The story goes back to when I was very young. Thirty days after I was born, my parents took me to the ancestral home in Calicut, and there I stayed in the care of my grandparents till age eight. That was when my parents figured I was old enough to not be a 'nuisance', a burden to two professionals whose minds were set on developing their respective careers. And so I was taken away from the care of my grandparents, and began living with my parents in Madras.
Neither mom nor dad had much time for me — both worked crazy hours and when they did get home, they were more intent on catching up with each other. Their interaction was largely restricted to pro forma inquiries about my schoolwork, a pat on the head and an exhortation to 'run along and play' — a parental edict I was only too happy to comply with. We are talking seventies here: a time when life was a lot less complicated. We didn't have psychologists prosing on about how childhood neglect would produce warped adults;Read More »from My Father’s Son