Bipin had long stopped caring. At the sound of his dad’s footsteps on the porch, he would turn the TV off or stop eating, rush to his room at the end of the corridor and lock the door. He hated the look on his dad’s face when he came home drunk although he had seen it so often that it was etched on his mind. It was a look of confusion and bewildered fear before it morphed into one of immense rage.[break]
Avoidance was the only solution as far as he could see, and he was getting very good at it. He had a theory that if he could shut himself in and be oblivious to whatever was happening, it would stop affecting him so much.
“How can you behave like this? After all, he’s your father,” said his mother, irritation marking her tone one morning during breakfast. She said this almost every single day, so he let it pass. Bipin stole a quick glace at his already inebriated dad in the living room. The man would go for a walk and sneak in a peg or two at the shop around the corner of the alley. He knew that. But something snapped inside him that particular morning.
As much as he needed his family for support, both emotional and financial, he wasn’t ready to compromise his sanity by staying caged in this hellhole anymore. He had a job as a public relations officer at a private hospital that paid him pretty decently. Surely, he would be able to fend for himself.
“I don’t want to live here anymore,” said Bipin as he pushed away his untouched plate of eggs and got up to leave.
“What do you mean? Where will you go?” asked his mother, pouring herself a second cup of tea.
Bipin loved his Mom. Really, really loved her. But this nonchalance of hers made him feel unloved and uncared for. She was so preoccupied with taking care of an always drunk husband that she failed to see how the neglect was isolating her only son.
Unwittingly, Bipin had stopped smiling or talking to people. He couldn’t even formulate a simple sentence when a girl he had secretly been crushing on came to talk to him at work. She had walked away with a smile playing on her lips, and he had been sure that she would crack a joke about this sad-looking lad during lunch hours.
“I’ll stay with some friends till I find a place for myself,” said Bipin to his mom who didn’t even look up as he got up to leave. He didn’t waste a single minute after that. He rushed back to his room, brought down his small travel bag and packed his toothbrush, books and a few clothes. Having decided to leave, he already felt lighter.
Illustration: Sworup Nhasiju
He passed his parents on the way out and didn’t even bother to say goodbye. His mom and dad were talking in hushed whispers. His dad looked at him as he was putting on his shoes, and the expression on his face was one of anger and surprise.
“So my house where you’ve spent all these years is no longer good enough for you? We aren’t good enough parents, is that it?” asked dad, his voice slurry.
Bipin didn’t bother to answer. He slammed the door and walked as fast as his legs could carry him. He could hear his mother’s voice calling out to him. But he didn’t slow his pace. He eyes were brimming with tears and he could not see the winding path ahead of him. His lungs felt heavy and it hurt to breathe. He thought of the hands that had held his as he walked down this very lane. He thought of the man who had run besides him as he cycled, and wondered for the umpteenth time what had happened to that man, and kept walking.
Bipin had blamed his alcoholic dad for everything that was wrong with him. Add to that his unmet need for attention and affection from his mom, and he grew up hounded by insecurities and dread of being alone. All he wanted was a loving pat when all his parents ever did was let him be.
He looked for distractions to keep negative thoughts from overwhelming him. Would he die of a sudden heart attack, like that boy in the news? He had been around Bipin’s age. If people stopped talking when he passed them, then he would spend the next few hours agonizing over what sort of things they were saying about him.
So he looked for distractions: Like that pretty girl at office whom he emailed and texted but didn’t talk to. It gave him a much needed ego boost. He didn’t have the confidence to approach and talk to her, but the occasional contact, however virtual, gave him something to look forward to.
Now that he was living alone, he felt even more insecure, and needed something to occupy himself with more than ever. Over a dozen times this week, he had thought of asking her out for coffee. Her suggestive messages made it clear to him that she was as interested in him, if not more. But Bipin wasn’t looking for anything serious. The girl was his muse for the time being. When the gig was up, he would cut all contacts and move on. That was what he had always done. And he didn’t want to change, either.
Again, he blamed his parents for the way he was. Why couldn’t he figure out what he wanted from life? Why couldn’t he settle on someone and be happy? Why couldn’t he be more like his friends? They seemed to know exactly what they wanted, where they were headed, and seemed content in their respective relationships. Some were married. Some even had kids. And here he was, at 33, unsure of it all.
Growing up with an alcoholic father and an indifferent mother had scarred him deeply. No one knew how lonely he felt and how desperately he needed someone to be with him. No one saw past the mask of pretense he had put on. Like the outward bend of his knees that he so cleverly disguised with his fast-paced strut. Anyone who cared would notice, but nobody did.
After six months of living alone, Bipin was finally figuring himself out. He wasn’t as self-conscious of his appearance nor was he as bothered by people staring at him. He had recently been promoted at work, and after two failed relationships and countless dates with random girls he met in the course of his travels, he was seeing someone he didn’t feel like cheating on.
Then came a call.
He knew before he answered that something was wrong. Though his mom called him almost every other day, she had never called during work hours.
“Your father’s seeing someone,” she said. His usually calm and collected mom was on a verge of a breakdown. He could hear it in the pauses and the sharp inhalations she took before continuing to tell him that she had read some text messages and that she could hear him whispering on the phone behind closed doors.
“Then let him. Let someone else handle his drunken ways. You’ll finally be free from him and can live your life,” he said, unable to contain his anger at the man who had ruined two lives, excluding his own.
“You don’t give up on family. I thought you would understand,” she said and hung up.
You don’t give up on family. Those words stirred him somehow. He got up from his desk and went to the restroom. He locked the doors, and for the first time in years he let the tears flow.
He could somehow see it clearly now. His mother had left her job for him. She could’ve been a successful doctor if she had continued to work even after he was born. But she had opted to stay home and take care of him while his father went to work. She had put her life on hold for two people she called “family.”
And for what? One had cheated on her and the other had turned his back on her when she needed him the most.
Bipin washed his tear-streaked face and looked at himself in the mirror. His face reminded him of a man who had read him bedtime stories and taught him the lyrics to his first Elton John song. He had hated how much he resembled his father, but today the face that stared back at him looked so hollowed out and lost that it was almost like a silent plea.
Infidelity is like an addiction. It ceases to seem wrong once you give in to it. Bipin understood that. And he also knew that it almost always stemmed from loneliness and frustration. All of a sudden, it seemed easier than ever before to forgive his father.
He opened the doors and climbed down the stairs. He left the office building and made the walk back home.
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