Big Words

I learnt my first big word from my father. 

We were on a seedy little street; 

I'd taken a fancy to a piece of bric-a-brac, 

A little wooden cylinder that rattled when you shook it,

And showed you an unending tapestry of colours when you peered inside. 

Even as he haggled with the hawker, 

Dad said, "That's a kaleidoscope. It makes the world prettier." 

Big words weren't hard to come by around Dad. 

They'd rain on me almost every morning, 

When he read his newspaper on the couch

-'inflation', 'embezzlement', 'sensex', 

And again at dinner, when he'd be taking calls from work

Each word an unsympathetic little milestone that told naive me I was light years away

From his busy, clever world. 

And then, I grew up. 

I began learning more words and writing poetry of my own. 

Some words Dad approved of - 

'Ambition', 'excellence', 'accolades', 'enterprise';

Others, he seemed to revile. 

He complained about how my texts to him were almost unintelligible

Thanks to the lazy abbreviations and emoticons 

That had now become the lingua franca of my tribe. 

And then there were the other words that he didn't quite like -

Words fully spelt out, yet contentious

- 'feminism', 'rebellion', 'individuality';

Words that would hang around us

Like dark little clouds that sat between us, brushed past us during conspicuously silent meals 

And perfunctory phone calls

-words like 'generational trauma', and 'unresolved conflict'. 

Today, my dad laments I know too many big words, 

Perhaps even more than he does. 

I see how the kernels of condescension in his eyes

Have given way to embers of pride. 

But he says he can no longer read the poems I write, 

For the words are finally too big for him. 

But I think we still have words in common-

Words like 'love', 'memories', 'healing', 'forgiveness', 

-smaller, humbler words, but incandescent with hope. 

And I will, given the chance, read my poetry to him 

And explain all the big words

Why, you ask? 

Because, 

I learnt my first big word from my father.