Now I know, I sold something that is priceless."

The moment that train left, everything Dad said started coming true.

That visiting a city

and living there, are two very different things.

I'd been to Delhi before.

But I'd never experienced a night that dark.

You understand what being alone in a crowd means

when you go to a city that isn't home.

But there are two things that can make any strange city feel like home.

One is friendship.

Right?

And second is hooking up.

A love affair, my dear friends,

can help you settle even in the toughest place.

If your kids are studying away from home,

and they seem completely settled…

just know they're really feeling settled.

Guys,

friendship is a beautiful thing.

They say boys don't have a maternal home, they have friends.

Friendship is such an amazing thing.

No blood relation. No family ties. Yet they stand by each other.

Everything you do for a friend is a 100 percent financial loss.

You still do it.

Because if your buddy says we have to do it…

You've to do it.

That's how, like a blessing, Vishwas came into my life.

Living with Vishwas was one of the happiest times of my life.

He was my first roommate.

Boys who've lived with other boys, give me a cheer.

There's nothing more fun than it.

He wasn't bathing. Neither was I.

He wasn't cleaning. Neither was I.

The trash didn't bother him. It didn't bother me either.

We lived like rich kids, but without money.

It started with just the two of us. Then more and more guys moved in.

At one point, there were eleven, sometimes twelve of us in that room.

I didn't even know who they were.

Every morning, I'd wake up and find six people sleeping on the floor.

I'd be like, "Who the hell are these guys?"

Our room would be filthy.

Still more guys kept moving in.

Vishwas said, "Our room's messy because boys keep coming over."

"Let's get a flat. We'll only invite girls,

the place will stay clean."

The place did get cleaner. But then exactly what I feared happened.

Vishwas got a girlfriend.

Now she was at our place all the time.

Why am I walking around in long pajamas inside my own house?

I pay rent here too!

Our old room, people called it Underwear Capital.

Eleven guys, all lounging around in boxers.

Visitors would walk in

and their pants came off before their shoes.

They'd throw them aside and go, "So, any chance of tea?"

That's how comfortable it was. And here we'd be, "Hello, how are you?"

One day she came over.

So, "Hi, hello."

Now we had never had any respectable guests.

We had no idea how to be a good host.

So I asked, "Would you like anything else?"

She said, "I could have some tea."

Now, back then, if you were a bachelor…

Now we have Swiggy, Zomato.

You're a bachelor. What do you do? Pull out your phone. Right?

You'd say, "Let's just order tea. It will be here in no time."

But then she goes, "Oh, no. I don't drink outside tea."

So this is like game over.

It's your first time at our place. I can't ask you to make tea.

Neither of us knows how to make it.

So, now we are in a bind. You won't be able to have tea.

I was still thinking, when Vishwas said,

and I saw this miracle with my own eyes,

"Bro, I feel like making tea."

I thought, that's what happens when you get a girlfriend.

For the next six months, every time a guest came over,

I'd ask, "Bro, want some tea?"

"This idiot loves making it."

Life was good. Sometimes I'd call home. Sometimes I wouldn't.

Slowly, those calls got fewer. You become independent.

Your conversations turn into "Yeah. Okay. Fine."

And you never call your dad. You call your mom.

Because their behavior doesn't deserve a call.

While you're talking to Mom, Dad's yelling nonsense in the background.

"Ask him if he's short on money for his leisurely activities."

"We'll send some. We have an ATM over there."

"Call and get money. Call and get money."

And Mom, his number-one supporter,

translates everything, even though I heard every single word.

"Your dad says don't hesitate if you need anything."

I'd be like, what a couple.

It was a Monday in June 2015.

I was working at an agency.

It was an ad agency.

This was before joining AIB.

We were writing a huge Father's Day campaign.

I was one of the writers there.

They hired a bunch of writers.

And one senior writer had come from Mumbai.

She was leading the project.

She was the head writer.

Everyone had to write a script.

That same day it was Vishwas's girlfriend's birthday.

The party was at her house. Okay?

He was busy getting things ready.

I had to take my girlfriend there too.

On Monday, I got to the office.

Just then Kuntal texted me.

"I'm in Delhi. Come meet me."

You must have boarded the flight,

you must've booked the flight. Could've told me before.

You can't just show up and expect me to come.

I said, "Meet me at the party tonight."

He says, "Party? What party?"

I said, "Vishwas's girlfriend's birthday. Come with us."

He goes, "Will there be girls?"

I said, "Yeah." He goes, "Are they beautiful?"

I said, "Beauty's in the eye of the beholder."

He goes, "Don't give me that nonsense."

