Poppa's Visit

When living away from home, especially abroad, it’s hard to remember that in my one life exists two separate lives. Having someone who plays such a huge role in my home life come to visit my foreign life helps tie the two together in a way I could not on my own. My father’s short weekend visit gave me such a great perspective and appreciation for my life in Kolkata.

Mr. Frank Ferrandino has a meeting in Singapore next week and made the awesome decision to fly to India to visit his crazy daughter for the weekend. In order to do so, he booked the most complicated and indirect flight arrangements just to spend a day and a half in West Bengal. I cried when I was told that he was coming out and booked a hotel a block away from my house. Late Friday night, anxious as ever, I waited for Poppy to arrive from the airport. 12:30a the knock on the door made me jump to go receive the best hug ever.

On Saturdays I go to service and on this particular Saturday we had a ceremony to attend at our college. Poppa was dragged along and to top it off, in the Kolkata heat – I made him wear a long sleeve pijama to look like an Indian. We caught a cab to All Bengal Women’s Union around 9:40 and saw the different areas of the city. To be honest, while I wanted to show Daddy where I worked I was nervous of how he would take to the girls.

I cannot describe to you how great he was with them. He was introducing himself and asking the girls their names and letting me drag him around to the different parts of the shelter (sadly, it was a weekend so school was closed and none of the management members were in.) Saturday was special though because they were selling all the products they make in their vocational training: like suits, by dresses, tablecloths, candles, snacks, stationary. After a little while, Poppa became the “Blue Bengali Boy” – so named by my student Joyita because of his blue Indian shirt. The girls were so sweet to him. I asked them to sing him Bengali songs, knowing what would come next…

After singing a bunch of their songs, as always, they asked Poppa to sing a song. He looked up in embarrassment, declining out of discomfort (which is funny because he goes around the house singing ancient country songs at the top of his lungs.) Their sweetly insistent selves convinced him; he turned and said,

“How about.. – ‘My friend the witch doctor he told me what to do…’”

I came in to finish his line with “Dun dun dun…”

“My friend the witch doctor he told me what to say”

“Dun dun dun…”

“He said that you’ll be mine if I say this to you oh baby..”

Then, as if it was planned, Poppa, Emily (my coworker), and myself busted out with: “Ou ei, ou aah aah, ting, tang, walla walla bingbang; Ou ei, ou aah aah, tingtang walla walla bingbang!”

This satisfied the girls, for nothing beats my dad’s facial expressions when he sings ‘Alvin and the Chipmunks.’

It started to become busy in the little market they had set up for themselves in the auditorium. More girls were coming in to notice the Blue Bengali Boy who was escorted throughout the room. I say again, his patience with them was great – they were dragging him everywhere and he allowed them, giving his time and love to as many girls as he could. Around noon, my friends arrived to do some shopping. They walked in surprised at the man standing in the middle of the room surrounded by nine-year old girls. Hannah, Breezie, and Brittany made my heart smile, saying how sweet he looked in his pijama and how great he was with the girls. They work in different sites and said that my girls of ABWU can be intimidating and a little demanding. But, being the only man in the entire shelter, he was getting a lot of attention and took it in stride.

We had chosen to go eat in the restaurant that ABWU owns. It took a little while to drag Poppy away from them, especially once they realized he wasn’t coming back. This broke his heart, and as we were walking away, every other step he would turn around to wave to them and smile. Entering the restaurant, he sat down and said “Those girls…” in a manner that I understood: there are no words. I could not respond except for a smile: elated that only in a few hours he grew a soft spot for the bunch of bald-headed children I love, somber that he had to leave them so soon, pitying him for the sudden feeling of helplessness, and appreciative that he understood all these feelings at once. His newfound state of mind dug up the feelings that I forgot I felt every afternoon I leave this place.

Sitting with my friends eating traditional Indian dishes, he asked them questions about their reasons for traveling and making a thoughtful effort to learn about my US family abroad. And even in the hot sun, he opted to walk 15 minutes in his long sleeve pijama to Loreto. The entire walk there he talked with Brittany. The walk was a good way to see the back roads of Kolkata. Again, I began to notice things that I have become desensitized to; the poverty, the disease, the colours, the smells, the sounds... I feel I have been here so long that nothing shocks me. But it should, I should still be shocked. Poppy’s presence reminded me of why I do love Indian, despite recent frustrations and longings of home – and he reminded me of why I am here.

