Growing up with my Dad and Anil Fabrics

My second home

While many of us have fond memories of playing at the jungle gym in the park, my childhood took a slightly different path. Instead of joining my peers at the park in front of our house, I had a unique preference: I'd rather spend my time at my dad's office. Now, don't misunderstand me—I come from a Marwari background, but the allure of the business world didn't quite captivate me (and perhaps it never will), it was simply to play. The point is, I found my playground within the confines of my dad's workplace.

My childhood too was strewn with playing “Ghar Ghar”, “Teacher Teacher” and “Office-Office” but when you are awarded the privilege of going to the actual office and playing, no child not in their right mind would refuse. Every random Saturday and throughout most of my summer vacations, you would find me either riding behind my dad on his beloved Bajaj Scooter or proudly standing in front of it —our very own Impala, as we fondly called it - heading to Anil Fabrics.

Those days were truly blissful, yet it never occurred to me, while immersed in childhood role-playing games, that my dad and I were also engaged in another kind of game: one where I was his princess, and he was the unwavering provider, ensuring I had everything I needed. My mornings often began with me inadvertently making my dad late, yet he always ensured that all tasks were completed, starting with our visit to the Lord Shiva Mandir. Despite our tardiness, he never failed to reward me with a chilled glass of sugarcane juice from the shop downstairs. Even though I initially refused to drink it there, my dad would ensure a clean glass was brought down, filled, and then brought up for me. To me, this gesture was simply sustainable parenting, not indulgence or spoiling.

Amidst the hustle and bustle of the main market, a different charm awaited. I was so engrossed in watching the world outside the window that once, in a fit of annoyance, I accidentally locked my sister in (the window enclosure was soundproof—she didn't mind, as she was busy watching the Dosa Center downstairs making crisp, hot, yummy dosas!). The interior of the shop was even more intriguing than the bustling locality. A maze of sturdy wooden racks provided perfect hide-and-seek spots, given my petite stature. And if ever boredom crept in, I would clear my dad’s table and perch atop it while he worked.

What's most intriguing is that despite spending so much time in my dad's office, I remained oblivious to his profession (I was a peculiar child). One day, my primary school teacher asked me what my dad did for a living. Not knowing the answer, I replied that he made calls and occasionally wrote letters. She seemed puzzled, assuming my dad was a telephone operator, and I simply nodded along. It wasn't until a parent-teacher association meeting when the teacher inquired about my father that my mom learned of my ignorance. That evening, I received a lesson on my dad's occupation, but I stubbornly resisted understanding. The simple solution was to say he was a businessman, but I couldn't reconcile that with the portrayal of businessmen in movies as pompous, egotistical and megalomaniac—traits that didn't fit my dad at all.

Fast forward to today, my elder sister and my dad were reminiscing about our childhood, sharing laughter as we revisited those cherished memories. Suddenly, my dad's expression shifted, and a sombre mood settled over him. "I didn't give you enough time, and now you're all grown up," he lamented, leaving me puzzled. My father has always been an overachiever: a devoted son, husband, uncle, and dad, and now a loving granddad to my nephew. Yet, amidst his many roles, he seemed to have overlooked the significance of his presence in his children's lives, including mine.

I still don’t know what my dad does, in theory, yes - but there is something so special about his ability to get you out of any situation by just taking you with him to Anil Fabrics. When my sister was suffering from acute depression and wouldn’t leave the dark corner and no therapist and psychiatrist were helping, my father took matters into his own hands and took her to Anil Fabrics she started working with him and it been more than 15 years and she has not looked back. Back in 2014 - I had to take a gap year for myriads of reasons, again my dad took me to Anil Fabrics - I did not stay there but that year there helped me find my own place in the world.

The truth is, Dad doesn't just sell fabric. He weaves stories, hopes, and new beginnings. Anil Fabrics isn't just a shop; it's an extension of him, a magical space where anything feels possible. We've moved locations, but the essence remains – Papa is Anil Fabrics, and Anil Fabrics is Papa– a constant, a place I call home.

All I can hope for is to discover something I am truly passionate about, something that sparks magic not only in my own life but also in the lives of those around me.