Make them everyday

 Make them everyday

The Buffet

And slap!

Getting slapped at the age of 35 was certainly not on Pankaj’s adulthood plan. Yet, here he was. It is not the physical pain of the violence that hurts, but the disrespect earned in the act, he had read somewhere. And yet, his hand was on his cheek as he looked at his father helplessly, already knowing what he was about to say.

“You killed your mother,” he heard him murmur coldly as he stared at him, ignoring the medicines that Pankaj had in his extended palm.

He had failed again – couldn’t keep him calm and couldn’t make him take his medicines on time. He felt his cheek – surely a slap from such a frail man could no way hurt someone his age. Obviously, there was no truth to father’s accusations. He wasn’t even in his hometown five years back when his mother had passed away.

He decided not to think about those days, kept the medicines in a bowl on the table, and covered them with a small plate. He looked at his watch – Pankti will return home soon and, then, this will be her headache. Not keen on trying anymore, he rose from the bed, and walked out of the room.

 -----

After dinner, when father was asleep, Pankti joined him on the terrace. The traffic was beginning to thin. Yet, there were a few horns audible on the busy street in front of their house.

“Did dad slap you today too?” Pankti asked somberly.

Pankaj nodded.

“I know we had this conversation but why…” she avoided looking at him.

“I don’t know why I didn’t cry then,” Pankaj lashed out, “It was five years ago. I just didn’t feel like it. I just don’t…”

“I wasn’t going to ask you about that,” she said calmly. Her patience always made him feel as if he was the younger sibling. “I was going to say… Why don’t you cry in front of him now? Look at her photograph and just cry? For his sake. You know he isn’t getting any better.”

“And so I have to exhibit my sadness? How fair is that? To him and to her? You know, we weren’t really close but I miss her too,” he said looking at the dark sky. There were hardly any stars visible and yet he kept trying to spot them, just to distract his mind.

“You cried when Mimi died. Maybe you can think about her when you look at mom’s photograph,” said Pankti looking at him intently.

“You are a terrible terrible person, Pankti. I don’t know how dad stays calm around you while calling me a murderer just because I didn’t cry. Besides, I can’t make myself cry for our dog who passed away, what- 25 years ago? I don’t know about you but I didn’t get a tap for my tear glands,” Pankaj began to walk away from her, “I am going to sleep. I have an early morning appointment with father’s slap,” he started to leave.

“Tell me then,” Pankti grabbed him by his arm, “Whose death affected you more - Mimi’s or mom’s?” Pankti asked.

“You know Pankti… working in insurance has made you insensitive about people and deaths. There is no scale for sadness,” he walked away.

 -----

Brushing his teeth before bed, Pankaj looked at himself in the mirror, and wondered, “How could she?” and heard his reflection answer back in return, “Because she knows you.”

While he tried to sleep, the scale of sadness had taken over his mind. He remembered about his mother being there for him – it was she who had taken him to the hospital when he had injured his foot as a kid, had stayed awake with him when he had his school exams, and had confronted the college principal when he was bunking classes.

His thoughts went back to the conversation with Pankti. She had got the comparison wrong though – Mimi had been his favourite companion for many years, but the death that had impacted him the most was that of his school friend, Hemang.

Hemang shouldn’t have been taken away so early in life. He remembered Hemang growing up with him in his house – running around as kids, having meals together, and, later in college, secretly trying cigarettes on the terrace. And how Hemang sang songs while he drove him around on his bike... Pankaj felt his heart sink and his eyes swell.

‘Whose death mattered the most? Or does any of them matter at all? None of those three are around anymore and here I am losing sleep over their absence?’ He felt a tremor of guilt as he pictured himself tasting specimens of deaths at a buffet. ‘That is one screwed-up thought. Pankti is to be blamed for this,’ he decided.

 ----

The next night, on the terrace, Pankti found Pankaj busy looking at the traffic below. She hurried up to him and turned him around violently. He had an unlit cigarette in his hand.

“How dare you grab dad’s hand? What’s next? You would be slapping him?” she asked. “You could stop trying, Pankaj. But not me. And wow, you were about to smoke? Why don’t we get a little party started while our father…”

She stopped talking as Pankaj looked back at her – questions floating in his eyes. He threw the cigarette on the floor.

