Generosity

 When I inherited my aunt’s library, it wasn’t a cause for a furore among my relatives. First off, the library was non-functional. It had refused to make a profit in ages, from my aunt’s enthusiastic youth right up to her old age. The books were dusty, spiders had taken over, and the lights were as dim as my aunt’s spirit in her last days. The library was the last of her estate bits that anybody would have been keen on. Being the most distant and an emotionally dead relative, it wasn’t a surprise that the library landed in my books.

All that lack of love between us bloomed in the shape of an enormous luck. A commercial complex opened in the vicinity of the library. Post their working hours, the office goers were looking for places to hang out. I got in touch with a couple of friends who knew about the ways of the world and soon we transformed the place into a book bar – nothing too fancy – just dim lights, soft music, wine, and beer. Though I didn’t discard the old books, I bought a few shiny ones to overcome the overall dread of the place. 

As the owner, it was up to me to put rules into place and I had a lot of fun doing that. If you spill anything on a book, it will be considered sold, and so on. Like each book finding its just place in a bookshelf, every variable fell into place and the spot began to do well. Yet, what marred the mood was people bickering over lost work opportunities, denied promotions, failed office flingies, and so on. These office beings loved to carry their workplace gloom wherever they went. So, I laid down just one more additional rule – no ranting around. You may banter all you want but if one of my strong men spots you with a sad face, out you bounce. Out went the tearjerking books that served as pleasure troves for sadness seekers. I welcomed in more books that promised heightened productivity, and happy conclusions. Signboards like “No tears,” “Joy forever,” were promptly put up. People loved it! The place bubbled with an unending bliss.

A few months into the business, I began hanging around Rita. I had known her as a distant cousin and nothing more. Now, I knew that she worked as some sort of a manager in some sort of a business. Though we kept our talks mostly to gossip level, I realized that she hinted at an urge to share some sadness. “It’s all meaningless, isn’t it?” she began but changed the topic immediately when I pointed at the signboards. “So will you have me thrown out too?” she asked with a smile.

“Sure. Rules are rules, even for family,” I replied avoiding her gaze.

“Yeah? But I want you to listen to me,” she said, not taking her eyes off. I could only manage a smile and gave her a half nod, and as if on cue, tears began rolling down her eyes. “All this meaningless work in this town where the only thing that seems real is that I am dead on the inside.” I felt the prick of eyes all around staring at us. A guard began walking towards us but I raised a hand and asked him to stay put.

Rita’s lament continued. She was on a wild ride. Work rants were soon replaced by talk about her lost love interest. She immediately switched to her unwell dog, and then how poorly her house garden was faring. She was on a mission to claim the throne of being the saddest person in the world. As I kept looking at her glass, the wine twirling within, inwardly preparing my speech in case she drops her wine on the book, I realized that we were not the only ones at the table anymore. A few more had joined in. With an unwritten license to console, they began unrolling their share of sadness too. What was happening to my happy place?

As the night deepened, our table had turned into a centre of a huge sadness conference. People kept going on and on about their struggles. As I felt a hand on my shoulder, egging me on to share something, all I could come up with was, “We are at the closing time.” I stood up to a collective disappointed sigh and began switching off the lights. People walked out.

The next day, Rita came in early. “I see that you’re ready today,” she said with a smile as she sat opposite to me. I began, “It’s actually all so meaningless.” Rita warned me with her eyes wandering to the wall. She had a smile on her face when she saw that the signboards had been taken down.

In dire need

An Endless Exam

Parenthood theorem: The day before a child’s exam begins is when her father is tested the most.

A corollary: A child would be at her most demanding specifically on such a day.

With Mrudula’s first unit test beginning tomorrow, I could only pray that her list of demands for the day stays within my reach. She began the day by asking for an ice cream. Knowing well that her cough had subsided just a week ago, there was no way I was going to say yes. Yet, she latched on to her doctor’s words.

“Didn’t Dr Sahay say that cough is not affected by ice cream?” she persisted.

“Yes, he did.” Damn you, doctor.

“You need something healthier than ice cream for breakfast. After all…” I said

“After all, yes, my BIG exam starts tomorrow. A life changing unit test for class 4. You know an ice cream won’t hurt me but you just don’t want anything done my way,” she argued while rushing to grab her toothbrush and closing the bathroom door in my face.

I escaped the ice cream ordeal for breakfast with no further consequences. She dabbled with studies all day. She need not have to do much. It was all too easy for her.

The comfort with which she did well in her exams always remained a thorn for me. Surely, she wasn’t getting it from me. We weren’t even related. I stopped my thoughts from drifting beyond reason. 

By evening, Mrudula was bored. I asked her to play cards for some time and she indulged without complaining. She was quite intuitive with her play and was quick to latch on to my deceptions. My frequent losses were as much a result of her sharp mind as my thoughts drifting away to my parenthood mask being undone time and again.

“Can we go to Ipsita’s home?” she asked abruptly as we were about to start another game of cards.

“May be after the exam…” I said and she threw her cards on the bed.

“Exam, exam, exam! You are just the worst father,” she said and rushed to her room. Just as I kept staring at the closed door of her room, she walked right back to me and said, “You aren’t even my real father. I hate you and I hate being dependent on you,” she walked off.

‘A phase. That’s what this is,’ I told myself. And my thoughts came gushing in. What was I doing here? Hell, I wasn’t even a human. Who was I besides being an experiment gone wrong who was now a caretaker for a child?

Soon my ability to detect lies overpowered my thoughts. And it told me what I didn't want to know... that Mrudula was not lying, that she really hated me. Her exam began tomorrow while I had failed mine today. Yet again.  

May tomorrow’s one be better.