CRAZY, STUPID LOVE

My dad married my mum because he was scared of dogs. My mum married my dad because he seemed like a nice enough guy the second time she met him. I mean, at least he'd ditched the awful pink shirt he'd worn during their first meeting.

None of this will make sense to you, so let me start over. My parents met on the 20th of January 1994, my dad in the aforementioned shirt that caused my mum so much grief, and my mum in a lovely sari. Mum later told me that the first meeting was like being bowled over by the sea that crashed into the Egyptian army after parting for Moses - Dad brought his parents, siblings and had even tossed in an uncle or two. Mum shivered in her sari.

The suitor's family was quite impressed with Mum, particularly my paternal grandad - Mum could sing, and sing beautifully. Besides this, she was frank, smart and had a degree in Fine Arts from Stella Maris University. Grandad was happy. The pater was not.

Why so? It was because of the first time they had to talk 'alone, face to face.' They were taken to a bedroom at the end of the corridor, where, after making herself comfortable, Mum asked Dad the usual questions. Usual for her, not for Dad. As the session went on and on, with references to books, art and cultural references that had Dad trembling in his shoes, Mum's opinion of him sailed through rock bottom and went further to the ends of the earth. Verdict (according to Dad) : Mum was a snob. Dad was a nerd (that was Mum).

Dad was feeling rather open minded now, having been thoroughly flummoxed by Mum's repeated questioning, so he went along with the family to meet two other eligible women. The second lady did not seem compatible with him, so he moved on to the third. Unfortunately, Dad's aforementioned fear of canines - particularly large friendly ones that decided to greet him by placing two well-meaning paws on his shoulders - came into play here, and he was out of there before he could barely register the name, face or presence of the lady. To this day, he can only remember that she pulled the leash till a large set of glistening white teeth were finally done grinning at him.

Anyway, Dad decided to give Mum another chance. This time, he planned ahead. He got rid of the (awful) pink shirt, dressed in conservative but coordinated attire and went to meet her with the tiniest unit of his family - his parents. When they were finally left alone, he began before Mum could open her mouth. 'This time,' he said. 'I will talk, and you must listen.'

And when Dad finally got to put his two cents in, Mum was impressed by him. He was honest, hard working  and only wanted a partner who respected his parents as much as he did. Mum wanted the same, and the two, to put it plainly, got hitched. Both sets of in-laws were pleased with the match.

However, the love aspect of this wonderful marriage (why wonderful? It resulted in my brother and me, that's why) would come much, much later. In due course however, my parents learned a lot about and from each other, until I came along. My father was introduced to a whole world of pop culture, books and movies, besides improving his linguistic skills and sharpening his will to conquer the world. Today, he attributes his achievement in becoming a leading member of the Saud Bahwan Toastmaster Group Club to his wife, who wouldn't rest before pushing him to do what she thought was best for him. My mother was inducted into a large, loving family on the other side, besides being married to someone who believed that she had to pursue her career and always, always encouraged her. Today, she is a respected artist, a highly sought after graphic designer, and a beloved teacher.

My parents' marriage is a true story of respect and friendship that gave way to a deep love that they keep alive and interesting with occasional squabbles, teasing and two highly idiotic children who adore them. They have progressed greatly from two strangers who despised each other on first sight, to a couple whose belief in the principles of truth, honour and familial love has kept them going strong for twenty years today.

I should know. I've been present for nineteen of them.

A Tribute to Robin Williams (1951-2014)

On the 11th of August, actor Robin Williams passed away. Aged 63 at time of death (he was pronounced dead by emergency personnel at around 12.02 pm, after he was found unconscious by his assistant fifteen minutes before), he was said to have been battling severe depression. He appeared to have finally succumbed to his inner war, taking his own life.

I am not writing this to horrify  you with technical details of toxicology reports, or even relate to you the same history of his filmography and personal life as every publication must have already done. In the past two hours alone, I have read at least seven articles repeating the same thing, one after the other, interspersed with celebrity condolence tweets to retain your interest. No, I am here to talk about why Robin Williams, as an actor, a comedian and a famous personality, was important to me.

