A Father's Monday

By A.J.R. Mennon

DAWN

        Will you wake up today? Isn’t it time to brush your teeth and bathe and light the incense and make the tea? Wear a good shirt today. With the maroon necktie. Yes, it’s turned reddish-brown of late, but it should do. It’s the only good one you’ve got and it’s got to be a little tighter today. “You need to sweat”, as the new GM snarled yesterday. 

Last night’s smoke and drink coil around your head with their weight but you better resist their conclusion till the day’s end. Peak mornings are turning heavier and darker, but come on.  Move those flaccid limbs. Let your sole feel the frigid tile. What’s the date? It’s the eighteenth of April. Toss and turn and twitch all you want— the bulk of this heaviness is here to stay. 

Wash the blood away. It’s time for a new razor. This one’s blunted and rusted. And again, you applied too much pressure. Your bald spot seems to have grown an inch or two. Your eyes are drooping and your face is all puffed up. But it cannot matter at this hour. Thirty-five thousand to the EMI for the flat back home. Twenty-five for their rent in the city. Fifteen for their car’s EMI. Twenty thousand more for his school’s fee. And twenty for her monthly expenses…and the rest to squeeze out the debts and survival here. Take care not to slip into dreams of a simpler life you’d enjoy without these. Too early for that. Just tie your tie— the hour’s dying away. Make sure to fasten it neatly and check thrice before leaving the house; Payday’s two weeks away. 

Perhaps you should have eaten something. Just black tea on an empty stomach for another long day may not suffice. Well, either way is the same: It’s going to hit fifty degrees outside. No amount of food is enough to help one endure that without bleeding his energies. The traffic is not going to help today either— of all days. Don’t forget that you need to visit the head-office-shrine to pick up those three pending contracts before returning to the field to finalize all three. There will be hell to pay if we don’t meet yet another month’s target. Don’t use the elevator today. It might be better for you to start taking the stairs. Only five flights. That too downward into the basement car-park. 

Yet you’re heaving and sweating and your shirt feels a little wet on the back. Of course, now you regret not picking up the fitness program the building committee drew up for the residents. You could’ve shed this belly and maybe even put on some muscle to have the energy for these important days. Regret is another waste of energy in the morning. You can go to the gym by yourself this weekend to try and start again. The lady from Eighteen-D might be there like that one day. Maybe you can talk to her instead of just awkwardly returning her smile. She seemed a bit too keen to take an interest in your life— that’s the issue. It’s like she’s trying and drawing water from an old well that dried-up too long ago. It gets rather annoying. She’s still a sweet person, though. Wonder what she does for a living.

Anyhow. It’s eight already. You were right to skip breakfast. Have a heavy lunch instead. Rush to the car quickly and fire up the engine: Leave the AC on for a few minutes to cool things inside.  Need to touch the road before the sun climbs further over our heads. Don’t forget to give Usman money for cleaning the car. He’s planning on visiting his wife back home next month. His smile—which was brighter than a noon sun—struck with a peculiar sharpness talking about her last night. He’s a good kid. Only needs to learn how to clean the car better. There are dust-marks over the wheel arches. Well, he’s young enough. He will learn. Cleaning cars all day in basements for change you’d basically throw away, and he still wears that smile. Twenty years ago…when you landed out here, did you once wear a smile like that?

NOON

        “Yes, you left your old company on paper only eight months ago! But you look like you’re still rotting there with the way you approach these targets. You expect those contracts to grow legs and get themselves signed? And the targets to be met during peak season by crawling at the pace you do? Do you know what it means to be working for this company?! I think you weren’t ready for this sort of a jump; Rotting in that same place for the last twelve years…pathetic how lax it makes you!”

Her words barked-out —though somewhat understandable— ring persistently in the ears, creating a dull, radiating pain like a tapeworm lodged somewhere behind your head. Yes, you’re used to it around this time of the season when the targets and directors are breathing down your neck. But today it made you feel small. Like you yourself were a worm. Now wonder why. At least she didn’t say those words in front of the others. 

The steering wheel’s growing hot under the ruthless sun. As expected, the traffic is doing you no favors by staying frozen. When can you hope to reach the third store and finalize the last contract with that slippery key-accounts manager from KCM? Having failed to get him to stick thrice, perhaps a fourth time is the charm. The sweat fights the car’s AC to glisten up your forehead. Just drink some water and breathe. Like the doctor said last week. Focus on the brown mountain-faces lining the highway where the sunbeams trickle down to carpet the road.

