My father and me share a peculiar relationship. It is not that we are estranged or something, we simply live without each other. Yet, I love him, for just being there all these years and providing me with a good education. That’s kind of enough. And undoubtedly, he is a proud father. Though he never told me this himself, some emotions can be felt even if not spoken.
We rarely talk. Now that we live separately, it has become scarce. As a child I remember fragments of conversation that assiduously eluded anything emotional. In my growing years, the exchange picked up with monthly or quarterly status reports on my studies and life. The discussion was never cruel; a glimpse of what has been going on, few words of caution and a suggested way to success.
I aged to become a young man that I am now. Likewise for my father. But the situation remains unaltered. Our relationship did not transform into friendship that all father-son’s supposedly become when the son grows up. Maybe he does not believe that I have matured yet. Or maybe the state of the relationship is irreversible, beyond repair.
So, whenever we talk, it is on something very serious that needs immediate attention. And years of oblivion of each other’s frame of mind make things more difficult. I proactively dodge any such conference. I believe my father even does that. The last time we talked was five months back. And yes, the issue at hand was acidic.
I was talking to my mother on phone like always, telling her what I did all day, what did I eat and convincing her that her son is hale and hearty. Then the unforeseen struck. Mother announced that my father would like to talk. Following is the blow-by-blow account of that two-minute conversation between me, myself and Papa.
Papa: Hello!
Me: Hello!
Myself: I hope this is not serious! What happened now?!
Papa: Was wondering … where do you work these days?
Me: I think I told you …
Myself: Aren’t you supposed to ask how I am, first?
Papa: Well, you can always repeat that! What is the problem with that?
Me: Hmmm … I work with Indiamart …
Myself: Please remember it … it sounds so stupid repeating it time and again …
Papa: What do they pay you?
Me: (after few moments) Its 10 K …
Myself: How does it matter? I am following a dream, my dream! And please don’t ask me to save … I’ve already under quoted the pay fearing that …
Papa: (mockingly) Is it a stipend or something?
Me: No! Its my salary … Why? What happened?
Myself: Gosh! This is happening again … Can I just live my life, my way?
Papa: Salary? Rubbish! You call that a salary! It is peanuts. Where do you think you are going?
Me: Well, things are looking up … I believe I can grow in this …
Myself: I need to handle this carefully and avoid an altercation.
Papa: Grow?! Tell me about it! When do you think you will achieve that? By age 40?
Me: No, why do you think it will take so long … give me a few years … and I’ll be successful!
Myself: You know nothing about how the industry and job market works. Please leave this. I can handle it myself!
Papa: Whatever … I talked to one of my friends about a job that matches your profile … and the pay is much better …
Me: I don’t want to do it … I’m doing what I want to … just let me be …
Myself: Is this a joke or something? You can go and talk to anyone you like … I’ll stay pat …
Papa: WHY DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND …
Me: I DON’T WANT TO …
Myself: WHY DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND???
Papa: Is that your final call?
Me: Yes!
Myself: Do you doubt?
Papa: Talk to your mother …
Me: Yep …
Myself: God! Phew!
We rarely talk. Now that we live separately, it has become scarce. As a child I remember fragments of conversation that assiduously eluded anything emotional. In my growing years, the exchange picked up with monthly or quarterly status reports on my studies and life. The discussion was never cruel; a glimpse of what has been going on, few words of caution and a suggested way to success.
I aged to become a young man that I am now. Likewise for my father. But the situation remains unaltered. Our relationship did not transform into friendship that all father-son’s supposedly become when the son grows up. Maybe he does not believe that I have matured yet. Or maybe the state of the relationship is irreversible, beyond repair.
So, whenever we talk, it is on something very serious that needs immediate attention. And years of oblivion of each other’s frame of mind make things more difficult. I proactively dodge any such conference. I believe my father even does that. The last time we talked was five months back. And yes, the issue at hand was acidic.
I was talking to my mother on phone like always, telling her what I did all day, what did I eat and convincing her that her son is hale and hearty. Then the unforeseen struck. Mother announced that my father would like to talk. Following is the blow-by-blow account of that two-minute conversation between me, myself and Papa.
Papa: Hello!
Me: Hello!
Myself: I hope this is not serious! What happened now?!
Papa: Was wondering … where do you work these days?
Me: I think I told you …
Myself: Aren’t you supposed to ask how I am, first?
Papa: Well, you can always repeat that! What is the problem with that?
Me: Hmmm … I work with Indiamart …
Myself: Please remember it … it sounds so stupid repeating it time and again …
Papa: What do they pay you?
Me: (after few moments) Its 10 K …
Myself: How does it matter? I am following a dream, my dream! And please don’t ask me to save … I’ve already under quoted the pay fearing that …
Papa: (mockingly) Is it a stipend or something?
Me: No! Its my salary … Why? What happened?
Myself: Gosh! This is happening again … Can I just live my life, my way?
Papa: Salary? Rubbish! You call that a salary! It is peanuts. Where do you think you are going?
Me: Well, things are looking up … I believe I can grow in this …
Myself: I need to handle this carefully and avoid an altercation.
Papa: Grow?! Tell me about it! When do you think you will achieve that? By age 40?
Me: No, why do you think it will take so long … give me a few years … and I’ll be successful!
Myself: You know nothing about how the industry and job market works. Please leave this. I can handle it myself!
Papa: Whatever … I talked to one of my friends about a job that matches your profile … and the pay is much better …
Me: I don’t want to do it … I’m doing what I want to … just let me be …
Myself: Is this a joke or something? You can go and talk to anyone you like … I’ll stay pat …
Papa: WHY DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND …
Me: I DON’T WANT TO …
Myself: WHY DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND???
Papa: Is that your final call?
Me: Yes!
Myself: Do you doubt?
Papa: Talk to your mother …
Me: Yep …
Myself: God! Phew!
2 comments:
This is really fascinating, I never know about ur inclination about writting which is really awful from my part. But still it' better that I atleast came to knw abt this. So strange na we all had passed through a similar stage but never felt of expressing the same, may be I should rather call this as a passion, a passion of expressing urself.keep it up dude....
As usual...
You have the gift of articulation my dear friend !
All of us have faced similar (if not the same) situations some time or the other in our lives.
But rarely has one said it as it is...
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