DNA ANALYSIS. How I look to the world and how the world looks to me; two very similar sounding sentences yet having two very different meanings. My mother and father are like day and night, not only in their nature but also in their complexions. I kid you not. My father is a typical Indian male with a dark chocolate coloring while my mother is the vanilla ice-cream that blends with the dark yet stands apart. As for me, I am vanilla outside, caramel within. Genetics I tell you! My eyes are huge though not in a frog like way. No body in my lineage has eyes like mine hence their origin is unknown to me. I have been told they are beautiful, they certainly seem to be, so I do not complain. I am heavily myopic, I am rendered blind without my trusted pair of glasses. My parents however boast of perfect eye-sight even though they are in the forty-fifty age bracket, Yes complaint! The eyes are not just a physical entity on my face. They perceive, they look, they see. My love for nature is inherited and nurtured by both my parents. My sixth sense in judging people and situations is part-mother, part my being an undiscovered super-heroine. My hawk like vision at catching grammatical and spelling errors faster than Word are wholly my doing. I like to believe that I am fair and just in seeing any situation the way I have seen my father doing. I see an opportunity to learn akin to my grandfather, who at 75 learnt how to operate Windows 8. I see in the mirror the reflection of a confident, somewhat good-looking female because self-confidence is all that I have seen in my mother. Somehow these eyes fail to spot dust on the furniture. Myopia to blame! My face is round like that of my dad’s. It is white and round like the moon. This is not a self compliment. Family and friends have often remarked that if I lose my 21-year-old “baby” fat I’d look more like the oval faced beauty that is my mother. To these people I simply say a thank you for the chocolates that they get. Having a big face becomes problematic. It is like a big screen television with HD display. Each expression, good or bad is instantly visible. Also, no matter how big the aperture of a camera is, my face never seems to fit into the screen. This is when I am not smiling. Sigh. My face is the window to those harsh opinions that I try to cover up with sweet words. I have my mother’s smile, her lips. Gene distribution is an unfair process. My father has the most perfect set of teeth. They are the teeth that Colgate uses to show us where we should brush and where the cavities are forming. Now did he pass these onto me? No. Did I get an uglier version of my mother’s uneven teeth? Yes. Would my front teeth make a rabbit jealous? YES. Genetics, thou art a heartless bitch. I may sound ungrateful but this is the truth. One needs to see it to believe it. With the mouth, tongue and teeth comes speech. My entire family is vocal and possesses excellent oratory skills. Needless to say, I got that sweet package too. One thing that I have learnt is that words have the power to make or break any situation. Over the years, having observed Parents Wars at the home turf I now know for sure that anger makes us spew filth. I am scared of raising my voice for I have seen the hurt it can cause. I write when I am angry. I write a long message, I write a poem or a letter and convey my feelings. I personally feel that while writing one tends to focus only on the issue rather than unnecessary insults and other acidic jibes. I am proud of this particular quality of mine, experience and surroundings do teach a lot. Like my eyes, my nose too is an unidentifiable object. It is neither the blob shape that is my dad’s nor is it the long triangle that adorns my mother’s face. It is a small, cute, mostly oily and blackheads dotted little piece of olfactory machinery. It is the one thing that my mother envies. Thank you unknown bestower of perfect nose ancestor. DNA defines what I look like. My personality defines what I choose to look at and how. Both of these immensely important attributes are developed and nurtured by my family,i.e, my father and mother. I belong to a nuclear family as my dad is a serving officer in the Indian Air Force, thus the influence of my large extended family has been minimal. My parents have raised me in an environment of love, controlled pampering and much-needed brat scolding. They have miraculously raised a woman who has confidence, self belief, too much self-love and ready wit. They have also given me enough freedom to grow in directions that I wanted to. I wish I was referring to my height, which by the way is a mere 5 ft 5 inches. Parents can do only so much. They provide you with eyes to see, maybe even a good pair of glasses but it is up to the child what he chooses to see. They educate us, hoping to empower us, again, it is in our hands what we do or not do with that education. They give us lots of pocket-money which I should save to get a gift for them. But who can ever repay a parent? My mother says a diamond necklace from my first salary would suffice. Oh c’mon mom! I get this slight materialistic and unrealistic streak from you-now-know-who. So, while I am grateful to my family for their genes and love, I am also glad that I became my own individual self too. I am what I have inherited. I am what I have imbibed. I am what I have been taught. Most importantly, I am what I chose to become. P.S: I could not find any befitting image for this post. Google, shame on you.