To think, just two more months…two more months and you’d be standing at the Arrivals to see his innocent smile, to hear his excited voice. Remember how when he was little, he would run up to you laughing and jump up on you? Do you remember the scent of his hair when he hugged you and wouldn’t let go? He’s a little old for that now. But his eyes and that laugh remain as pure as those times. You can’t wait to see his reaction to the new flat you’ve rented for us, can you? The rent’s almost twice as high from the last one, but the boy’s never had a room to himself. Nor even an AC. Perhaps for a month at least you can facilitate his bliss— and maybe even share in it. Although, she’s going to be there too. Even if you haven’t spoken to her since the day you caught those messages on her phone from the ‘friend’. Wonder if they still meet up when he goes to school…Ah! You should’ve just played some damn music. Here come the horns. The traffic’s crawling. Better floor it and reach the store. Maybe you can buy that new world-cup themed football for him. It’s only two months from now. They should be in.

The sun is burning your fingers through the windshield. A newer car’s AC would’ve been able to counter it better at this hour. You need to get indoors. Don’t forget lunch again. You’re on anti-biotics, remember? Lunch at Shankaran’s mess should do. You’ve been craving their fried Kingfish with sambhar-rice anyway. Hard to believe they charge so little for the entire meal. Then again, they’re mostly frequented by those construction workers. God knows how those souls survive month after month. Looking at them when you eat makes it harder to swallow each one of your morsels— even if they work to fill their own stomachs and pockets. Occasionally, you nurse the notion that this comfortable world would simply collapse if these men chose to step aside one day. At least you have a car and the blessing of the AC for most of the day. One wonders if those guys have children. How ever do they manage. Take a deep breath now. The light’s green.  

DUSK

        You shouldn’t have skipped lunch. At least, the traffic flows at a deliberate and leisurely pace now. These cars glide along the highway without jerking stops as if part of a continuum. From how it punished not a handful of hours ago, the sun shows its capacity for clemency by letting up at this hour. What it throws at you right now from behind the clouds is more akin to material made for admiration with a glass of single malt, lazing away on an easy-chair lost in the labyrinth of your warmest memories.  Perhaps with the soundtrack from Roja by A.R. R. Like you and her once listened to it on one of your sunset drives into the mountains. This country’s a sublime sanctuary this time of day, considering how the air sheds all heat as the evening wears on to invite and make room for the cool desert breeze to graze your skin. If later one had the time, he could relish a barefoot walk along the beach. Maybe treat himself to a fresh shawarma. Never mind, however. You’re not tasting such luxury anytime soon. Not until you meet the target, at least. 

You should still eat something. Go to the Indian teashop and have a cup with pakoras, or you’ll only grow weary and miss the part of the day which makes everything else tolerable. You won’t enjoy it on an empty stomach and you need to arrive before the place is swarmed by annoyingly jolly people. Loosen the grip on the steering wheel a little, it’s all getting too sweaty. It’s too much pressure. 

You’re aboard That one train again. But it’s still too soon to wonder what kind of family man you’ve been. Whether you’re even a successful one – as she put it last week. Is that why she did it? Hard to pin-point where it went off-the-rails in fifteen years. When and where the ‘Sneham’ died. Does it drop dead at once or does it bleed out? “Your manhood is fragile and I’m entitled to my choices!” That’s the new favorite phrase. Seems like a promotion. Well, nobody taught you to how to be this man. Who are you to have a say in her freedoms? Especially when you sit fifteen hundred kilometers away? Her sisters, her friends surely know better. Perhaps they can make next month’s payments? She has the right to choose her freedoms. What rights do you have? But better to not call the advocate again. He’s annoyed by your indecision. What’s the point of walking away now, after all these years? Who’ll pay for both lawyers? Who’ll pay the mountain of liabilities the judge is sure to order? And what will happen of him? What if you’re kept from seeing the boy anymore? Forget it. You have no power. Just rush to the bar, will you?

“Vasu bhai isn’t coming today?”

“Annual leave.”

“I see. Not loosening the tie today as well, eh.”

“One more, straight-up, please. And please keep a new single malt separate…for Home Remedy.”

“The one from last week running dry already?”

“Sales target still pending this month and have to pay respects to the money exchange tomorrow.” 

“Oof. Maybe I should’ve given you two.”

Barman’s chuckle seemed sincere. His hairline suggests a moderately long marriage as well—or so a cynic could imagine. You’re getting there…fantasizing about the what-ifs ever more often than before. If you weren’t losing your hair or could lose this belly, perhaps you could have had something on the side as well with that Filipina sales associate who keeps bringing you the cigarettes with widened eyes. She looks like she’d be in her late twenties. Hopefully she wouldn’t think you’re a creep if the next time you see her, you’ll take off the ring. Only, the last few times when you’ve considered doing it, the boy’s face appears. 

