A couple of weeks back, I had been to Thailand on a 4-day fun trip organized by the company I work with. We were told that we could take a guest along with us. In saner circumstances, it'd have meant a spouse, a girlfriend, or even a sibling. But what I apparently did was one of the weirdest things I ever pulled off.

In what seemed like a chapter straight out of Fellini's La Dolce Vita, I took my appa along with me. Yes, I and my dad travelled around with my colleagues and others, visited places, parasailed, walked under the sea, ate passable Indian food, slept soundly in the hotel rooms, shopped in huge malls, and came back home.

If one skims a little through this blog, one can figure out the level of excitement I'd have towards such touring and travelling. But, my father, a man of a different generation and certainly different sensiblities enjoyed every bit of it. My appa just oozes out frenetic enthusiasm during such trips. He makes note of the places he visits (along with the date and time, no less), wakes up early and gets ready for the next place of visit, takes part in organizing the proceedings and so on. As a matter of fact, during this trip, I kept him in check, not letting him be his usual self. I did realise soon that, it was utterly preposterous of me to impose my "modern detachment" on him, but most of the men around, I was afraid, were "modern" themselves, but probably not as "detached" as I was. But, I couldn't inhibit him from being his usual self and, apparently, he won more friends than I did during the trip. And, he really enjoyed parasailing and the undersea walk (which I was supposed to not to let him do), and recalled his doing the same (against much opposition) during his long holiday in Mauritius.

Personally, I fairly enjoyed the Battaya beach and Bangkok. On the whole, it was actually nice, this stranding together a boy and his father, starkly different in their sensibilities - the son steeped in stoic cynicism and the father, zealous and with strong middle-class ethos - and yet uncannily similar, not to mention the look-alike noses.

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I wasn't sure if I should have asked him if he'd like to have a drink or not, during the dinner on one of those days, but as stern stoicism prevailed, I just sat still and waded through for most part of it. And, I had quite quit drinking too. But, he'd have enjoyed a drink if somebody forced it a bit on him, I know. Now, I wonder if I should have, and what his reaction would have been.

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Of the words that I repeately use in conversations and in writing, and even tend to consciously keep it in check, the topmost is probably 'bland'. That is the word. That is real. That is my drama. And, my melodrama.

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Blandrama!