"I'll talk to Vishwas." I said, "Do whatever you want."

The seminar starts.

Father's Day…

The senior writer says, "Who wrote Script 22?"

I said, "Ma'am, I did."

She says, "Mr. Khan,

you've written only jokes."

"There's no emotion in the script."

I said, "I just wrote what I felt."

She asked, "How's your relationship with your father?"

I said, "Ma'am, it's normal."

She asked, "What does 'normal' mean?"

I said, "Like every other guy."

She asked, "And what's that like?"

I said, "They are terrible."

She goes, "Very funny. Shut up."

"Tell me something. Have you ever hugged your father?"

"Like, with love?"

I said, "Ma'am, is it like an interview for me

or it's like for everybody?"

She said, "No. It's just about men specifically."

"Men have a very strange relationship with their fathers."

"Actually, all the guys answer this. Boys, tell me."

"Have you ever hugged your dad?"

There were nine guys in that room.

Believe it or not, I was the only one who said, "I've hugged my father."

She said, "But you said your relationship isn't great."

I said, "I do it every year. Twice."

She said, "Twice? What's the logic?"

I said, "Ma'am, I hug him on Eid and again on Bakri Eid."

She said, "Besides that?" I said, "Nope."

Then she said, "Okay, tell me."

By now, I was getting nervous. So I picked up my water bottle.

She said, "Have you ever told your father

'I love you'?"

I literally spat out the water.

I said, "Ma'am, he's my dad, not my girlfriend."

What next? You want me to ask if my beloved has had dinner or not?

She goes, "Shut up!"

Then she said, "All the guys, tell me."

"Have you ever said 'Thank you' to your father?"

One of the guys, he's still one of my closest friends.

He totally matched my vibe that day.

He said, "But why?"

I was like, he's the guy.

He's the guy. He's the guy.

She completely lost it.

"All the guys go outside."

"Go outside, call your fathers and say thank you."

Guys, who calls their dad?

You call your mom.

You only call your Dad when Mom isn't answering.

And even then, you just ask, "Where's Mom?"

That's the entire communication.

"Dad, is Mom there? No? Okay, I'll call later."

So I called my dad.

Out of nine guys, eight dads didn't even answer.

At least mine picked up.

After declining the call twice, he answered the third time, "Hello?"

I greeted, "Assalamu Alaikum, Dad."

You must greet your parents properly.

First we greet them. We don't just say, "Hello."

I said, "Assalamu Alaikum, Dad." He said, "Walaikum Assalam."

"Should I call you back in 5 minutes?"

I said, "What? Why?"

He goes, "Your mom's not home."

I asked, "Where is she?"

He snickered, "She's gone to a Kitty party."

"If their kitty party ever holds elections,

your mom will become the Prime Minister."

If parents are complaining about each other,

the world is functioning normally.

I said, "Okay, okay. Dad, actually I wanted to talk to you."

"Oh?"

"How much money do you need?"

I said, "I don't need money. I just wanted to talk."

Dad goes, "What happened?"

I said, "Nothing. I just wanted to talk to you."

He goes, "Did you have an accident?"

"I told you not to buy that secondhand car."

"You bought that junk anyway."

"I've had bad dreams for two days. I knew something was wrong."

"You ignorant, shameless boy!"

"You bothered us here, now you're bothering us from there too?"

Huh?

How did we end up here?

I said I just wanted to talk. How did I suddenly have an accident?

"Are you hurt? Are you hurt?"

"Are you hurt?"

I said, "No, Dad. I'm fine."

He goes, "Did the other guy die?"

Right then the senior writer walked in.

Nobody's dad picked up their calls. So now she started motivating me.

"Go on. Say it."

Say what? The topic had changed.

Somebody has died now.

She said, "Go on, say it."

I said "I will."

I said, "No, Dad."

He goes, "Are you at the police station?"

"Listen. I'm sending you Lawyer Uncle's number. Don't panic."

"Don't tell the police anything. Do exactly what I tell you."

I said, "Dad, nothing has happened." He yelled, "Then what happened?"

The senior writer again, "Say it. Say it."

I said I am saying it.

Come on, tell me. Does it feel like a "thank you" moment?

Is it really a "thank you" moment?

I finally said, "Dad,

I just wanted to say thank you. Thank you, Dad."

"Thank you, Dad. Thank you."

She goes, "What did he say?"

"He didn't say anything."

She whispered, "Ask him."

I said, "Hello?"

Dad goes, "So, what?"

What "So what?" There's nothing left!

Does this man look like the "thank you" type?

I ignored him.

By then, Kuntal's four voice notes popped up.

