‘When I Was Young...’

‘If it’s 20 miles left to your client’s site and we need to reach there by 7 am, how many miles per hour do I need to be driving at right now, Thasni?’

I glance to my right at my dad in the driver's seat, my face masked with utter confusion. Why are we doing maths at 6:00 am when we have Google with us?

‘Cmon, you’re meant to be the accountant!’

‘I switch off that side of my brain when I'm off duty, dad’. My standard response whenever someone tries to make me split the bill between 8 of us at the end of a restaurant meal.

I'm still confused at this random maths question thrown at me at this time in the morning, when my dad launches into a story from his past.

—

You know we used to do this all the time, back in my university days.

I had a friend; he’d sit behind me on the bike and as I’m riding, he’d be calculating the speed I had to go at if we wanted to win.

My dad glances towards me, you couldn't win by being just the fastest.

Win? I asked, I had a feeling I knew where this story was going.

Yea, when I used to race.

—

I can’t help smiling to myself hearing the grin in my dad’s voice as he starts explaining his glory racing days. I only learnt a few years back that my dad used to even bike. For me, until then he was just Dad. The dad who worked as an anaesthetist by day and a community man by night. The dad who never let a dinner end without reminding us to put Allah first in whatever we did, yet on the weekends took us out to teach us how to shoot a hoop. He was just that — Dad.

My dad, the biker? Now that was not an image I could get used to. But as he carries on talking, I start to see it. Two young lads, lanky and tall, strutting in their coordinated jackets across the field towards their bike, reveling in the crowds screams. I hear the whistle being blown, the bike zooming across the dusty lanes of the Kerala countryside. I see one lad furiously calculating miles per hour against the back of the jacket of the driver in front, simultaneously screaming into his ear to slow down or speed up. The only way to win this was to reach the finishing line at a specific time. This wasn’t your standard race.

I then see the driver, my dad, his familiar eyebrows furrowed in concentration with his unfamiliarly long hair blowing in the wind. I see him nodding to his friends screams, his gaze remaining focused ahead as he maneuvers through the potholes, farmers and school kids wandering around. I see the finishing line coming into view, my dad racing past it — a close third place.

Oof, those days thasni, my dad exclaims.

The coconut trees and dusty lanes disappear, and I’m back in the passenger seat zooming along the English motorway. It’s nearly 7 am now and I can see the sky slowly uncovering from the night. There's a stillness outside, but in the car its warm and cozy with nostalgia heavy in the air.

A life before you

You forget sometimes your parents lived a lifetime before you. They were the same passionate youth you are today, looking ahead at life with dreams and determination.

And when you first find out, it’s like seeing them in a whole new light.

I think sometimes they forget too. There’s something so special seeing the glow of youth in their eyes as they start to unlock their own memories.

It’s funny how years back, nothing would make me roll my eyes more than my parents beginning a sentence with ‘when I was your age…’ You knew what was coming next. You know, the whole - ‘when I was your age I used to get up to go to school on Saturday night so I could pass mountain ranges and trenches to reach school by Monday’!

But how times change. Now I can’t wait for the weekends with my parents, to sit across the dining table with them and a steaming cup of chai, as they animatedly describe their mishaps and adventures of their early 20’s.

Nothing helped me love and appreciate my parents more than understanding what brought them to where they are today. The dreams and adventures they had at my age, to the trials they experienced as a young married couple — all building blocks to make them who they are today to me. Mum and dad.

May Allah grant out parents long healthy lives and allow us to appreciate them before they're no longer there. Ameen.

If you reached till the end of this reflection, thank you my friend. I appreciate it!

I hope we get to meet each other in my next reflection too. Until then, if you have any thoughts about what you’ve just read let me know (in the comments or any other way). I’d love to start a conversation!

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Until next time,

Thasneema 🌻