One Million.

Last week I was part of a music video that went viral across the country. My second taste of Internet fame since the infamous Anus of Satan article.

We had three people, a limited budget and even less singing talent but we hit 1.5million views in a span of three days.

The local newspaper called me for an interview, big-shot clients who used to turn their noses up at us finally took notice of the new kid in town.

All of a sudden, superficial Facebook friends wanted to “reconnect” and “catch up” (probably trying to sell me MLM).


But in the midst of all this ephemeral fame, what stood out the most was this:


My daddy

who can’t tell the difference between Alan Walker and Paul Walker

who thinks that most songs these days are either too hamsap, too loud or both,

went from stall to stall at the morning market with that video on his mobile phone, playing it to anyone who would spare 3 minutes of their lives.


Daddy who has no idea what the video is about and whom until today can’t seem to fathom how making silly videos and allusions to the Prime Minister can be profitable

Daddy whose English isn’t the strongest suit; the way he trips over words and struggles to explain to strangers who really don’t give a damn about his, his daughter’s success.

The look of pride on his face – I have no words to do it justice – it’s as if I’d won a Nobel prize or discovered the cure for AIDS.



I could have one million people tell me that they are proud of my success

but I know that all I’ll ever need is just one.



This one and all the ones after are for you, Daddy. 


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