What dreams may come

BLAAM !!!

There is a pattern to everything. A synchronicity bound to every object and being that we come across. Even in the variations , these patterns persist.

I’ve known all the ways my front door moans in acknowledgement to various people. It’s silent creaks after my late nights out, the mild thuds when my kid throws his school bag at it and runs back out to play, it’s prolonged squeak as my wife slowly enters, wondering what mayhem has taken place in her abode by her favourite men while she was gone. After all these years here, I’ve come to trust the door’s warning cries.

BLAAM is the door’s way of telling me to hide. I glance again at the window, wondering whether I can survive a fall from a 10^th storey building. I figure I could, but I’d hate to think of what would happen to anyone I landed on. I hurriedly pick up the paper and pretend to read it.. ‘Ooh. Lindsay’s getting engaged to her girlfriend, but she says she isn’t gay.. nice’

‘Stand still.’ The familiar voice surrounds me. I fell in love with that voice a long time ago.. I should have just asked for a voice recording instead of taking the whole package home. I pretend not to listen.

‘This is all your fault, you know ? You never scold him and let him do anything he wants and .. I told you to stand still !!!’

Okay. I ain’t standing yet, so who’s she talking to ? I peek through the pages... ah yes !! They’re both here. My wife and kid. From the looks of it, she’s picked him up from school. From the looks of it, he didn’t like that. From the looks of it, I’m gonna pay for it. I try to scamper back within the newspaper, but Eagle-eye Mommy’s sees me peeking.

‘Roshan. Put that paper down. We have to talk.’

I pray there’s another Roshan in the room reading a paper. I peek through my sheets again, looking to find him. Nope. Noone but us loving family members... snarling teeth mommy and grumpy junior.

Oh well. Time to face the music. I put the paper down.

‘Hi Honey. You’re home. How was my day, you ask ? Oh, the usual. A couple of deliveries, an appendix, a quickie with the nurse, another appendix..’

Silence. Not the silence of lovers beholding each other after a decade. More like the silence that precedes that Jaws tune that warns you the shark’s gonna bite in the next 60 seconds.

I decide not to continue with that line of conversation. She learned karate in her teenage years. Damn you, Dad-in-law.

‘Roshan. I’m tired of being the bad guy. You never shout at him when he makes a mistake. You act as if it’s ok and spoil him and I always end up looking bad in front of him. Now, look at what he’s done. I’m not gonna be the bad guy here. You’re gonna fix this. Do you understand ?’

‘Sheila, why don’t you relax, dear ? I can see you’re upset and whatever it is, I’ll handle it. Now why don’t you go take a nice hot showe..’

‘I AIN’T GOING ANYWHERE. THE MOMENT I LEAVE, YOU’LL GO EASY ON THIS KID OF YOURS. I’m staying, Mister.’

I find it sweet how he’s always ‘my kid’ when he’s in trouble. If he does well in school or babysits the neighbour’s child, he’s ‘her angel’. But he scribbles ‘SEX’ on the wall and all of a sudden, my genes are to blame.

‘Okay. Okay. Fine. You can stay. But no , I mean absolutely no, interruptions. You got it ?’

She hmmphs. Which means I’ll have to deal with 4 interruptions at the very least. I count that as a moral victory. Whatever. Beggars and husbands can’t be choosers. I look at her with my ‘I wear the pants in the house’ look. She glares back with her ‘I’ll tear your pants to shreds and leave you in the garbage bag’ look. Ah, romance is in the air.

I sit junior beside me. The love of my life hovers in front of us.

‘Ok, son, did something happen in school today ?’ He shakes his head.

‘Did you get into trouble with someone in your class ?’ Another shake.

‘Did you forget your homework again ?’ Nope. I wonder if I should ask for a hint at this point of time. Luckily, R volunteers.

‘Dad. I’m getting married.’

‘Cool. Is she hot ?’

“ROSHAN !!!”

“I mean, WHAT ?? You’re getting married ? “ he nods. Awright. I made him nod yes. Who da maan ? Only took 4 questions and a hint.

‘R, I don’t want to be a partypooper and all, but you know, you’re 7 years old. ‘ He looks at me quizzically. ‘What’s age got to do with it ?’ he asks me in that adorable kid voice of his. I’m butter already. I move to hug him, but a pull of my receding hairline from fingers above remind me what I’m supposed to be doing.

‘Son. I just think you’re a little young for marriage. Love too, for that matter. Besides, we didn’t even know you were in love. Tell me about this girl. What’s her name ? How long have you known her ?’

‘Shee.. her name is Teena. She’s in my classh. We’ve been in love since last Tuesday. We’ve been sharing our lunch since yesterday.’

‘Hmm.. that is a big step in a relationship, I agree. But don’t you think you’re rushing this marriage thing ?’

‘Why, daddy ? We both have the same pencil box, we both like Teletubbies and she’s got really good lunch, not like Mommy makes.’ I pray the moment will pass unnoticed. That maybe Mommy was lost for a moment in the newspaper pic of John Abraham. I pray for a lot of things that God sends to his spam mail directly.

‘Oh. Now my cooking is also not good for you. Your dad eats it daily and you don’t see him complaining !!!’

‘Daddy eats anything.’ He says simply.

‘Hey!!!’ Damn fridge door. Always gives me away. I stare at my kid. He stares back at me. We both know he’s right.

‘Ok, kid. See, getting married ain’t that easy. Where will you two stay after the wedding ? And the honeymoon ?’ A sharp pull of the hair reminds me that Sweetypie is above and doesn’t approve of the direction this conversation is taking.

‘Daddy. I and Teena will be staying in my room till we finish school and college. Then, I’ll be an astronaut and build a house on the moon and we’ll live there with our kids. Don’t worry, Dad. There’ll be a big room for you and mom too.’ Awww.. he built a room for me too. This adorable little psycho I call my son loves me.

