Raising a Father: Memoirs Of A Dad, Challenged By His Daughter To Live For Today's Special Moments. - Softcover

Sen, Arjun

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1440158037 ISBN 13: 9781440158032

Publisher: iUniverse, 2009

Synopsis

“Raising a Father is a celebration. This affectionate and appealing story gives smiles, tears and renewed faith in the human spirit.”
—Brent Green, Author, Marketing to Leading-edge Baby Boomers: Perceptions, Principles, Practices, Prediction

“... should be required reading for the planet. Uplifting, instructive, and describes so much of what fathers should aspire to in their relationship with their children.”
—Herb Rubenstein, Sustainable Business Group

“Raising a Father provides a very candid and honest assessment of the everyday obstacles we all face in trying to attain the proper work-life balance.”
— Peter J. Pittman, President, Denver West Rotary Club

During Arjun Sen’s tenure in the corporate world, a wise, corporate stair-climbing friend told him, “Arjun, in order to achieve bigger glories, one must make smaller sacrifices in life.” It was clear he referred to spending less time with family, not being there for children’s special moments, and similar “small” sacrifices in personal life. Sen learns the hard way that these sacrifices come with large costs, and in Raising a Father he recounts his journey to this realization.

Foreseeing his father-daughter future reduced to obligatory phone calls on birthdays and Father’s Day, Sen leaves corporate America. He founds a home-based marketing consulting company in Denver, his ten-year-old daughter’s favorite city; names his daughter as manager; and begins the real journey of becoming a true father.

In this memoir, Sen discusses how he now measures success differently. Raising a Father tells the story of how a young girl uses her charm, her love, and her caring nature to train her dad to become a better father and a better person.

About this title

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Raising a Father

By Arjun Sen

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2009 Arjun Sen
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4401-5803-2

Chapter One

GROWING UP IN INDIA

THE LEGEND OF MAIJI KOLKATA, INDIA, 1950S

Maiji, Bina Sen, was my paternal grandmother. After a brilliant academic life, Maiji settled down and married my grandfather. Soon they had four children, my father being the second of the four. Maiji was an accomplished singer and sang next to India's poet laureate, Rabindranath Tagore.

Everything was going perfectly in Maiji's dream life till she turned forty and my grandfather passed away. The next year, Maiji lost her youngest child, my dad's youngest sister.

Maiji was living in India in the 1950s. It was a tough time for a single woman with three kids to enter the workforce, but she never looked back. Soon she was working for an insurance company, and after long days of hard work she came home to tend to her three children.

Maiji's accomplishments can be summarized by the fact that she put her three kids through college: my aunt through medical school and my father and uncle through engineering school. On top of this, Maiji built her dream home in Kolkata, India. In those days there were no consumer loans, so everything Maiji built was paid for as she moved forward, adding room by room. The house is a tribute to Maiji's dream. It is an engineering marvel because she built it one room at a time, a very unique concept. When I think about Maiji's accomplishment, the only thing I can compare it to is the effort of an ant. An ant is known for being able to carry nearly ten times its weight. But Maiji far surpassed that with her monumental efforts.

When I was young, Maiji had already retired. When I think about my early days, most of my memories are connected with my Maiji. During those days, she was the one person who stood at the helm of my life to guide it in the right direction. As I started writing this book, I realized that Maiji was the Yoda in my life. She laid the groundwork for my future. It is true that Raka will unlock many of my capabilities in the future, but I feel the future would not have happened without Maiji's groundwork.

~ Some actions go beyond days and months to affect others. Maiji's actions did just that. ~

WAKE UP! WAKE UP! KOLKATA, INDIA, 1972

This is the story of a series of daily wake-up calls from Maiji that continued every day, without fail, for twelve years.

Maiji's commitment to my education was unparalleled. She must have figured out early on that I was not the smartest of all kids, and hence working hard was the only way I would be able to accomplish something in life. She would remind me over and over that in life, success comes from "99 percent perspiration and 1 percent inspiration." I heard that many times.

