Ninad's story will strike a chord with every proud parent.
"Hi Dad! Do you know, I'm having so much fun; you're not going to believe! The Stats. Prof. - he is so cool. In the lecture yesterday..."
Cool, yes. Hmm. Not so long ago it was, "Daddy, will you take me to London with you?"
Praj was six then - holding my hand, walking to school in Bombay. Choice and fate brought me to Wales eight years ago. She followed me there with her mum. She was ten.
A lovely junior school, lots of friends and prizes. Soon she was on stage, singing and dancing with the Ark Entertainers, but not all was to be rosy.
Senior school came up, inevitably. A good school, but the children were grown up of course. Differences were found, but not understood. They picked on her accent, even her cultural background.
"What, no boys at 13. She can't be one of us!"
"I want to go home. Let's go back to Bombay."
The child was hurting inside. Some unthinking remark maybe. Latta and I sat down with her ...told her, it's not that much difference for us, but we are all here for a brighter tomorrow. A lot of love and cajoling later, life returned to normal. Phew!
Then, it suddenly changed. She topped her class ...and again ...and again. A gold medal and a trophy followed. Italy and Ireland were toured with the Howell Girls choir. Peers began to accept her for herself.
She equalled the school record for getting ten GCSE A* and was invited to join the National Youth Choir of Wales ...and now this.
This letter from the University, "Hi Dad."
Is this metamorphosis? Well, whatever. But somewhere inside, just inside, I still wish to hear "Dear Daddy."
End slide - With all my love, Dad.
