Dad's creased shirt

It had been two weeks ago that I had texted my friend. I texted her because I knew I could trust her.

"Hey, wassup?", I texted her for the first time in the last two months, I realized that it was probably only these times I texted my old friend- the days I felt overwhelmed.

"Hi! long time, I'm just around completing some of my stupid coursework. Ughh”

“Umm Okay, did you eat?”

“Yes, I did. Did you?", she had texted, in less than two seconds, as though someone shook her off an endless deep sleep, another text- “What’s wrong?”

“My dad tested positive”

Yes, my dad tested positive around two weeks ago. It was so sweet of my friend to pile me up with a bunch of texts instructing me about what to do next instead of inquiring me about how we were coping up. Vitamin tablets and the Ayurvedic concoction, she mentioned it all, what spices to use and how much. She demanded daily yoga practice and assured me that nothing would go wrong since she and I were sure that I had contracted the virus. Mom, I and my elder brother were already starting to show symptoms. We had given our swabs that day and were awaiting our test results.

She asked me, “Are you worried about dad?”. I said “No”. Was it strange that I had not been worried about my dad’s health? Was it necessary I had to be?

As I forwarded the bunch of instructions on the family whatsapp group created by my vibrant mom, I only realized how cut off dad was. I never really spared a thought for him nor did he speak much. Me and my brother are extremely close to my mom. Mom- funny, bubbly and so full of life. We three had our plans. Since, dad was away working all through the day, only to return around late evening, we spent our days piling up in the sofa and watching movies, playing board game stuff, mom would go to the kitchen to make some popcorn, and  go running back to the kitchen after smelling something burnt struck her out of the mystifying Hollywood movie , half of which I’m not sure she understood. Mom had been a kid, sometimes jumpier than us, she knew about brother’s girlfriend, she knew about the backlogs I had secretly cleared. The last Holi, mom went around playing with her rowdy gang-all these aunties shared almost the same attributes. After making sure all my friends’ faces too had been colored sufficiently, she rushed back home where I assume, she  tried everything to make the color go off and conceal her wild play that day. Nevertheless, she almost terribly failed. Her hair parting was now dark pink in color. Dad had arrived for lunch and I did the daily normal, hang his keys, and place his helmet in its place. I didn’t have to be told about this. Dad entered and the house went silent. Mom served dad quietly, ah! these are the only few minutes I see her mouth rest which is otherwise chattering relentlessly. As mom served dad silently, being as delicate as possible, dad smiled, “played Holi with friends?”. I almost laughed aloud but cupped my mouth as mom cued me with her eyes to shut up. “y-e-s", she stuttered as a reply to dad. I wondered if there were a daughter, dad would have someone to share laughter too because I was totally convinced by the natural law or whatsoever that said, boys are closer to moms and daughters to dads. The law seemed to work full well in our house.

Past few days had probably been taxing for mom, dad moving to the penthouse and us showing symptoms though we had tested negative. Fever, cold and sinusitis was common for us around this time of the year, the rains had just started to commence. We decided to stay home and quarantine ourselves anyways. These strange circumstances put dad in the penthouse and us in the house. There had been a strange silence around us as the word spread and rather an overwhelming noise on whatsapp. 

One night I found mom asleep, lying next to her was their wedding photo album, she was probably missing dad. I wondered whether there was anything between them that mom could go as far as missing dad who’s right up there, in the penthouse. Mom and dad hardly spoke, at least before us.

Dad has always been this man of a serious demeanor, a man who smiled only a few times a week. He’s a workaholic and a perfectionist I assumed after recounting a few times I had been beaten up by him for showing less than excellent academic performance, also the recent times he stumbled upon and cringed at my poetry. Nothing about the quiet man attracted me to know more about him.

The last few days, I inevitably had to pick a few of his duties and the rest, my brother. Mom had become surprisingly a lot quieter. I woke up early in the morning and watered plants and looked towards the penthouse, the door closed, dad was probably still asleep.

I once stumbled upon a diary which had recipes written in it, which dad probably wanted to try. On another corner of the cupboard, there was a box full of bills. I recounted some of the times in childhood that dad had taken us to the movies, I was convinced into thinking, that it was probably only a monthly ritual. 

Recently dad called mom and explained carefully about the details about all the insurance premiums he had been paying and the investments he’s made. Mom seemed extremely disturbed by the act, the ever-so-delicate-before-dad mom said in a firm voice which I knew she was holding just a little afar from quivering- "What has gotten upon you, why are you telling me all this now?!". Me and my brother exchanged looks stupidly, my brother said almost unbothered, “He’s doing fine, he’s recovering too, why does he have to say all this?”. Mom looked raged about how unbothered we were, she said, “I know you guys don’t care, my husband does care, he just doesn’t know how to put it”. She had gone back to her room, to her albums, I knew she wept. 

After that day, dad has been doing better, and I had started noticing a lot of things. There were times dad had come back from work a little earlier, and we stormed back into our rooms a little disgusted at how our evening was put at break. We wished dad didn’t come earlier that day, but now, I realize it was him trying to blend in and get some time with us. I had held his creased shirt from the cupboard and got reminded of the day when my dad said something and laughed and looked at me expectantly, I smiled awkwardly and walked away, what was a joke for him, seemed silly to me, when did we grow so apart that our sense of humor didn’t match?. I failed to even notice that such a quiet man could have a hearty laugh at something so small. As I ran my fingers over the stained collar of the shirt I was holding, I suddenly started to realize how shamelessly, how ignorantly we had continuously scrapped a quiet man’s invitation of love- completely unrequited, the unheeded efforts of a man who didn’t know how to put it in words. My heart seemed to melt.

And from that day to today I didn’t fail to appreciate the supplies that got to our doorstep because dad made sure we had enough while he quarantined. Mom keeps texting on the family group asking him to make himself some concoction, reminding him of the yoga he needs to do.

“Completed Yoga?”, mom would ask to which he’d reply with a thumbs up. All of it feels cute now and dad’s been recovering well.

Now, as sweat from doing yoga drips down my face, I look at the key holder and my dad’s worn out chappal, I just wish he walks in smiling. Not because I feel insecure, not because I see the roof above my head falling if it were otherwise, just because I want to blend in this time, give myself a second chance and start a new chapter. When dad would be home finally, that I’m sure he’d be in a few days from now, I would tell him the tales of my broken heart and I’m sure ready to receive a stick for it.