Maiji's bedroom was next to the room in which my brother, Oni, and I used to sleep. At four o'clock every morning, Maiji would scream my name from her bed. I had five minutes to wake up, and if I did not wake up on my own, Maiji would come in and shake me up. I always preferred to wake up before she came in.

It was not over after I woke up. I would go to the bathroom to brush my teeth and freshen up, and Maiji would keep track of time. If I was in the bathroom for more than five minutes, I would get my second call. I was conditioned to run out of the bathroom when the call came in.

So now I was awake, I was up, and I was all freshened up. I would sit at my desk to study. At 4:30 AM, Maiji would get up and make hot cocoa for me, which she served me at my desk. There were times I dozed off at my desk-and that was the worst thing I could do. If Maiji caught me dozing, she would grab me by the back of my head and shove my face against the table. My chin banging on the table was a rude wake-up call, as intense as it gets.

Now when I think back, some of Maiji's tactics are bound to raise eyebrows. I am amazed, though, when I think back on her wake-up calls, at how consistent they were, every morning, every day, for twelve years. Yes, there were times Maiji would assume a scary, noncharacteristic, somewhat cruel role, but today I look above all that. I see a visionary who was building a habit in me; she was investing in my future. I recognize Maiji's commitment and dedication as one of the key drivers of my academic and professional success in later life.

~ The pain of today is the investment of tomorrow. There are no shortcuts to success. ~

A RELIGIOUS DISCOVERY KOLKATA, INDIA, 1973

I was born a Hindu. We had a small worship room in the house. I did not practice organized religion, in the sense that there was no routine for me to regularly go to the temple, but my parents and Maiji both taught me to remember God every chance I could. Maiji would meditate in the morning and in the evening. My dad would start every day with a quick prayer. My brother and I were encouraged to say a quick prayer before we went to bed and before meals. On special occasions we would all go to the temple, and during the big Hindu festivals we would go wearing new clothes.

As I grew up, I realized that some of my friends were Muslims, some were Christians, and some were Buddhists. India celebrates every religion, and school was off for all religious holidays. We had days off for Hindu puja (religious) celebrations and for Christian and Islam religious festivities. Over time each religion's claim to be the "only path" confused me. I would go to the home of an Islamic friend and read signs on the walls that read, "Islam is the only way." I attended a Jesuit school, where I recited the prayer, "Our father, who art in heaven." Some of my Christian friends talked about church and prayers. My Buddhist friend was a vegetarian, as that lifestyle was directed by his religion. On top of everything else I was taking a class called Moral Science, and I was not doing too well in that class.

One evening I shared my confusion and predicament with Maiji. Maiji responded by asking me what my religion was. I was not prepared for her trick question. I thought my religion was Hinduism, but Maiji said, "Hinduism is not a religion but a way of life." She even went on to explain, "Because Hinduism is not a religion, one cannot be converted into it. Instead, one can only adopt the Hindu way of life."

I was surprised. Maiji looked ready for a bigger discussion, but she stopped. She put her glasses on and looked through her book collection. Soon she came back with a set of books she wanted me to read. She had a translation of the Holy Koran, the New Testament, Life and Teachings of Buddha, and the Bhagavad Gita. She gave me a few weeks to read them.

Every day she followed up with me to make sure I was reading the books. In a month I was done, and we sat on the verandah and Maiji explained to me the concept of religions. I sat at Maiji's feet and listened in amazement. She explained that none of the religions were wrong and that every path made sense. Then she elaborated on the subject with the famous lines from Swami Vivekananda: "Jotto moth toto poth," which translates to, "As many faiths, that many paths." Maiji told me that there were numerous paths in life that lead to the same lake. Depending on who and where you were, you chose a path in life called your religion. Yes, your path, if lived properly, would lead you to the lake, but all the other paths would do the same.

