And That's How It All Began...

Partly aware and mostly slumbering deep, I still could feel the blanket slipping away in a flash. “Maa,” I protested, my hand trying to grab any end of the blanket, “five more minutes, please.”

Neither Maa responded nor did I reach my blanket. Before my consciousness could suspect anything unusual, a male’s voice broke the sequences of my thoughts. “I am waiting only four minutes. Get yourself brushed and be there to have a lunch.” The voice was deep like a sound of rumbling thunderclouds. It was a voice of my father.

A bolt of fear spread in my spine and I almost leaped on my bed. I blinked harder and harder till sleep faded and the blurred world came into focus. There he was, towering above me, glaring at me. “Four minutes,” he reminded me, folding my blanket.

“Good Morning, Papa.” I risked to smile, hoping to appease his gathering fury. Somewhere I had read, nothing pleases parent’s hearts than their child’s smile. Definitely, the trick was not working on my father as his eyes were still drilling me.  Then something clicked back in my mind. Did he say lunch? Through the window I could see the bright blue patch of the sky. A small alarm clock rested on its sill drew my attention and my brows arched in bewilderment. 12:30 p.m.! Damn, I’ve slept till noon. So that was the reason why he looked so furious, I deduced.

Before I proceed further, let me tell you something about my father. He is forty plus by age now. Servicing the government dutifully as TCM when he was twenty two and was appreciated twice with awards for his service. He is a man of principles and conduct while I am a bit different than him. Let’s again switch back to the story.

“Three minutes.” He left my room with a warning. I knew he was deadly serious this time. And why he should not be? From past fifteen days, I had confined myself in my room, leaving just to bathe and feed myself. Well, that’s what I and many thousand teenagers deserved at that time. Rest, undisturbed rest. Why? Because our HSC exams were over and happy days were passing. Good days pass so quickly!

In a flash I was in the bathroom, mouth filled with foam, and yes, my toothpaste did have salt. After this hasty brushing, I made my way towards the kitchen, each step paced slowed as I neared. The air smelled of spices, enough to make my stomach grumble. I just then realised the breakfast was off my agenda from last fifteen days. My days were used to begin with Maa’s scrumptious lunch.

“Sit,” Papa said with an authority, beckoning me.

I did what an obedient son would do. I sat, anxiously waiting for Maa to offer me my dish.

When the food was presented and I broke a piece of the steaming roti, Papa taunted, “You are wasting your time.”

I thought he told to my Maa. Often parents discuss such philosophical-advisable talks during meals. But that day, I was his subject. “What?” I asked, puzzled.

“Playing those ridiculous video-games till late nights, then waking at mid-day, son, you are degrading yourself.” This time, he sounded concerned but his face was impassive.

“Let him enjoy his vacation,” Maa interjected, “These are his days.”

I smiled at her, considering myself fortunate to have her on my side every time.

My father grumbled something, but I failed to catch his words. For a few seconds, we all ate in awkward silence. I was trying hard no to look at him, my eyes were fixed on the roti. You never know when your slightest action can trigger your parent’s fury.

“So the book,” Papa broke the silence, “which was on your bed, what is it all about?”

“You mean Harry Potter and The Goblet of Fire?” I questioned back, stuffing my mouth with another bite.

He nodded. “What’s the storyline?”

I stammered before answering. I was fully aware about the taste of my father in literature. And fantasy does not fall in his list. “Nothing, just a normal story of a boy and his vengeance.”

“You are lying,” he snapped, “and you are hiding something too.”

How on earth did he know? I looked at Maa but she was staring back at me with her calculating eyes. I knew what would be his reply, but I risked to reveal the true plotline. 

“Okay,” I managed to say, gulping down the bite that still flavoured my tongue, “there’s a bit a magic in it too.”

His brows raised a little. “And?”

“And there’s a dragon.”

“And?”

“And there’s a school where they teach children how to wield the magic.”

“That’s enough!” He yapped, looking at my Maa. “See, what your dear son is reading. Next month, he’ll get admission in any engineering college. Next month, he is going to face the world, the real world! And here he is lost in his magical world!”

“It’s Hogwarts, Papa,” I corrected him.

