The sun was streaming in when I wake up. I groan. Mouth parched, I can barely hold myself up. I collapse back on my pillows, wincing as my head protests sharply.
What is the time? The sun is already in the west.
I turn to my side, peering at the clock on the bed table.
15:03. What??
Someone has kept a bottle of water and a strip of Dispirin near the clock.
With some difficulty, I push myself up. I know the problem. Every time I feel like this, it’s my BP. I take too much stress. I know it. But see my situation, it’s but natural, isn’t it?
I sit up, something catches my eye, a pink dabba, Pari’s pink dabba, on the ground. Two slices of buttered bread.
My children
So thoughtful
It’s unseemly for a man to cry but cry I do
My wife has left me, she thinks I’m a burden… Slowly and surely, dread overcomes me. I cannot explain where it comes from. It gnaws me from inside, this threat of looming unavoidable darkness. I want it gone. It refuses to leave.
Am I going to die? Leaving this family bereft, where will they go if I die? Who will take care of my children? Their useless mother?
I eat the bread, I gulp the water. The headache has diminished somewhat. I feel better but I’m still hungry. Some more bread, that’s what I’ll do.
I get up and call my office, someone has to explain my sudden absence. Our department secretary picks up, ‘Yes, your son called in the morning. Such a sweet polite boy you have, sir! The doctor has asked whether he should send his assistant for a home visit. Yes, sir, what time? Right away? It’ll take him an hour to reach, you can pay him directly. Okay, sir.’
I lie down again, mulling over what must have happened. How did my children know to do so much? I check the phone, there are 4 missed calls from an unknown number. I call back.
I hear her voice and the first thing I say is, Bitch!
Her reply is cold: You are never to call me that again.
Hahahaha, I merely mentioned the truth, can’t take it?
Her tone is tense: Shut up! You never have anything sensible to say!’
She disconnects.
She dares disconnect.
I angry-dial the number. The phone rings. No response.
My breath comes in short gasps, I feel the headache return. She knows I’m sick. Some sympathy? Some care?
The doorbell rings, ah, must be the doctor. I stumble out of the bed, walk into the front room, it’s unusually messy. I open the door.
It’s my son. I nod slowly and look around the room, the 4 chairs that are usually tucked into the table are askew. One chair’s leg is… broken?
What happened?
My son stands at the door, warily watching me.
He: D-did you eat? I had kept…
I go up to him and hug him tight. My son. My wonderful boy.
I step back.
Yes, I remember. I slapped my daughter hard across the cheek, she fell. I turned on the chairs, throwing them to the ground, picking one over my head and slamming it… I preferred to harm the furniture instead of my children.
Yes, I was in my senses though they may not believe it
I bathed and slept soon after.
Am I mad? No. I am in a rage.
How can women do these things? My sister-in-law… my wife… bloody actresses! Eating for free! Why can’t they understand? Don’t they understand our stresses? Our troubles? So what if we behave a little strong, bear it, isn’t that what marriage is? Supporting a man when things are breaking down?
Yes, I broke my furniture. I slapped my daughter. Yes, it happened. And you know what? I’m not sorry. I should get an unconditional apology. My son should see how men should…
He interrupts: D-Did Amma say when she’s coming back?
No! She has abandoned her family! She doesn’t care about you! She has left you behind! Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you. I’m your father!
He shakes his head, tears streaming down his face.
How come you’re home so early? School?
He: No. We didn’t go. I was in the neighbour’s house. Didi is also there.
What?
He: We don’t want to stay here if Amma isn’t coming
I reel backward… Abandoning ME? My life story is becoming like my brother’s!
Your mother poisoned your mind, didn’t she?
He: NO! Amma didn’t say anything. The neighbour heard. We slept there at night. Auntie told us to stay in their house till you felt better.
And the food? The water?
He: I phoned Amma and she told me what to do
I march to the door, shoving the fellow aside. He slinks, sidles and finds his way out of the house, he hovers on the threshold.
I let him, if he wants to leave his father, let him
I pop my head and look down the long, dark corridor.
She’s at the door, arms akimbo. She gestures to my son, beckoning him to come to her house. He obeys.
That woman, the one whom my wife befriended! Conspiring! Meddling in my affairs! Wait till I tell her husband.
I retreat into my house
Alone. No one to care for me. That familiar sense of dread has returned
What comes first? Rage or misogyny?
Is there remedy?
Marriages fall apart, family flounders. Are there ways to keep the children from falling out of this ridiculously keeling ship?
Time and again, we will see that an understanding of human systems is what’s needed. It’s what we lack.
My book of short stories, The Violent Potter, is available on Amazon. The book is intended for an audience of parents, teachers and grandparents of young children
Link: http://tinyurl.com/466tvf5f
Each story highlights the gap between adult expectations and child perspective. The book is in two parts, Part 1 sees the impact of the gap while Part 2 sees what happens when someone fills the gap with loving perspective.
And… I vlog too, here:
https://www.youtube.com/@violentpotter/playlists