‘And the honeymoon ?’

‘We’re going to Disneyland.’ Double Awwwww. What better way to spend private time than with a mouse with no shirt and a duck with no pants.

‘Food ?’ ‘Her mom will send us tiffins for lunch and we’ll eat from the fridge for dinner.’ Damn kid’s thought of everything.

‘You know... your mom is a pretty big believer in horoscopes..’

‘It’sh ok, daddy. Ours fits.’ Whaa ?

‘You checked your horoscopes ?’

My wife intervenes. ‘Show daddy the horoscopes.’ I look up at her. What was going on ? R rummages through his Johny Bravo schoolbag and takes out a piece of paper from his drawing book. He hands it to me.

I have to smile. Damn. This is my kid. There is no doubt about it. There is no one else who could have thought this up. Definitely not any kid of the damn milkman !!! I lower my head so that my wife can’t catch my grin. I almost don’t make it. But the phone rings and she leaves to answer it. Saved by the bell. I glance back at the picture.

He’s drawn a little crab holding a bull’s hand. I imagine my wife, after years of being with me, picking up it’s significance immediately too. My kid was drawing sunsigns. He was a Cancer, like his mom.. a crab. I know the answer but I still ask so I could hear him say it.

‘What’s Teena’s sign ?’

‘She’s a Tautus, daddy. That’s the bull one. I’m the crab one. See, both fit nicely.‘

‘Ahhhh !! I see. Did you draw this ?’ He looked at me and smiled. A smile that says he’s picked up on the pride in my voice. A smile that says he knows daddy’s on his side.

‘ROSHANN !!!’ Milady again in falsetto breaks the moment.

I turn around. She holds the cordless in her hand. Her palm’s covering the speaker end.

‘It’s Teena’s mom. Your kid and her apparently decided to tell their parents at the same time. She’s pretty angry. Saying our kid’s putting silly thoughts in her head.’

I hold out my hand for the phone. My wife looks at me beseechingly. I signal her to trust me, then take the phone.

‘Hello, Ma’am. Yes Ma’am. I understand how shocking it must be to hear this from your child. Yes, I realise this is an innocent age and you don’t wish to corrupt your child with such thoughts. Yes Ma’am. Yes, I understand.’ I doubt if she even hears a word I say. She’s a yakker. No doubt about it. The type that wants to establish herself, giving prima donna views on her status and morality. This could go on forever. Unless...

‘Mrs Bharati.. Bharati isn’t it ? Well, I understand all that you have said, but I think I must make myself clear. What’s done is done. But there is one issue that’s yet to be discussed. You see, as the father of my son, I must inform you that I demand one crayon set every year till high school as dowry for your new son-in-law. And I mean Faber-Castell ,lady. Not that cheap Camlin crap. My son doesn’t settle for cheap stuff. After all, he’s a purebred Ezhava. That’s high class blood running in him. ( Which is kinda true – I mean how much higher than a coconut climber can you get ? ) And yes, he’d like a new Pokemon toy too every month. Hello ? Hello ? Sheila. Is this phone charged ? I’m getting static. You think she hung up on me ?’

I turn around. Sheila is smiling. Again, not ‘Love of my life’ smiling. ‘Exorcist’ smiling. I wonder if maybe, I should have leaped from the 10^th storey building, when I had the chance.She doesn’t speak a lot when that smile plasters her face. I prefer it that way. God alone knows what language her inner demon speaks when she’s possessed. Heaven knows I can't reply if she starts speaking Hebrew. I can barely communicate with Malayalam. She raises her hand towards the phone. I give it to her. She walks into the bedroom. Shuts the door.

BLAAM.

She’ll be busy doing damage control with our new in-laws for the next hour. I’ll be 'dealt with later’. I guess it’s the guest room for me tonight. I look back at my son. He smiles at me. That smile. He can get away with murder. I ask the only thing that comes to my mind at that moment.

‘So what does Teena’s mom make for lunch ?’

Author’s note : This post is, regrettably , fiction. It was a flow of thought that arose from a comment a senior made a few nights back. He felt that when the time came, I’d be a strict dad. I knew he couldn’t be right. I’d make a terrible dad. I can’t imagine myself being strict. This story is just a reflection of that.. ‘What may have been’ if I were a dad today. ‘What may have been’ if I were a husband today too, I guess.

Final note :

Creeeak.

The door to the guestroom whispers annoyance at being disturbed so late into the night. I feel her move into the hollow space beside me. Those cuddly arms wrap around me from behind. Her smell is rain in an arid desert. I pretend to be asleep. I hear her breath beside my ears and then a whisper.

“I know you ain’t sleeping. I just want you to know you aren’t entirely forgiven yet. We’ll discuss your punishment in the morning. For now, go to sleep. And I swear to God, if you say one word about me being scared to sleep alone in the dark again, someone’s gonna be missing two balls in the morning.”

I let out a prolonged yawn. “I hope it’s that stupid Mr Singh in apartment 304. You seen his dhoti ? He looks like he’s hiding a dozen of them in there.”

She tries hard. She really does. But it’s tough not to laugh even at the dumbest jokes of someone you love when you’re in love. After all, that’s the rule of love. That’s the joy of loving someone. They can make dumb into funny. They can make hell into roses, darkness into daylight.

In the end, she manages to stifle it down to a bunch of coughs. I turn around and hug her back. She doesn’t resist. Neither of us won the battle today. Simply because there never was a battle in the first place. Just a never ending skit of crazytime– a madness we call our family. A madness I would never give up for anything in the world.

Not even for little Teena’s ham and mayonnaise sandwich.