He glared at me as if I had uttered something uncultured. The taste of my Maa’s food was fading and my mouth felt instantly dried. I still don’t know what told me to ask him, but I am glad now that I had risked. “Then what you want me to do?”

My query seemed to soothe his mood. “You know I don’t believe in magic and sort of thing. I mean, these things are impractical in life. They don’t work in reality.”

To be truthful, that pinched me. I wanted to oppose but something told me not to do it, something within told me that time was not correct. I continued to listen.

“No, I don’t have any problem with your reading habit,” Papa said. “Believe me, when I see you reading intensely, you remind me of myself.”

My fingers stopped rolling the roti. I looked at him in bafflement. From the day my brain started collecting the memories, I could not recall any moment when he was enjoying a good book. All these years I found himself busy in his office; writing, calculating and working hard till night. Only thing I saw him reading was the daily newspaper and the sacred texts.

“Yes,” Maa agreed, “Your father used to carry books always with him in high school days.”

Wait, flashback time! Yes, my Maa and Papa studied in the same high school. From the tales of my uncles, I came to know he was quite popular student and my Maa was one of his admirers. But, my Papa never knew anything about her and they parted. Thanks to Indian arrange marriage system, their fates entwined and this world was blessed with one of the evolving legend - Me. I admit, many will not agree with this ‘evolving legend’ fact, but grant me some time and I’ll prove them wrong. Enough of this old revelation, now again switching back to the memory.

“Don’t give me that baffled look,” he said, “I used to read and I used to write too…” His face suddenly turned solemn.

“You used to write?” I asked, partly surprised, partly impressed. “Wow! I never knew that. I want to read your works.”

He said nothing, but his silence was radiating his pain. I could feel that. Though we have different visions but still we share the same blood, a bond of father and son. His grimace was obvious. Something was not right.

“Papa,” I urged. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he sighed, though his face betrayed his emotions. “It’s just that I am worried about you. Can’t you make or create something productive? Can’t you utilise your time? I’ll be pleased to see you reading rather than wasting your time in playing those games or watching those meaningless tv-shows.”

I nodded. And then we completed our lunch without speaking anything.

When Papa was resting in the nearby room, I approached my Maa and asked, “Why did he stop writing?”

She glanced at me. “Not your concern. Go and enjoy.”

I didn’t move. From the way she was not meeting my eyes, I understood she was not telling me something. “Maa, please!” I insisted.

She craned her neck and peered, making sure Papa was not nearby. “Listen, son. I and your Papa lost our mothers at very young age. We were just children at that time. I was brought up in my uncle’s home while your father was raised under the blessings of Lord Shiva, one of the ashrams at the foot of Mount Girnar.”

I leaned a little for she was just whispering.

“Our financial conditions were not good. Just try to understand, son, circumstances were worse and we sacrificed a lot to uplift our status.” She lightly placed her hand on my cheeks. “So that our children, that’s you and your brother, don’t suffer the same fate that he had. So that we can see you enjoying what we never could. And that’s why when you waste your time, he becomes little worried. He didn’t mean to harsh, but because of his profession and his past struggling years, he became a little bit rude.”

“But Maa,” I said, after deliberating a couple of moments, “why did he stop writing?”

She smiled at me, dazzling me.

I frowned. “What?”

“Nothing,” she said, “it good to see you care about him.”

“Why should not I?” I almost yelled, then hushed. “He is my father! But still you haven’t answered my question?”

“Sometimes, son, life puts you at a crossroad and probes you to decide which way you want to move. Either to follow your dreams or to accept the reality. He chose the second one, scarifying his passion, all because of your future.” And then she drifted her attention and busied herself in cleaning the utensils.

I walked back to my room, my mind musing from the new dimension. His questions seemed to echo in my mind. Can’t you make or create something productive? Can’t you utilise your time? I don’t know why I did that, but I picked up a pen and started scribbling. After an hour or two, I was ready with my first short fiction. I presented it to Papa and what I received back still inspires me to write more and more. A million dollar smile curved his lips, his eyes twinkling with a renewed hope, a hope he thought was shattered years ago. And at that time I realised one thing. They had lived for me, now it’s time for me to live for them. And that’s how it all began, the journey of my writing…