I love you Dad

The first day I saw him he was in his starched white clothes, very odd for that dingy, cramped place. He kept looking at me anxiously while I drank at the local wine shop, I thought he was one of those drunkards who have a few rupees less for their second drink. When I was just about leaving, I gave him a few coins. He asked me what I wanted and I blinked. It was actually the first day at work for him.

I sat down and I suggested him change to some less clean clothes. He came back after a few minutes, in a black but clean shirt and soon found people seeking him. His job is to clean the ever-dirty tables, collect the empty bottles and of course wait on drunken people for a tip. That day I had very little money left in my pocket; I emptied it and walked back home.

The shop is on the way to my house and I saw him often. For some one who once owned a grocery shop in Tuticorin, he shows no signs of discomfort working there although I had seen him wiping his eyes sometimes. Every time I see his eyes wet, he pretends and with a beautiful smile.

He is 52 yrs old, married and has a son and a daughter, both at college. I am not sure if his family knows about his whereabouts or the nature of his job but by the first week of every month he sends them all the money he had carefully saved the previous month.

When I first saw him, it had been almost five months since he had come to Chennai. A new super market in the same street as his shop had put him out of business and soon in a pool of debts. When the moneylenders had started to frequent his house, his son and daughter had gone against him, blaming him for everything and one night he finds himself a seat inside a train to Chennai.

Nothing seems to have changed for him though; his beautiful daughter (I forgot her name), his ever-angry son Muthu, his faithful wife Aandaal, the house that he once owned, the shop he dreams of running again someday, everything is on his head and all the time. He even carries around a photograph of the four of them together at Ooty, in good times.

I still go to the wine shop, albeit rarely and sometimes just to see him. I see Arogiyaraj running around with bottles, helping people and cleaning the tables. He is thinking of a day job now and is already working as a security (part time) in one of those big apartments in Thiruvanmiyur. He makes sure I am being taken care, even when he is not available, but for some reason doesn’t accept my tip these days.

I don’t know why, but everytime I leave the shop after seeing him, I find myself saying, “I love you dad”.

Ever felt like..

I was lying on a pile of fine gravel looking at the dark starless sky. My legs hurt and I felt something big inside my pant pockets.

We must have started from Chennai at about 7.15 pm that day. Muru and Param were on a Yamaha RX 135 and I was on the pillion of Vicky's black Pulsar 150 cc, it was our friend’s marriage the next day. The traffic kept a check on the speedometer until we were on the national highway. We filled gas at about 10 kms from the start and had the Yamaha checked for air.

At about 25 kms the Yamaha had a flat tyre and we had to push it a good distance till we found a repair shop. While the vehicle was attended to I found a shop that sold cold beer. I bought two bottles for just the pillion riders, Param and me; the two beers were divided in to 4 equal parts.

After some distance the highway was looking clean and tempting, we were soon touching the 80 kmph mark. There was a gentle drizzle, I lifted my hands up, let the cool air strike my face, mmm... bliss. In a few minutes the dial was showing 85 kmph.

"On a dark desert highway, Cool wind in my hair..." I was whistling the Eagles number with my hands still in the air when we touched 90 Kmph, ever felt like God? I did.

All through this we were trailing the Yamaha and Vicky on his first long ride was enjoying every moment. The Dial now read 95kmph.
I thought I saw a 'take diversion --->' sign a few feet away and when I turned straight, I heard Param shout "shit ..", the Yamaha was in the air.

The next Instant I too was..

I was lying on a pile of fine gravel looking at the dark starless sky. My legs hurt and I felt something big inside my pant pockets.

I was on the speedometer, the rear view mirror of the Pulsar inside my pant pocket. I couldn't move for a long time, my heart was racing and my mind was crowded with thoughts. I desperately tried to move, I couldn't. After sometime all three of my friends were standing around me, I smiled and Vicky helped me stand.

"Cigarettes please " It was me..
"Can I call the ambulance ?" it was Param
"ungo... ", an obscenity, Muru. We laughed and heartily.