I figured, he must be telling me what time he's getting there.

So I played one on speaker, without the earphones.

It started with, "You bitch,

I'll get you Bourbon biscuits."

"Stay with me at the party, you bitch."

Now everyone in the class is judging me.

I don't have a single decent friend whose voice notes can be played publicly.

I panicked and turned my phone off.

We spent another five or six hours in the workshop.

Then I came out, got into the car.

I switched my phone back on.

Something had definitely happened.

Nothing happens in my life for years.

Then everything happens in one day.

Nine missed calls from Dad.

Three from Mom.

Six from my girlfriend. Eleven from my building's security guard.

Three from Vishwas.

Two from Kuntal. Something was definitely wrong.

The missed-call alerts just kept coming.

First thing, I called Dad. Of course his phone was out of reach.

I called Mom. She was at her kitty party.

She goes, "Hello, son. Had lunch? Make sure you eat."

I said, "Where are you?"

She goes, "I'm at kitty. And I'm winning!"

I asked, "Where's Dad?"

She said, "Oh, he's probably at home. Grumpy as ever."

"Good thing you got out."

"Finally got some peace."

"It's not easy living with that man."

"My parents married me off, so I'm making it work."

"Anyone else would've left by now."

I said, "Yeah, great."

She goes, "Had lunch? Don't forget to eat."

I said, "I will, Mom. Okay, okay, okay."

She hung up. Then the building security guard called.

He says, "Sir, there's a man downstairs."

"He says

he's your father."

"I tried calling you, but your phone was off."

"Vishwas didn't answer either,

so I called your girlfriend."

I said, "Chandraprakash, you idiot!"

"If a man says he's my father,

how dare you call my girlfriend in front of him?"

He went…

"Sir, I'm not that dumb."

"I stepped aside before I called."

"Of course I stepped aside before I called her."

"Didn't send him upstairs, though I have the apartment keys."

"I wanted to make sure her things were not there."

I said, "Thank you, Mr. Chandraprakash."

He goes, "Sir, you didn't give me anything for Holi."

I said, "I'll be right there. I'll take care of it."

"Put Dad on."

Dad goes, "Dear, where are you? Are you okay? Are you okay?"

I said, "I'm fine, Dad. Where are you?" He goes, "You're at the police station?"

I said, "Dad, I'm not at the police station."

"I'm just heading home. I am on the way."

"Are you okay? Are you coming in the ambulance?"

I said, "I'm fine. Why is your phone switched off?"

He said, "My phone died, dear."

I said, "Okay. I'm on my way. Stay right there."

He said, "You okay?" I said, "I'm fine."

Then my girlfriend called.

"Your dad's downstairs."

"I'm having palpitations."

"I'm freaking out. I'm getting anxious. I'm getting rashes."

I said, "Listen,

my dad's here."

"I'm already stressed."

"As a partner, if you can help me, that'll be great."

"Just don't add to my problems."

"Let this be about me this time."

"Don't make this about you."

She goes, "Okay, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry."

She hung up. Two seconds later, she called again.

She goes, "Listen, I have a plan."

I said, "Yeah, tell me."

She goes, "Bring your dad to the party."

"I'll meet him like a doll and I'll impress him."

"Then later, we'll tell him I'm your girlfriend."

"What do you think?"

I said, "He's my dad, not a deck of cards."

"I'm not showing him off at parties."

I said, "I'll handle it. Bye."

I hung up. Dad was covered in dust. He had come in slippers.

He was wearing an Abibas pajama.

A random shirt on top. Nothing matched.

He'd boarded a flight to Delhi wearing his home clothes.

I said, "Dad, you flew all the way here?"

He said, "I got worried. You were saying all kinds of strange things."

"I didn't even tell your mom where I was going."

I said, "Mom answered your call?"

"That's beside the point."

I said, "All I said was 'Thank you.'"

Dad says, "And then you turned your phone off!"

I said, "So?"

He said, "I thought that 'thank you' was your goodbye."

"Your generation always keeps talking about depression."

"I thought my 26-year investment was gone."

What am I, an insurance policy?

He yelled, "So, why were you calling me?"

I was like I can't say I only called because someone asked me to.

I said, "Dad, I just started this new job at an ad agency."

"They're doing something for Father's Day."

He taunts, "Oh, yeah, you celebrate that a lot."

What kind of tone was that?

I said, "No, I mean, Dad, I was writing something about it."

"My job involves writing."

"And while I was writing, I suddenly felt like calling you

and saying thank you."

He just went, "Oh."

"Then say it."

I said, "I already did on the phone."

"So now are you shy to say it to my face?"

