A Talk With Him

            The sun was shining as bright as it could when I woke up. So dead of me. “I shouldn’t have slept so late in the night. Oh god!” I put my hand on my face while leaving the bed.

        I walked to the table near the window while collecting my fuzzy hairs and putting them into a rubber band, and picked my spectacles which were hanging on a vintage typewriter my father gave me when I was 7 when wrote my first ever poem. But as time passed and I touched 20, it was just an antique I kept in my room to adore and to remember my father. It reminds me every day how my mother left that man because he did not make enough efforts to appreciate how hard she is working to financially handle everything.

        I walked out of my room and my mother hit me with a sharp, sarcastic, passive-aggressive morning greeting, what I can say in response to such words. My father was a writer, even he never stood a chance in winning a word war with her. I just responded to that with a “Good Morning”. My creativity is dying and I knew it. I don’t want to waste my efforts saving something so weak.

        I greeted her moved on to the bathroom to wash my face and to complete my morning routine. After refreshing myself with a long bath I felt the need for food. So, I joined my mummy in the kitchen. She was reading a newspaper, sitting at the dining table. Empty bowl in front of her. I served myself cornflakes. And took my seat in front of her on the table.

        After finishing, I thought I should inform my mummy that I am going to an event where my father is reciting his fables that evening. So I put that thought in simplest and clearest possible – “I am going to listen to papa’s stories this evening at Gala auditorium.” I informed.

“Again?” She asked.

“Yes.”

“You have attended every event he did. Why the hell are you so obsessed with that? “

“I am not obsessed with anything. I just want to meet him.”

“I am not starting again on this topic-”

“Then don’t.”

        I stood up from the table and picked up my bowl. Turned around to keep that in the sink. It was not a big kitchen. Just a few steps here and few steps there, everything is in reach.

“You go there every time. That man doesn’t even look at you. I think he hardly identifies you.” Mommy said.

I turned around and looked at her face. The emotions on her face were genuine.

“Every time I go there, he is reciting the same story. But every time he is reciting the same story differently, in different words, that interests me.” I said.

“I know that man is good in that. But don’t you feel bad when you remember that he doesn’t remember you?”

“It does. It hurts. But I love those stories. It’s like those stories are talking to me.”

“Are they really?”

        I don’t think I can defend his behaviour anymore. And that frustrated me. You just want to experience some moment of affection from your own father. And your father doesn’t even notice you, even when you are sitting in the first row, in front of him. He was better when he was not famous. He used to live with us, he was not divorced, and he wasn’t ignorant.

I yelled, “At least I can lie to myself that my father is actually talking to me!”

Silence. I thought for a moment that she understood my insanity, she understood my desperation. 

“He is enough engaged with his own family. He won’t see you. If you think, that little pink rabbit is you, and that molly mirror’s words are hidden messages for you… sorry daughter but that’s not true. Accept that.” Mother said.

And I was right she understood me on a deeper level.

“I am going.” I declared

“I don’t think I can stop you. Do whatever you want.” She stood up and walked away. 

At 3.30, I was standing in from of the Gala auditorium. The event would start at 4. I was waiting in front of the door. I saw a boy, coming towards me. I saw him many times but don’t know him at all.

He came to me and said, “Here of Jay’s Fable recitation. Right?”

“Yes,” I said.

“I saw you in almost every event he did.”

“I was in every event he did.”

“Looks like his biggest fan.”

“Not actually, I never read what he wrote. But I always love to listen to him.”

“Alright.”

“Who are you? I saw you many times too.”

“I am in the management team.”

“Alright”

The conversation was interrupted by the sound of a horn coming from behind. We turned around, there was a black car. A man came out of it in a white formal shirt, red tie and brown trousers. And with one glance at his face, I recognized him. He came to us and asked that boy to go inside and open the back door of the auditorium so that he can take his car inside. The boy ran and the man went back to his car. And drove away.

So close to me. My father was really standing that close to me. Still, I can’t really measure the distance between us. I thought he will at least say hello. How rude of him? Never mind.

The boy came back after 5 minutes.

“Don’t you have work to do? The event will start in 15 minutes.” I asked.

“15 minutes? What? No. It will start at 6.” He replied.

“Are you kidding me?”

“Why would I do that? Can you see anyone else waiting here?”

“I thought it will start at 4.”

“You can wait inside if you want to…”

“Thank you.”

                       He nodded and asked me to follow him.

“I think it’s not allowed for the audience to enter before timing,” I started my doubt.

“Don’t worry.”

                       We entered a room. Some men were standing there. That boy approached one of them and said something and then they both stared at me for five seconds. Then they both looked at each other and the man nodded. The boy came back to me and said, “Follow me.”

“Okay,” I said.

We started walked.

“You know, this is the backstage?”

“Cool.”

“Yeah. That’s the room, you can wait here.”

“Ok.”

                       He left me in front of a room. There were two more rooms in the same row. I simply enter the room. Lights were on already. I found a chair near the wall to sit on. I did not know what I will do so I just open my social media account and start scrolling.

                       I was focused on my phone when I heard a knock on the door. I raised my head to see. There was that storyteller. I just looked at him, said nothing.

“Well I have to ask some things, can I join you?”

                       A sudden wave of emotion started to fill the void inside me. It was hard to speak at that moment but I stuttered, “YES—yes.”