I had fallen on the Pulsar, Vicky a little away and Param on Muru. Only Muru had a helmet on, the helmet had cracked. The fine gravel had cushioned us to only a few bruises. The Pulsar was half inside the pile of gravel, its blinkers gone, scratched all over and the gear lever bent to an awkward angle. The Yamaha's blinkers too were missing, the break pedal was shaky and the helmet had to be disposed.

Vicky was struggling to ride when we started, my legs hurt and we sat down on one side of the highway. Param was giving my legs a massage when I heard my mobile ring. It was my friend in Chennai, after a minute of my silence he disconnected. I kept the phone beside me and continued to wince.

Five minutes later we were on the road again, the speedometer read 45kmph, Param was riding the Pulsar. After a while I thought I heard my phone ring, I searched for the phone and we turned back. Just about a kilometer on the way back, it started to rain. An hour of searching my mobile only drenched us.

We reached the Marriage hall at about 12.15 am, the next day. When Vicky woke us up in the morning, it was 7.30; my friend had been married for two hours. It was a Thursday and I was supposed to be at my office, we spent the day at Muru's home. We started back in the evening, with the speedometer reading 65kmph, it was warm and sunny.

After a while, dark clouds cast the sky, there was a gentle breeze and the traffic seemed thinner than the previous night.

I looked at the dial it read 80 kmph, ever felt like God?

Autograph

After a very long time I found myself walking through the streets of my hometown today. I had to, as I was in search of a tablet for my father. The walk took me to K.A Street, the place that had been so much a part of my growing up. It had at least been fifteen years since I was there and the street did not resemble anything of what my memory could recollect. Tall buildings stand where huts and thatched roofs once stood, Shops cramp the places that had once been barren.

My Barber's shop is still at the beginning of the street as it was before, but it’s called a parlour now. I always addressed my barber, sir, because my father addressed him that way. I saw sir, he was wielding his scissors just like he used to a long time ago, only he was a lot older with wrinkles filling up his face and his hair almost silver.

There was a cylinder blast at the end of the street in the mid 90s and sixteen people were killed, I remember that incident because that was the first time I ever saw my hometown featured in an English newspaper. May be that was why Commercial tailors was not at the place where I remember it stood. I found the shop a little away and the older man I knew (I do not know his name) was not seen. His son stood cutting a piece of cloth, his hair graying up around his ears.

The state bank of India still stands at the same place in front of my school; it looked old and tired.

My heart almost skipped a beat when I saw my school but 'Immanuel, English, Nursery and Primary school' was almost unrecognizable, sandwiched between two big hardware shops. The paint had worn out and the name wasn't even clear.

I couldn't pull myself to walk in to the school although it was a working afternoon. For a moment I had those days coming back to me, Asirvatham sir my school correspondent and once my Mom's professor, Manjula Madam, Sasi madam, the black boards and the wooden tables, the store room under the stairs that helped me sleep, the big brass bell I was once the in charge of, Christmas celebrations when I was the Inn keeper once (Jesus was born in my Inn!) and one of the three wise men the other time, the temple beside the school, Prathap's moped, Sunny's fancy bags, Satheesh's handwriting, Yuvaraj's jokes, Maha.... A honking black car startled me.

Asirvatham sir had passed away a long time back and Sunny I learnt very recently is also no more.

The old lady at the end of the road still busily sat, making Vadas, with her son. Her son, the small kid I remember now looks a lot older than me. I tried a vada; at least nothing had changed about the taste.

Gupta Medicals was at the same place on the other side of the road and the once dark handsome guy now sat bald, tired and darker. When I went up to the shop, I saw someone very familiar standing in front of the shop. It was Shyam, Sunny's brother; he was only a few years older to me at school and looked almost like Sunny. Just beside him stood a beautiful, pregnant lady clinging on to his shoulders. He didn't seem to remember me, not that I wanted him to and somehow I didn't want to ask him about Sunny either.

I didn’t find the medicine today but when I left the street I thought I heard the old brass bell ring.