Dear Son…
By: Mohak Khare
Tags: Emotions, Fiction, Love, Suicide, Parents

Dear Son,

I remember the first time I got to know that we were going to have you. I have been a terrible, terrible son and I always had this feeling at the back of my mind that no matter what, karma will come back to haunt me. In my defense, I never hated my parents nor did I ever intended to hurt them but that evil rat called money dug such a deep yet narrow hole in my conscience that no matter how hard I tried, once I entered it, there was no way I could travel out or accommodate my parents into it. The explanation might sound horrendous to you but believe me or not, God bought it in and you grew up exactly the opposite of what I had expected you to.

You know what the truth is, the biggest troublemaker that you have ever been was when you were inside your mother’s belly. I still remember the day. 21st July it was. The day when I returned from Mumbai and Anita told me that she was expecting you. I remember the tears in her eyes which she so desperately tried to hide behind her fake smile. The tears which knew that you might have to say your first papa without your father being around. The tears which knew that you might have to take your first steps without holding your father’s finger. The tears that knew that you might have to take your first drive with your father with your hands on the steering and not the other way round, but you know, none of it actually happened. Do you know why? It was because of your mother. Your mother will always be the strongest woman that I have ever met in my life. She was 25 when we got married and 34 when we had you. In those 9 years, there was not a single month that I spent with her. My thirst for mountains of gold always called me the way a nation calls its soldier for his duty. My love for money was so maddening that I had no love to give to anyone else, not even my own parents, who died calling their son and their son didn’t even attend their funeral, let alone your mother. That lady could have chosen a thousand ways to fight with me, to demand from me what I had promised her when I married her but she didn’t. She took care of my parents as if they were her own, she gave fire to their pyre because their son was too “busy” earning money for himself. She didn’t shed a tear fighting a new war every day but on that day her eyes were brimming because she didn’t want the ghosts that had haunted her for 9 years to haunt you. I don’t know if she was able to osmotically transfer that love from her heart to mine or what but at that moment I decided that none of those mights will become your reality. I might not have been able to become a good son but I will prove that a bad son could be a good father.

Thus started our journey with you being our road to togetherness. You were a tough child to bear and your mother knows it better, but that was the only time you caused pain to one of us. I remember 19th September from 22 years ago as if it was just yesterday. I remember your wool like body packed in that small pink blanket and your deer eyes curiously scaling my face. Mine was the first human face you ever saw. The time since then has been the best that I have ever had. I might have earned millions but that smile of yours, that first step of yours and that first papa of yours are my achievements. You are 22 today. Sitting comfortably with your mom in some part of the world. Though I know the reason why you left me I hope you are happy with your mother. I hope she cares for you more than I ever did when she was no longer around. I hope she lets you have a complete night sleep which I always deprived you of. I hope she lets you marry the girl who I caught you talking to at 2 in the night. I hope she lets you become a painter, a musician or whatever you want, unlike your dad who always wanted you to get a “mainstream” job and earn billions because he had earned millions before you.

You know I never knew that I was pushing you one footstep a time everytime I bought a new Physics book from Vision Book Store. Remember the first picture book I got you from the same store when you were two. You were astonished to see an M for monkey and laughed your heart out seeing a C for a clown. I always thought that I was bringing that same laughter on your child’s face when I picked an H.C. Verma or a D.C. Pandey from those shelves. I guess I was wrong. I was satisfied with the fact that I had given you a happy childhood but I forgot that you still had a happy life to lead. It was never my duty to care for a child who was going to have a father like you. I am sorry, son. I hope your mother gets you an acoustic guitar or a pack of acrylic colors so that you could put a smile on your face.

But you know what — I am also angry with you. You know why? Because I think that today you are with your mother because you always loved her more. It was her hand that you held when you took your first step, not mine. It was maa that you spoke first and not pa and it was she who got to see your first tears and not me. I know, I was the reason for your tears at that time but there were hundreds of reasons when you could have cried because of your mother as well. Take for example the night when she cooked Rajma when you so desperately wanted to have Chicken Biryani but you were too young to speak and let her know that or the day when she canceled our dinner plan without prior notice saying she didn’t feel good. You know I was furious. It was because of her that we could not meet the Khuranas at the dinner and within hours, Mr. Khurana had given that tender of Super City Mall to Gupta. I had lost millions. I shouted at her, cursed her when she couldn’t even stand straight. I broke crockeries in front of her and rushed outside while she kept shouting my name in a hissed voice. She must have tried following me I don’t know but I didn’t turn back. She might have even called me 100s of time to tell me that she was going, she was leaving me but I was too drowned in my anger and liquor that I didn’t even give a look to my phone. I returned late at night but it was when I woke up in the afternoon that I realized what had happened. She had left. Left without speaking a word and there you were, trying to open every drawer in the kitchen to get something to eat and crying your guts out. I am sure, she was the first one to see your tears then. I never knew she would go, son, I never knew otherwise I would have stopped her. For you, for us. I still do not understand why she left you with me? Why didn’t her motherly instincts stop her from leaving her only son with a man who had broken all boundaries of humanity right in front of her eyes? Maybe she thought that you might help me become a better person and to tell you the truth, she was right. 12 years I stuck to her belief. 12 years I didn’t touch alcohol. 12 years I didn’t raise a hand at you. 12 years I took care of you the way a father should but then that evil rat entered my mind again. To tell you the truth, it was always there. It was always there waiting for you to grow so that I could provide it with another ground to dig a hole into. You turned 16 and passed 10th with a brilliant percentage of 95.56. Yes, I even remember the decimals. It was going exactly how the rat had planned. You were ready to move into the world, my world, where only money mattered. Three days later I handed you the entry form to the best JEE coaching in the country. You told me that you needed time to think about what you wanted to do next but my thirst for wealth did not let that happen.

You always gave your best son. I know you did, but your best was not enough. I think I know the reason now. Your best didn’t lie in the premise that you were playing in, it lay somewhere on the other side of the boundary which I never let you explore. I am sorry for that son. I hope your mother lets you scale those infinities. You couldn’t qualify for the college that I always wanted you to but you never gave up. I was so angry at you when your results came out. I abused you, I cursed you and I beat the hell out of you but even after those bruises, your lips kept saying I’ll become successful papa. I’ll make you proud. I’ll give my best papa you don’t have to worry. Yes, you did give your best son but again your best was not enough because I had constructed my palace of gold on the premise where your best laid. I remember your roommate calling me to say that you were getting into depression and the answer that I gave — he is studying to be successful, you stay away from him. I am sorry for not answering that call with a concern. I remember you not having your food properly when you came home for holidays but my golden glittery eyes couldn’t see the pain behind those dark circles. I am sorry, son. I couldn’t even be a good friend, let alone a good father. Say my sorry to your mother also, tell her that I failed in making her my wife and I just let her be your mother. Tell her she can forget her vows for the next six lives and can find a man who could love her the way she deserves.

I will always remember her face, her smile, her laughter, her love, her care, her touch but I will also not forget her face when I saw her lying down on the kitchen floor that afternoon. Her eyes coming out, her mouth wide open to let out her last breath while her hands stuck to her breast trying to pump blood into her dead heart. I will always remember your voice, your childhood, your respect for me and I will also not forget your body which I couldn’t even recognize in the first sight, your fractured limbs, your disfigured face and your torn apart stature. The karma has its way of coming. It came too bad for me. I will join you and your mother when karma is done with me and I promise, I will hurt you no more. I love you, son, tell my wife — I love her too.

Your Dad.