We arrived on Park Street where Poppy and I sat in a coffee shop discussing politics and the American school system. I am happy that his and mine relationship has grown to a point that we can have a dialogue that I am not lectured and an equal part of the conversation, but that I can shut up and learn too. An hour later we walk to my college for one of our closing ceremonies. It’s a women’s college but he was allowed in easily. We sat in the auditorium and as the Indian students filed in, the stares and questions came. He met the rest of the gang and my Indian girlfriends. The ceremony was cute, with a musical and dance performance and a kind speech by Sister Tina. Then, as should have been expected, Dr. Mukerjee asked one of the American students to give a speech on what we learned with IPSL. As on the first day, we all stared at each other, with fear and gapped mouths. We are never prepared for these sort of things. Mukerjee insisted, pushing it further, “Please? Amanda? Scott?” Ugh why me! I knew I was cornered because Scott wasn’t going to get his lazy ass up there. And I could see Nate eyeing me in from a few rows away, putting more pressure on me. Mukerjee let one of the Indian students speak first, who had a little prepared speech much more eloquent than anything I could come up with in the next 43 seconds. Poppa leaned over and whispered, “Talk about your blog, the love entry.” So, with a little extra courage (and angst) that my father was there, I approached the podium, making a little speech about how we came to learn about our differences but instead we discovered our similarities: we all want and have love, understanding and compassion. Though it seemed to satisfy the audience, I still think I am not an impromptu speaker and I sat down as red as the bindi on my forehead. Thankfully, I was greeted with politely enthusiastic pats on the back from the Indian girls, winks from my American family and quick squeeze from my father.

After the ceremony ended, we hung around for cha and pictures. We have to make an effort to see the girls now but we most certainly will. Breezie, Scott, Nate and Emily wanted to go smoke hookah and I wanted to go but I didn’t want to drag Poppy along. However, he was totally the cool dad and wanted to go along. My friends were great, including him in conversations and asking him of his travels. Breezie and Nate spent last semester in Thailand and exchanged opinions of airlines with Poppa. As we were smoking, we discussed all the gross things we’ve eaten abroad and had plenty of good laughs. I have always loved my father, but it was renewed seeing him in a different environment, and thriving. Especially when that environment is my world.

We took a taxi back home (yes, six of us in one taxi) where Poppa came to the house to meet Mum Mum. She was in her moo moo when he arrived, so she put on her sari and brushed her hair (she’s so cute.) After a little chatting, I gathered my stuff for the hotel and I took him for an outdoor eating experience at Smokeachino’s. A lassi and egg-paneer roll is all you ever need. (I can’t get enough of this place.) We sat in two plastic chairs on the sidewalk and chatted more. At the hotel, we watched ‘Breakfast at Tiffany’s’ until we feel asleep. Best way to end the day…

Sunday was brief, we both woke up sporadically throughout the night. I saw a new side of Poppa’s life: all the traveling he does. Alone in bare hotel rooms, confused body and mind thrown about between time zones, and especially in Asian nations, dealing with accents and random colourful money. And all the while needing to impress some foreign company in a meeting. He works so hard for my family and I am so grateful. I took him to the internet café so he could get some emails done while I ran errands, preparing for our spring break to the beach.

We toured the area around my house for the rest of the afternoon. I took him to Lake Market which is always an experience, with men shouting, fruits rotting and beheaded chickens. Walking around the lake near my house, again, a trait of our relationship, we sat and chatted. Topics range from his retiring and my graduating, to politics and economics, to laughing at old inside jokes. We headed back to Smokeachino’s to eat (or mostly waiting to eat, oh Smokechino.) I shared with him some ideas I have as to how I can help my girls from ABWU, such as starting a sponsorship programme. He perfectly answered, “Yeah, we can do something like that.” We. He included himself. You don’t know how good that feels, and how it motivates you. Soon, it was 2:30p, and his plane left at 6:30p.

At the house, Poppa put on a dress shirt because after he flies from Kolkata to Mumbai, then to Singapore – he gets off the flight to head straight into a meeting. I asked him to look at Brittany gross foot growth (sorry girl, I gotta say it!) in which he made a proper daddy diagnosis. We headed out to the street to find a taxi. I couldn’t help it, I began to cry.

I admit, I am coming to a point in the trip that I long for home. While I welcome overstimulation and a demanding and engaging schedule, living in a developing nation, especially India, is freakin’ hard!! My body is tired; mind, heart and soul. And for those of you who know me, you know that I am reaching my month of “mean reds – suddenly you’re afraid and you don’t know what you’re afraid of.” And now, one of the most important people in my life, has came to visit, refreshed my outlook, and now leaves. Not fair…

As he got into the taxi and pulled away, and as I was bawling like a child; I had to remind myself: that man has given me everything I could ever want. He just said before he left, “I wish there was some way we could give all those girls the lives you and your sister have.” Out of all the things he gave us, from TY beanie babies to piggy back rides – there are only two things I need: strength, that even with my flaws (whether or not they were products of our upbringing) I can find a depth in me that cannot be trampled and I know I will find a muscle to repair myself. The other, when I do feel those moments of confusion, fear and doubt, I have love. Their love.

And while I am tired, sad, lonely, weak, and unmotivated to be here, I can’t give up; for I was given a life and soul of impenetrable strength and love. It needs to be shared, not only for the sake of the beautiful people I work with, not only for me, but for them, my parents.

I speak for Poppa when I say this too, while it was entirely delightful to have Daddy here – our hearts were only half full, for there are two members of the Ferrandino spirit that are waiting at home for us.