To Dad, on five past quarter

“Don’t worry son, you’ll figure it out once your career hits off, trust me now, and study what I want you to.”

“Oil your hair regularly son, else you’ll lose it before you hit thirty.”

“Its just a phase, you’ll figure it out don’t worry, you’re just a teenager.”

Seems like yesterday when I was eighteen and got these regular doses of wisdom from you dad. I just went with the flow, partly because I had no choice. Now I am about to hit the thirtieth winter of my life and I am wondering…what the hell just happened? My best years just whizzed by and I am….well, not really sure…about anything.

Dad, I have a career, yes you were right about it, but you know what, I don’t want it. I look at people at work who have been here for more than a decade….and I am scared to death to end up like them. They are nothing but a bunch of corporate zombies. No zeal, no enthusiasm, just a hefty pay check at the end of the month, and the only motivation to go home, if at all, is a loveless quickie with their wives, out of need and not want.

Why didn’t you trust me to make money if I had gone the way I wanted to? Yes, the success rate in the non-conventional fields is low, but I would have survived. I am surviving this aren’t’ I? No, I haven’t figured it out yet, why you pushed me here where the only thing to look forward to is the “end of day”.

Dad, to confess, I hardly oiled my scalp when you were not looking, and I still have a full head of hair. Why did you force me to have the whole oil refinery operating on my head? Why did you think that if I went around trying hair do’s and tattoos I would turn into a punk? Well, I never got to have those; all I have now is a head full of useless hair, which is frowned upon by my boss at the mildest hint of any style, that is anything other than boring. I wouldn’t have minded losing it, had I used it in time. I would gladly trade every strand of my hair now for a mo-hawk back then.

Dad, the phase is still persisting. I was reckless, I was confused, I was wild. First the teens and then the twenties whizzed by and I am still all those things. I am as reckless as I was as a teenager with money. I could never have saved my pocket money back then and I am not able to save my salary even now. I am as confused as a teenager. I never understood why I was studying the things on the curricula and now I never understand half the procedures I am made to follow in the office. I am confused as to why I am doing what I am doing. I never came around to the idea of the “career ” that you chose for me.

Dad, it’s not that I blame you, I blame myself. Maybe I was not reckless enough. I should have been more reckless and followed my heart in spite of you. Maybe that would have worked out…. maybe not…. but one thing is for sure, I wouldn’t be writing this letter to you sitting in my bleak office when I should be climbing the corporate ladder to a drab future.

You know what, it’s better late than never. The one thing that this big bad rat race has taught me is, even if I win it, I’ll still be a rat. So, I am going to keep trying to hack it in the world the way I want to. The reason for this defiance, well, there are many, but mainly because on my fortieth birthday when I come to visit you, I don’t want to write an application to someone asking for leave permission.

Maybe I am wrong, maybe I haven’t grown up, maybe your way is the way to go, but if I keep going this way, I’ll never get rid of the nagging ‘what if’. For once, Dad, I wanna tread the forbidden road and not the one ‘less traveled.’