Finally she explained that following a religion was not good enough. It was not the path that mattered: a good person lived the concept of his or her religion, not just the performed rituals. In the end, he or she would make the world a better place. At the same time, Maiji gave me examples of bad people from different religions, showing me that following a religion did not stop bad people from doing bad things.

In those four weeks, I learned more than a lifetime of lessons. I learned that I had no religion, but that I had a commitment to a lifestyle. I also was inspired to be a better person because I learned that we could all make the world better, one person at a time.

~ The world needs good people and good deeds. Religion is just a path that helps us get there. ~

SOCCER FAILURE KOLKATA, INDIA, 1973

I was born to be a soccer star. Soccer was in my blood. As I grew up, there was not a single day that passed when I did not play soccer. I did not have the skills of a 4Brazilian soccer superstar, but that was not as important as my unparalleled passion for the sport.

In 1973, I was in grade three. Intraschool soccer was big, and a competitive spirit buzzed in the air. Players competed for specific positions on the teams, and I chose to try for the position of goal keeper. I was the only one interested in that position, so I got selected for my class's soccer team.

My team's first match was after school on a Friday. My parents came to watch my first game, and I was excited. The game started uneventfully for me. For the first thirty minutes, I just walked left and right anticipating a ball that never came to me. But right before halftime, my team screamed my name. I saw the ball, kicked right at me from center field. My first-ever soccer save was seconds away. It was a high kick. I looked at the ball and positioned myself in its path. I was all set. Then I decided to run forward and grab the ball as it bounced. I was at the right place when the ball bounced, but before I could grab it, it skidded on the wet field and went past me toward the goal. I saw the ball go past me in slow motion. I tried to turn and stop the ball. I begged the ball the come back to my hands. But the determined ball continued to march forward into the goal. As I watched it slowly and surely enter the goal, I saw my parents sitting just behind the goal, the perfect place to watch.

Life came out of slow motion as the ball entered the goal while my teammates desperately screamed my name. The ball stopped after crossing the goal line, and I slowly went to gather it and send it back for the game to resume. From the corner of my eye I looked at my parents. I was hoping against hope that they had not seen the goal. But they had.

Once I had retrieved the ball, I tried to kick it to the center of the field-I was angry at the ball. But it was not my day. I slipped as I was trying to kick it and fell flat on my back. The ball bounced in front of me. The captain of my team ran back, got the ball, and relieved me from my misery.

Soccer had not started well for me, but I gathered my wits and managed to grab the ball early in nearly all future goal attempts that day. Not all, but nearly all. A few minutes before the end of the match, another long ball came toward me. This time there was no scream from my teammates. There was pin-drop silence as everyone, again, looked at me. I was ready, and I was determined. I aligned myself and did not make the same mistake as before. I did not charge toward the ball but instead stood with my arms raised, ready to grab it. It bounced in front of me. I was ready. My arms were ready. I could see the ball coming to me. The ball was there, and I jumped up to grab it. But my effort fell short, and the ball went over my outreached hands and into the goal. Now my humiliation was complete. I had let my team down. As I walked back to fetch the ball, I looked at my parents with tears rolling down my cheeks. I was ready to go home.

After that day, many a time I replayed the moments in my mind. I imagined jumping up and either grabbing the ball or fisting it over the goalpost. I felt an amazing need to change the past and change that particular memory.

After that day, even though I never played goalie again, I got better at soccer. I made the school soccer team, but I have to admit I was mediocre at best. I tried hard and played hard to compensate for my lack of real soccer skills, but anytime I was alone at the soccer field, I would see little Arjun as a goalie, under the goalpost, reaching up to catch the ball-and missing.

~ We allow some failures to define us. ~

NO ART FOR YOU KOLKATA, INDIA, 1975

Some memories are too painful to remember, but worse are the memories that are so painful that they change the path of your life forever. Those are memories you cannot simply forget, even if you wish to.