"If this were about your mom, you'd have written nine poems by now."

"That 'Mom's a flower.'"

"'Mom's a rose garden.'"

"And what's Dad? The thorn?"

I said, "Come on, Dad."

I said, "Dad…"

But now, all I can think of is money.

It made our relationship seem so transactional.

I said, "Dad,

you tried to give me a good education."

"You tried to make me a…"

Good person.

"And I did my…"

Best too.

"When I was a kid,

you bought me toys."

"Bought me new clothes every festival."

He cut in, "Those skates cost 23,000."

I was like, okay, okay. Whatever.

I said, "That too, Dad."

Nothing sounded right anymore.

So I borrowed something I'd heard earlier at the workshop.

I said, "The thing is Mom…

Mom…

Mom carries you for nine months."

"You know her before you know the world."

"But…

understanding your father takes a lifetime, Dad."

"Now that…

I've grown up,

lived on my own,

stood on my own feet…"

He interrupted, "Are you really?"

Come on. Seriously? I can't do this anymore.

How do you talk to a man whose tone is always like this?

How do I communicate with this man?

I said, "As much as I have."

He said, "Okay, okay."

I continued, "Now I finally understand

how hard you struggled and faced so many hardships to raise us."

He nodded. "That's true."

You know, while bearing life's heat,

running after responsibilities,

our fathers become so dry from the inside

that even a few drops of fake love are enough to melt them.

He says to me…

He says to me,

"Everyone in the family used to say

you've spoiled your kids."

"But I always said I wanted…"

And it is true in our case.

"It was my dream to be friends with my children."

"I wanted them to be open with me."

Huh?

"People said to me Zakir talks back so much at home."

"I said, 'If he can't talk back at home, how will he ever face the world?'"

The truth is my dad wasn't lying.

He came from a generation where he never even looked his own father in the eye.

It was always, "Yes, Abba. No, Abba." Nothing more.

You can't compare your father to someone else's.

Not everyone starts from the same place.

The only real truth is context. Everything else is a false narrative.

Your orthodox father has been the rebel of his generation.

The life of a mother and a father is different.

The way they raise you, take care of you.

A mother's purpose is simple,

as long as she's alive nothing will touch you.

Under her care, you're safe. Even God cannot touch you.

A father lives for the exact opposite.

Every single day of a father's life is about preparing you

to not depend on anyone else when he is gone.

That's why living with fathers

can feel so boring.

Because when he's alive, he'll tell you about meter gauge and broad gauge.

He'll tell about steam engines and coal engines.

And also tell you all the lessons life never taught them.

Small things.

A father will give you every strength he has

and spend his whole life making sure

none of his weaknesses are passed on to you.

How many of you have fathers who studied in Hindi-medium schools?

Right?

He couldn't afford it, but he still sent you to an English-medium school.

Why? Because he thought, maybe I couldn't speak, but my child will.

What are you as a human being?

You're just

an advanced version of all your father's regrets.

Right?

The finished version.

A small detail.

My dad is shy about speaking in a crowd.

Public speaking is not his forte and it makes him uncomfortable.

Okay?

And yet everything I am today

is because my dad regrets not having that confidence.

So when I was six, he made me learn languages.

Made me speak up in front of people.

Sent me to debates.

Anything that involved getting on a stage. Anchoring. Hosting. "No, Zakir can do it."

"Go. You should do it. Learn. Speak."

The man who was shy of speaking in a crowd,

raised a son

who, when he speaks, can cause a jam in Times Square.

How can I say I did this, it was all me?

It is not my achievement. It's his.

He made it possible.

People love to say, "I'm self-made."

Self-made? Really?

Who paid for your education?

Who paid your school fees?

Who paid for your graduation? How did you complete college?

What guides your moral compass?

What guides your judgment?

It all comes from your upbringing.

No one is self-made.

Your parents put in a lot of effort in your upbringing.

They put everything they had. Their money, their courage, their wisdom.

They spent everything on you.

And if they still fell short, it's okay.

Your parents did a lot for you.

These days it's fashionable to blame parents for everything.

They didn't do this. They didn't do that.

I actually think distance helps.

When you step back, you start seeing them as people.

You realize they can make mistakes too.

They can be wrong too.

But you don't need to keep punishing them.

You can forgive them. You can let these things go.

Sometimes setting your parents free sets you free.

That day, for the first time, my father hugged me.

For the first time he said,

"It felt so good talking to you, Zakir."

"Come here."

If you can hug your father,

you're more fortunate than most people.

You are privileged to have such a relationship with your father.

So many children long to see love in their father's eyes.

Fathers spend so long out in the world's heat, they dry out inside.