“All you want is for me to cry, isn’t it? Then let’s go to his room and I will give you both a performance. But you should know – you the bearer of all the emotions in this house – I won’t be crying for mom, nor for Mimi. I will be crying just for us. For you – because you cannot think of better ways to improve things than to put your emotions on a showcase. And for me because I am stuck in this house serving a father who hates his son.”

Pankti saw his breathing get heavy as he finished. Pankaj had tears in his eyes.

“Are you happy now?” he asked with a quiver. With no answers forthcoming, Pankti hugged him.

As he calmed down, she looked at him and said with a smile, “So the plumbing is still in order.”

Pankaj turned around and began looking at the deserted road, “Will dad ever forgive me?”

“You haven’t done anything wrong, you know? What matters is you should forgive yourself – for crying when you want to and for being the way you are,” she said as she stood next to him.  

 ----

The next morning, in his father’s room, Pankaj was taking the medicines out. With his back to his father, he said, “I miss her too, dad. Every day.”

He walked with the medicines to his father’s bed. His father raised his hand towards Pankaj. And caressed his cheek.

One Job at a Time...

The restaurant isn’t too big. Its kitchen (just a stove with a big frying pan) is housed in a small store. In front of the store’s door, there are portable tables and small stools. I have been hired just an hour earlier. I clean the tables and the stools and chop the cabbages. It’s not a big task.

“You’re not good at cutting vegetables,” Limbanna yells at me as I try to work my knife faster. He is chopping the onions. I look at how his big, thick moustache moves when he speaks.

“I will learn,” I say, trying to chop faster.

“That you will, or I will throw you out,” he says, laughing. The moustache dances and the belly follows.

After cutting the vegetables, I become an assistant to Limbanna – he directs me to serve Pao to the customers. He doesn’t risk me with the Bhaaji -  that role is given to Prashant, the only other staff member.

“Prashant bhai, how is work?” I ask when Limbanna is busy getting the other ingredients ready.

“It’s bad on weekends. People expect fast service. But the pay is good and he pays on time too,” he whispers, “Just don’t be lazy,” he adds.

It’s around 7 PM when the first customer arrives. Limbanna tries to talk to him but the customer is clearly not interested in anything but his meal.

“You should try the pulaao. Limbanna is great at it. You can check the reviews online,”  I say to the customer.

He quickly gets his phone out and orders the pulaao.

Limbanna looks impressed. After the customer leaves, he beckons me. “You do that to other customers too, okay?” he suggests.

I try it with a few customers. It works sometimes.

At the end of the night, all three of us are tired. Limbanna looks happy. “You did well today. How did you learn about the internet stuff? Are you literate?” he asks.

“I have studied a bit and read your reviews online before I joined,” I reply.

“Great, great!” The moustache is dancing again. “You did well for the first day. But we need to get you up to speed fast,” he says, not keen to show how impressed he is.

It’s around 1 at night by the time I reach my room. It was hot at the restaurant. I get a quick shower and change into my nightclothes. The AC gets my room cool by the time I return from the shower. I fire up my PS-5 and play Spiderman for a while before sleep gets me.

I look at the clock the next morning. It’s 8 AM. My fitness watch says I got to rest more.

I spend the day at the office. It’s a slightly hectic day but nothing out of the ordinary – a couple of meetings, followed by some Excel work, followed by emailing a presentation. I wait for the end of work hours.

Evenings get me excited. I rush home and get changed. I walk around the market area and ask around. After a few tries, I come across a small travel agency’s office. By the look of it, they transport travellers on overnight bus journeys. I enter and ask if there’s work. There’s a vacancy for a ticket issuer. I accept the pay and begin right away.

Most travellers already have tickets booked – they show me their mobile phones and I direct them to their buses. Some of them walk in to book tickets. I tell them the ticket rates, and point them to pay at the office counter where the owner sits. Soon, I begin increasing the rates – especially, if I sense urgency in a traveller. The owner has a questioning look on his face when someone pays him more. I nod at him with a smile.

Before I leave, the owner rewards me with some money. I reach home and get back to Spiderman on PS-5.

Tomorrow, a new day begins. I look forward to going through the office work and keenly await the night when I’d find a new job.