I like to hug.
There are not a lot of people I choose (or the other way around) to be in contact with. The ones I like a lot, I hug, especially family members like Vivek, Harsh, Maa, Manjhli Mummy, and Choti Mummy. Daddy also I hug, and a few friends.
The quality of the embrace depends on how the other person is reciprocating my affection. Some people give back well, and I am encouraged to squeeze some more. I also make a mental note to cuddle them in the future.
Some people such as Vivek, Daddy and Maa hug for an extended period, which makes for memorable moments. With some other folk, it can be the opposite.
Take my father. He was very awkward to the hug. His bony structure made it an unsatisfying experience for me anyways. Add to this his quite evident wish to let loose as soon as possible and his palpable displeasure for the whole ordeal and I had good reasons not to hug him.
But he is such a nice person and loves me so much; it makes me want to squeeze him. These days, when I am living with my parents 24/7, there are many moments for me to be grateful to them. Also, I am increasingly mindful my parents will not be around forever and I need to make them feel adored.
For this, I took up a few virtuous practices. Hugging my parents, both of them, was one such exercise.
If repeated, such gestures-more often than not- become sort of a norm, and people get comfortable with the act. Mother loved the hugging. Father not so much. But I kept on embracing him, thinking he deserved my affection, even if he didn’t want the physical sort. I owed him the hugs.
I also owed it to myself to express it as I thought appropriate, or as I wished. So many times we see a window to show our fondness to a dear one, but let the chance passes by, because of hesitation or a possibility of awkwardness.
It was my dharma to hug him, and a signal of my affection, even if he didn’t appreciate or understand my sentiment straight away.
Then something unexpected happened. Father got better (relatively) at the hug. Curiously, his actions reminded me of a person who has not eaten for a week and doesn’t know what to do with him when he gets hold of some food.
How such a person devours the rice in front of him was the same way my father hugged me. He embraced me awkwardly, like someone who has never ever been held before.
He gave me the most innocent, child-like embrace. With some practice, in a matter of a few months, he got used to the idea of hugging fairly regularly. Whether he was doing it thinking it made me feel better, or because he actually liked it, I will not know. Be it charity or his own need, it was a wholesome deed.
When I think of it now, I realize maybe he was not cuddled much by his parents, siblings or friends. I know for sure his wife did not. Hence he never came to know the routine. Only in the past few months did he experience the drill.
I taught the old man a new thing.
Good on me.
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