Maybe you should visit the church this weekend. It might be a better remedy. You haven’t done so ever since you saw his eyes witness yours as they were brimming, your hands joined in front of the God who marooned you. The shame may subside if you sit there quietly for a couple of hours. Even if faith has turned faded of late. What do you have to lose. Except sleep.

MIDNIGHT

        What do you seek when you stand before the bathroom mirror to stare at yourself like this? What do you wish to feel with every neat sip of that single malt, every drag of that Marlboro? Are you trying to break free from something or are you curious about why this hazy reflection looks more and more transparent since the past six months? 

Vasu was talking about quitting and starting up a distribution business back home. You don’t doubt his capability or intelligence. Only his discipline. Yes, he’s got some good land back home that’ll give him a good nest egg to begin with. Still, it’s not easy at our age to quit everything like that and start fresh without it burning you in some way. Besides, the way the drink’s got a hold on him, one wonders if he even has the health for it. He sleeps and watches TV when not at work. Well, whatever he does, you can only be ask him to be cautious. His wife and kid bravely left everything back home to join him here— all to support him. He doesn’t want to take that for granted, even if his wife makes more than he does now.

Whatever he may do, let’s not pretend you’ve not had similar thoughts. But what’s holding you back from starting up on your own goes deeper than the need for deep pockets. It’s support. Forget a person’s support, you don’t even have any land to call yours anymore since the last fifteen years. Only the one flat owned by the bank— for now. 

You’re too tired anyway…come on, now dive into another sip. Forget those unrealistic business ideas, will you? It’s not a business that you really crave, but freedom from the well you’ve descended into these past years. The older a man gets, the harder it is to reverse certain choices. Some are just impossible. Should a grown man even set much store by such dreams destined to burn? The spouse labelled yours as bizarre escapism. They are indeed bizarre. You've had one of the other kind. A self-similar dream more than twice over the last six months. One you’ve yet to grasp: 

It’s a slow, sunny afternoon. You're standing alone in a rice field. It’s utterly barren—as in, picked clean. From the horizon in each direction colossal herds of wild zebras are all charging towards you like a tsunami wave. Or a legion of soldiers. You're gripped by an excitement and a terror at the same time, unsure of whether to run or to stand your ground and see if they crush you or carry you away somewhere. It feels as though you stand on the brink from being awoken. The terror is understandable, but why the excitement? Yes, they were your favorite animal when you were a boy, but why the excitement? 

Your chest is tightening. Drink water. Or pour some into the peg and make it lighter. It would be great to not wake up tomorrow but two more months until you get to see his innocent smile emerging from the crowd, until this room’s filled with his laughter late into the night when you play-fight. How will he react to his gift? You can only hope he likes it. His friends all get branded presents from their parents regularly, but you know despite his age, he understands you do your best. Never shows ingratitude, even if his little heart wants what his friends have. You’ve seen it in his eyes, especially when he tries to hide it. A kid with a matured heart. It’s a good thing. He’s not nearly as demanding as the other kids you’ve seen around here. God, they’re hell. 

        Anyhow. Knowing that he is respectful and sincere and that he may grow up to be like that does bring you some reprieve, right? Hopefully the sacrifices will be worth it someday. When everything else in his life seems like a failure, a father’s only and most important success can sometimes be his son. If on your deathbed you could see that he makes a respectable man of himself, you could give in to death with a contented smile. A smile as pure as his when he was little. Last year when he asked you why we don’t stay together, it corroded your heart a little. Maybe he even resents you a little bit for it. And when he’s a teenager, he will hate you. You must endure…or you could wear that cold blanket of indifference that many fathers take comfort in. Only…what Vasu confessed to you that day stuck with you. He said his biggest fear was looking into the eyes of a man who once used to be his little boy, and realizing that in two blinks, that little boy has vanished forever. And that day, he’d understand what true loss is.

        No. You cannot quit this place and go home despite the times you’ve even bought tickets and not gotten on the plane. Only for him. She will be fine, but he won’t be. You don’t believe that he still sometimes looks at you with admiration, even if those moments are growing further apart as he grows older. It reminds you of something your own father once told you. “A father’s sacrifice has only one destiny: Misunderstanding—until you truly grow up.” Well, you don’t care if everyone else in the world misunderstands. But you do if he will. Will he ever understand the burden? Will he want to? One day, perhaps, he will even feel what his father’s love was. Long after you’re gone…it may echo from his chest like the hums of a ghost trapped behind a mirror.

By the by, you forgot to take off your tie. Again. That’s the third time in the last five days. It’s okay, you’re too faded now. Just loosen it a bit fall into sleep. Remember to wear a fresh one tomorrow, okay? Perhaps the bright red one. It’s strange. You only own red ties— only in different shades of red. 

DAWN. TUESDAY.

Will you wake up today?

By A.J.R. Mennon