The case for building castles in the air

It isn’t always that my four-year-old daughter wants to include me in a game she’s playing with daddy. That’s because like most father-daughters, they have their own little world they retreat into, a private sanctuary replete with special characters, language. I’m not invited unless they need a less important slave/third leg. Under my husband’s benevolent influence, my offspring’s favourite toys are not pink tutu-ed Barbies, but slithery rubber snakes and stuffed dogs. Her favourite games rank as kick-the-ball, then kitchen-kitchen, in that order.

Did I mention that my daughter is convinced her father is not only the strongest man in the whole universe, but also the wisest (in comparison, I’m the lowly disciplinarian, ‘meanie mommie’)?
I would like to believe this Machiavellian domination of her mindspace by my husband started recently, but the truth is I think my daughter perceived her daddy as God the moment she formed cognitive thought. Chait sees no reason to change this charming notion of hers. “She’ll grow up with a serious daddy fixation,” I have cautioned him darkly, on occasion, thinking of the sorry fate of future suitors, having to match up to my husband’s legend. “It’s inevitable,” he smirks, undoubtedly thrilled that life is proceeding according to plan.

Anyway, this one time, after the two had played awhile with the little one swinging upside-down, batlike, on Chait’s arm, they decided that it was time to include me.

So I was invited to make castles with a puzzle’s wooden blocks. This puzzle is an adult mindbender that Chait, with the fiendish competitiveness of the professional sportsperson he is, assembled in record time. All the blocks must fit to form a cube. Unaware of how spookily closely my daughter watched daddy’s every move, we were astonished to find her assembling the puzzle to absolute perfection. At age two-and-a-half. I must mention here, at the risk of appearing the family dodo, that I cannot yet assemble it correctly (to my malevolent satisfaction, neither can most people I know).

Anyway, I was graciously let in on this game that evening, which involved stacking the wooden puzzle blocks one over the other to form a castle. Chait’s structure towered high, followed by his spawn’s gleeful creation, her small hands deft in matching up to daddy’s dream house. Me, I wasn’t so lucky. My blocks kept tumbling down. Again. And again.

Never had the pain of exclusion cut so deep as, suddenly, all the day’s wrongs piled up within found expression. The blocks tumbling down became metaphor for the day’s sundry injustices and stressors. My bleat of protest became a wail of agony, to my utter horror I discovered I was crying. It was then that the same sharp little eyes that had effortlessly internalised the difficult puzzle, correctly gauged the mood change. And just like that, my little demon of a daughter, daddy’s most fervent chamcha, showed me the finest of her father’s qualities — his incredible generosity of spirit. In a split second, tiny helpful hands had caught a toppling block midway, fixed it so that my castle stood, shaken but not stirred. “There mimi, you’ve made it, see,” her tumbling generosity found expression, attempting to soothe me by making her effort, mine. Then she wiped away the tears — so gently, they flowed all over again, this time to hold the moment. This column is about epiphanies, yet here I am narrating a story about building castles in the air. But for all those times we come undone, I do believe we need such castles. And if we’re lucky whilst building them, as I was that day, we glimpse in the eyes of our little ones the magic that resides within — the best of ourselves/our partners.

Gauri Sinh parents a four-year-old human and a 10-year-old canine. She also happens to edit DNA After Hrs.