One such memory stemmed from my desire to draw and paint. As an eleven-year-old in grade five, I used to take up art projects at home whenever I got a chance. I do not think I was any good at it, but I loved colors. My brother, Oni, though, was truly talented. He could draw and sketch whatever he wanted, and what he drew actually looked like what he was planning to draw. I, on the other hand, was an accidental artist. I would play with colors and then look to see what I had drawn.

There might have been a career for an accidental artist like me, or so I thought until Maiji decided to take Oni and me to an art class. I remember the first day. The teacher gave Oni and me both an open invitation to draw something. Based on our accomplishments, he would assign us to different levels of classes.

I was excited. Never in my whole life had I had all the colors in the world at my disposal. I began sketching on the watercolor paper and decided to paint the sky basking in the glory of the setting sun. I loved sunsets. I drew a simple landscape of the mountains, the clouds, the river, the grasslands, the houses, and the trees. Then I focused on the sky. I was ready for my favorite sunset. I painted the sky red. In fact I poured some red paint on the paper and splashed it all over-the red sunset had taken over the whole scene. I was very proud of my work. For once I had done what I had set out to do.

My happiness and pride were short-lived. The teacher came behind me and asked me what I was doing, and before I could explain, he took my artwork away, rolled it into a ball, and trashed it. He gave me a new piece of paper and told me that "Sky cannot be red."

I had a chance for a redo. The Picasso in me was on a roll. I painted like a man possessed. This time I knew exactly what I was doing and where my fingers were going. I was doing a more authentic sunset painting. This time the last rays of the sun covered every aspect of the world. The world was red.

The teacher looked at my work and nodded his head. That day when Maiji came to pick me up, the teacher took Maiji aside and told her that my family was wasting their money in sending me to art school. I could not believe what I had just heard. Wasting money on me? The little artist's colorful world was converted into a simple black-and-white door. I was ready to leave the world of color behind. I slowly staggered my way out. As I left, I heard all the kids in the classroom behind me, but I did not dare turn and look back because my destiny and fate were already written.

I did not draw again for twenty-two years. Not once. Finally, when I was thirty-three years old and going through tough times in life, I picked up the paint again. I again became obsessed with my artwork. I loved color. I painted like a man possessed. I was trying to regain my art days. But even with the revisit, I will never try to paint the sky red. That art teacher and just one moment of his harsh judgment stole my red sky from me forever.

~ As my door was being closed, I wish someone had put his foot in to stop it. I needed that. ~

A VISIT TO THE UROLOGIST KOLKATA, INDIA, 1978

It was 1978. I was in grade eight. My life was busy as always with school, soccer, tutors, and cricket and was as hectic as it could be. I had noticed a growth on one of the fingers on my right hand, and one morning I realized that the growth was getting bigger and that it was starting to affect my writing. I was at a loss, and with Maiji out of town, things were even tougher.

That evening, a friend of my dad's came over for an evening drink. He was a renowned urologist and a surgeon. Because my dad trusted this surgeon's medical knowledge, he asked me to show him my finger. I obliged. This doctor, after reviewing my finger, exclaimed that it needed surgery. In three days, I was in his office to get my finger operation. It was not painful. I remember the pinch of the first anesthetic shot, and then I stared away from my finger as the surgery began. I could feel some mild sensations at the area. The surgery lasted a maximum of three to five minutes, and when it was done, the doctor put a bandage on my finger, patted me on the back, and walked me out. He gave me some routine advice on taking it easy for the next few days, and then he hailed a cab and paid the fare for it to take me home.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from Raising a Fatherby Arjun Sen Copyright © 2009 by Arjun Sen. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Edition details

• Publisher: iUniverse
• Publication date: 2009
• Language: English
• ISBN 10: 1440158037
• ISBN 13: 9781440158032
• Binding: Paperback
• Number of pages: 192