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.