They become so dry, they forget they can still be gentle.

When I hugged my father for the first time,

I realized he smelled like me.

I'd never noticed.

My mother's scent was part of my memory, my father's wasn't.

I could hear his heartbeat. He put his hand on my head

and said, "Whatever you do, I'm always with you."

The first time you hug someone you love,

you just want to disappear into them.

Then I thought how long can I hug this stranger?

So I said, "Dad, want to come to a party?"

He said, "I don't have any clothes."

I gave him my jeans, my hoodie, my shoes. He looked like a giant kid.

We got in the car. Then he said, "I didn't tell your mom I'm in Delhi."

I said, "Dad, that's a disaster."

We called Mom. And she absolutely tore into him.

Have you ever watched your villain getting thrashed? I have.

He said, "Put me on the 10 p.m. train."

I said, "Dad, if you take the night train, you will get home tomorrow afternoon."

"Just take the morning flight. You'll be home by 9:00."

He said, "Son, you're not married yet. You wouldn't understand."

"It's not about getting home. It's about leaving."

I said, "Let's try for a Tatkal ticket, otherwise take the morning flight.

He said, "Who's going to talk to your mom?"

I said, "Who will talk to her?"

He said, "I think it's going to be you."

I said, "I'll handle it. Don't worry."

We got in the car and headed to the party.

He asked, "You'll get me a ticket, right?"

I said, "We'll check for a Tatkal ticket."

"If we get one, leave tonight. Otherwise, stay over and fly tomorrow."

He said, "Can I tell you something?"

I said, "Yeah, sure."

He said, "It's been 28 years since your mom came into my life."

"Our relatives think I'm busy with work and your mom."

"People at work think I'm always busy with family and friends."

"It's been 28 years. I've never had any free time."

"No one's satisfied with me."

"So where exactly was I?"

I thought, I made a mistake opening up to him.

He sounds like a depressed man.

We pulled up. As we climbed the stairs, he turned around and said,

"I've decided. I'm taking the morning flight."

I said, "Why?"

"I've been friends with your mom for 28 years."

"But this friendship is brand new."

We walked in.

Kuntal knew Dad was coming.

My girlfriend knew Dad was coming.

The only person who had no idea was Vishwas Sharma.

We rang the bell. He was hosting the party.

He was sitting there with his girlfriend's parents.

The doorbell rang. He opened it.

Saw my dad and he nearly pooped in his pants.

Poor guy had no clue Dad was showing up.

He couldn't decide whether to say hello, fold his hands,

touch his feet, or hug him. So, he did all four and went, "Uncle!"

Dad was so relaxed by then,

he blessed him and said, "Has he lost his mind?"

Then Kuntal rushed over and immediately touched Dad's feet,

and said, "Uncle, my respects."

Dad goes, "What are you doing here? Don't you work in Bangalore?"

"No, Uncle. I was in Delhi for just one day."

"When I heard you were here, I had to come see you."

Dad goes, "Oh, I see."

"I met your dad the other day."

"He told me something about you two that cracked me up."

I asked, "What did he say?"

Dad said, "His father said these two are the reason for each other's downfall."

Right then Mom called.

I answered. She goes, "Hello? Did you put your father on the train?"

I said, "Hang on. Talk to Dad."

Dad looked at me and goes…

I said, "No." He said, "You promised you'd cover for me."

I said, "You're not worth it. Here, talk to her."

He took the phone, "Hello, hello."

"No, no, I was on my way to the station."

"But a bridge collapsed."

"And a bus fell into a gorge."

That's it from my side. Thank you very much.

You've been a great audience.

Good night.

Zakir! Zakir! Zakir!

Zakir! Zakir! Zakir!

Zakir! Zakir! Zakir!

Zakir! Zakir! Zakir!

This show is very close to my heart.

If it touched yours too, I'd love to hear from you.

To everyone who came here with their fathers or their parents,

I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

You chose to spend that precious time reserved for your parents, with me.

I'll always be grateful.

If your parents are at home, go home and hug them.

If they live in another city, tell them,

"Thank you."

If they ask why, tell them their other son asked you to.

And if life has been cruel and you've already lost a parent,

remember this, once you lose a parent, you gain a God.

So, whatever you do with your life,

remember, they're still watching over you.

Make sure every step you take, you make them proud.

Before we close this show,

I'd like to introduce

the man whose dreams I'm living,

the man whose hard work made this moment possible.

With a huge round of applause…

please welcome

Khan Sahab.

Hello.

Thank you for the love and blessings you've given my son and my family,

my family and I are deeply grateful.

Thank you. Thank you so much.