“I am sorry if I am bothering you but, girl, I’ve some serious questions. I’ve seen you each time I host an event. You’re 20 and you are interested in children’s stories? Really?” He asked.

“Well... YEAH—yeah. I love your stories. And honestly, there is only one reason I always there. Not because of the reason that I love these tales, but I miss my father.”

                       He looked a little confused after listening to that.

“Well… miss your father?” said him.

“Yes. You clearly don’t remember me? Well, Ouch! But somewhere I always knew it.”

“You are—”

“Aanya.”

“My god! All this time? Why didn’t you told me? What?”

“I always wanted to… desperately… never got a chance…” My voice broke a little, “You’re famous now, papa.”

“I’ve nothing to say…”

                       And there was silence, again. A long one.

“You made more efforts than your mom ever made in her lifetime.”

“Are you serious?” I looked him in the eyes. “That women made more efforts to raise me up than you ever did. You never showed up even.”

“Looks like you are really upset with what I did.”

“Father, I was 11 when you left me. And mummy too. It was not like we were failing to meet our ends, we were doing well. But, there was always a lack. Mummy was busy making money and handling the house, I don’t blame her. But you could be there… I remember when you use to write stories just for me. I wanted someone to be my parent.”

“I am sorry, daughter. But I think you still are not mature enough to understand what was there.”

“What is there to understand? You never even called!”

“There is so much to understand. We were not right for each other – your mother and I. And I understood it when I found a right lady in my life.”

“You never missed us. Not a single time?”

“There is a thing called Understanding, coordination and peace. I finally found it with my happy family later. Look where I am today because of them…”

“What are you talking about? Are you even listening to yourself?” I stood up from that chair face him and continued, “There are these things called responsibilities and accountability. And damn I thought it’ll be such a happy and overwhelming experience when I’ll meet you but… some sentences and I’m so frustrated…”

“Maybe because you are not getting your answers.”

“Obviously!” I said.

                       I stood up. Looked me in my eyes. It looked like he was finally ready to say something relevant. I am not sure if I just need my answers, I wish I could ask to live my hard days in the past from time.

He said, “I’ve to go but I’ll answer only five questions. Shoot!”

“What? Are you a Ginni now?”

“Yes. Four left.”

“What the – no, no, no… I’ve few simple questions. Did you miss us? Missed me?”

“I will answer honestly. I don’t think that you’ll come to see me after today.” He sighed and sat back on that chair. “Well, you said I never looked back, I am not responsible and all. You are not wrong. I was at my worst, I even sold my phone. Went to Mumbai. And I was focused to build a normal life that I forget to think about many things. Yeah, but there were days when I used to cry because I lost my family. You know what, I thought I’ll never see you again. But today, I’ve this inexpressible feeling that I am still processing… Three left.”

                       I was standing there, listening to his answer. My eyes were getting filled my water but I was trying not to show them. I thought that it would be easy if I just sit down, so I sat next to him. We both are not looking at each other, just the random things on the floor.

“I would’ve never understood it if you had never told it to me.” I said, “Those stories and characters are really communicative, how do you write such things?”

 “Haha… well those, I wrote them for my son. Just some things, some lessons. He learns better from the stories.” He smiles a little and continues, “He is 6 now. He loves stories.”

                       I loved those stories too. I learnt so much from them too. But, never mind. Mummy was so correct, and so was I, those stories aren’t for me.

“That’s cool,” I said.

“Yeah. Two left.”

“Anything you want to say to mummy?”

“I don’t think so… she worked the hardest to make everything happen and I was the wrong one. I should have appreciated her at least. And if you are going to tell her, please mention I apologized. Last left.”

“I’ll pass your apology to her.” I paused and confessed that I don’t have anything to ask now.

“As a father, I can ask at least, what do you do? And how life has been? I know it was my duty to make you ready for the world out there but tell your mummy, that she did a fabulous job.”

“I am in my college. And honestly…” I don’t think I could hold it any longer so I broke down, “Life did not treat me right.”

                       He turned towards me and put his hands on my cheeks and wiped those tears down and said, “I am sorry for making it worse by not being there.” And then he wrapped his hands around me. And that’s the thing that made all the pain from the past bearable. He added, “I remember when you use to sleep in my arms, daughter,” I noticed his voice breaking, but he continued, “I wondered many times, what kind of person you can be?”

                       I somehow gathered myself, and said, “It was so good to hug you.”

“Yes. It is. But I’ve to go.”

“So do me”

“Aren’t you waiting for the recitation?”

“I was waiting to talk to my father. That is all.”

                       He just smiled. And he just took a really deep breath. He stood up and start checking his pocket. He took out a pen and small piece of paper and wrote his phone number on it, and handed it to me, “Hope I am not too late for father duties.”

                       I was looking at the paper he wrote his number on. He especially wrote – “Call me every day. We’ve a lot to catch up.”

                       I felt that I was floating, my emotions are not drowning me anymore. It was a good feeling. I received more than I asked for. I really could not wait to tell my mummy that.

                       And there was a knock on the door. There was the same boy I met outside. He entered in and informed his father that he is needed outside. He wished me goodbye and left with the boy.

                       I waited for a moment in the same place, trying to process the whole things. Now, for the first time in a long time, I was excited for my upcoming days. I just want to run back home to tell her everything.

                       I left the auditorium. I reached home. She was not there, must be working. I rushed to my room and picked the typewriter up, sat in my bed. Stared at the keys for a while and wrote, “I felt alive.”