I grew up with him. That's the best way I can put it - at the age of two, I began watching Aladdin (the first part - the sequels never quite made up for its magic), and every year, as a ritual till now (I am 18 years old), have watched it consistently along with Mulan. It was a reminder of simpler, more beautiful times, and the Genie was a wisecracking, problem-solving maniac I never grew tired of watching. I even have this ridiculous memory of my father encouraging me to put my head underwater, to be able to swim, just so I could 'see Genie and Aladdin like in the movie.' As I grew older, I began appreciating the man behind the character, his extraordinary talent in modulating voices, singing, and bringing alive a two-dimensional drawing in more ways than one.

My pre-teens saw me explore his filmography a little more - Philip Brainard had me in stitches in Flubber, Alan Parrish had me feverishly biting my nails, hoping he'd come out alive in Jumanji. I desperately wished that my dad would dress up like Mrs. Doubtfire too (in retrospect, a lot of awkward questions would have followed) and Peter Pan made me root for him loudly in Hook.

My teens saw me stare in disbelief as he became Man of the Year, giggle at him in License to Wed, and stand, tears running down my cheeks, yelling out 'O' Captain, my Captain' along with Ethan Hawke. Perhaps the most serious side, as an actor, that I saw of him was in Good Will Hunting. This was just two months ago.

I may not have watched all his films, but I'll tell you this -  he became a grandfather of sorts onscreen to me. A ridiculous sentiment, bordering on childishness, but true. Somehow, out of all the actors I admired, he seemed to tell the best stories, make me laugh out loud, losing interest in the plot entirely and just focusing on him. He was an effervescent fountain full of tricks and jokes that you'd never foresee. He offered the best advice too; to an adolescent kid, the quote "You're only given a little spark of madness. You mustn't lose it" is gold. He existed quietly, in the background now as other favourite actors and movies took his place. But I thought...he'd be around for much, much longer.

Shows how much we take for granted. Appreciation for an artist's talent is something I never bothered to cultivate properly, and now that he's gone, I can only watch what I've already seen to death, and feel a pang, akin to that while listening to 'Beat It.' Moreover, his passing has prodded me viciously in the back to realize - no one is invulnerable to the sadness of life.

Who was he, I now wonder. Who was he really? It's my job now, as a media student, to ponder upon these questions. That brilliant jovial facade, the same that made Christopher Reeve laugh for the first time since recovering from his accident - what did it hide? People wear the most exquisitely crafted masks in society, some so effective that they do a wonderful job of hiding the person within. What was that darkness that rankled inside him, that prompted him to take a decision without slowing down first, without calling his wife, anyone, just to hear a word of love, of appreciation. Did he feel the blocks of uncertainty weighing him down till he could bear them no more? In Russell Brand's tribute to him, the lines "When someone gets to 63 I imagined, hoped, I suppose, that maturity would grant an immunity to adolescent notions of suicide but today I read that suicide isn’t exclusively a young man’s game'' are more poignant as ever.

As a budding journalist, I may have had the chance to meet him. I may have even become one of the vultures hounding him, but I would have met him. Talked to him, conversed, discussed. And perhaps, just perhaps, I may have been able to see what Robin Williams was really like, and dose myself with a bitter spoonful of reality, idealistic child that I still am.

The world will move on; people already have, telling me to stop being so silly, to quit depressing myself by continuously thinking of his death. But I am allowed, I will be sad for one more day. One more day to mourn one of the greatest actors of the late 20th and the 21st century. One more day to curl up with some ice cream and sing along with Genie to 'You'll Never Have a Friend Like Me'. One more day to remember and continue remembering that there are others out there like him. If there's one thing his portrayals of my favourite characters have taught me, it's that being a good friend can save another.

I'll remember that as long as I can. For now, rest in peace, Robin Williams. You've touched us all in unimaginable ways. Thank you.