Fourth Round Feedback - Naba

Honestly I don’t really think that I have it in me to be a judge. But being part of this wonderful format and exercise entails being one at some point in time. So here I am with the post to declare the winners of this edition.

To begin with I am sure all of us would agree that the plot given by Rajrupa was excellent. There was so much scope in the plot that even I couldn’t resist writing on it. Ofcourse, I failed at that attempt as my story was overshadowed with nuances from ‘Homeland’ so I had to let it go; well atleast for the time being!

Before I go into announcing the results, I would like to again reiterate that I do not believe that I have reached that level where I can judge the wonderful bunch of writers we have got here. So forgive me please if anything I write sounds offending. I would also like to thank TF and Rajrupa for being such wonderful co-judges.

Needless to say, all the entries were amazing and each story took us on remarkable rides knitted around equally fascinating connotations of the plot. After carefully reading through all the entries we have decided on the three winners of this edition and they are Deepa Duraisamy, Arvind Passey and Jayashree Srivatsan.

However, a special mention here for Leo whose entry we all loved. It wouldn’t be far-fetched to say that his name would surely have been among the winners if he hadn’t been the judge of the previous edition. Diwakar Narayan and Janaki Nagaraj too did wonderful jobs with the plot.

TF, Rajrupa and I, have already commented in each of the posts hence I will refrain from mentioning anything here.  Also the urgency of posting the results on time from the office cubicle, on a weekday, necessitates that I keep it short; forgive me for that too! Thank you all for participating in this edition. Thank you for giving such wonderful stories to read and thank you for being part of this great exercise. Looking forward to more interesting plots and endeavors together in future!

Happy writing!

Nabanitha

COCUSB

Author Introduction: 

Words fascinate me. Spent my years in the OGs, then in sales and then heading corporate communications… and now discovering myself through blogging. Words, obviously, have always mattered everywhere — yes, even in the Army, where even a firing command needs words spoken loud and clear and from the head! However, my journey is now taking me into a different world where words get written but emerge from the heart. I don’t know yet if they do visit the head before tumbling out to disperse themselves into the dustbin of eternity.

The Story:
Dates had stopped bothering him ages back. Even in the POW camp he had never once made parallel lines of hope, despair, and anger. His captors were as perplexed as were his co-prisoners.

‘You never think of your home and family, Major?’

‘I do,’ he had replied and then got up to go to the other side of the cell do his brooding. He did think of his wife and his son, who would now be on the verge of entering his teens. But he was not the sort who counted days. He knew he wouldn’t want to give his captors the pleasure of gloating about having troubled and disturbed his emotional equilibrium, and every time they tried to play with his EQ he mentally chanted his mantra: ‘Cocusb.’

He remembered the morning he and the other eight prisoners in that camp were abruptly woken up at 3 in the morning and were driven away from the 10 ft high walls of their jail in Lyallpur. They were nervous, circumspect, and defenceless but they could also see that there were no watchtowers with machineguns and searchlights as far as their eyes could see.

‘You are eight,’ announced the young and arrogant Captain, and went on, ‘if you live, you will reach Wagah and sent across the border. Or you die.’ The eight looked at each other, confused if this was an announcement that warranted joyous leaps, firm protests, or a hobbled walk into the arena of doom? There were no senior and responsible officers around and they were out in the open where for miles around us was sparse vegetation, big and small boulders, and obviously undulating contours and folds of earth.

‘Teen baje ki line. Dus meel,’ roared the officer. We looked at the 3 o’clock direction he mentioned and waited. He went on, ‘There is a safe 50 yard path beyond which are a network of landmines, so don’t even think of losing your way.’ The officer paused to see if his command was understood and then went on, ‘You have forty-five minutes to cover this distance and I’ll be waiting at the other end. There will be a mortar and grenade firing exercise in forty-five minutes, so if you don’t run fast, you’ll be caught in the mayhem.’ There was a pause after which he simply said, ‘Go.’

The prisoners had no footwear and the terrain was harsh with thorny plants dotting and, at times, blocking the safe zone. Yes, they ran and ran fast not bothered about the thorns, our bleeding feet, the scorching sun, nor their parched throats. All eight made it to the RV and as they stood at the spot where Captain Hanif was busy handing out new pairs of clothes, they could hear the sounds of explosions behind them.

They crossed the border at Wagah awed by their own silence. Sometimes when the heart is full of happiness, there are no words and no sounds coming out. He spoke only when he was asked a question and by next morning he stood outside the house that he had left more than five years back. ‘Cocusb,’ he said in a low voice, and pressed the bell.

His mind could sense that there was joy flowing all around him and curious words, softened glances, whispered touches, and endless sighs were all a part of the celebration that only long absences can get. He was tired and exhausted and full of bruises of the past five years, so it wasn’t surprising that he suddenly got up and said, ‘I want to sleep now.’

This was a week back and he knew this for sure because, for the first time in his life he had put a large pencilled circle around the date he had reached home. He opened his diary – yes, his own diary from the past that Anahita, his wife, had kept carefully folded in an old sari – and meticulously went through what he had written these past seven days.

15 June

I have never cared for years because they don’t matter. Time is an abstraction that doesn’t bother me. So why did Anahita ask: ‘We have five years of solitude waiting to be filled, Jatinder.’

Jatinder! This was not how she ever addressed him. She was the one who had first called him Zat because of the way he pronounced his J like it was a Z. Where has Zat gone? Is Zat nowhere in her life now?

There weren’t any long stories that he had jotted down in his diary. He was never known for his verbosity. He had always had a knack to pin-point the most vital aspects in anything and just focus on them. This is precisely what his years of training at the NDA and then at the IMA taught him. He remembered how Captain Bakshi, his DS at the IMA had roared in one of his class: ‘You bloody buggers, learn to look and think of only what is going to matter in your plan. The rest is all crap. So when I say,teen baje ki line…’ This voice from the past faded as he smiled and wondered if he was destined to be looking at this particular direction. Or is it that three was woven in some intricate way into his life?

Zat wasn’t a philosopher and never liked to ponder on the imponderables but this mystery of three was so like a military plan where this number loomed like a zone where he was supposed to keep his sights fixed on.

16 June

These bloody civilians are so noisy. They won’t let me sleep. They won’t let me focus. And they won’t let me be me. Why does everyone ask me the same questions?
How did they treat you there? Is that country the same as ours? You look so frail and troubled – are you going to join your unit or will you lead a retired life now? Tell us some stories of the land beyond the LOC? How many did you kill?

Damn these bloody fuckers. Why can’t they just mind their own business?

No, he had not protested any of the zillions of similar questions that seemed to be thrown at him because he had soon realised that they never wanted answers. All they were interested in was throwing in their questions and feeling proud that they had come and patronised a war hero of sorts. He wasn’t so much bothered by the acquaintances who stumbled into his life hour after hour… he was more bothered about the fact that Anahita was not there by his side to protect him from these onslaughts.

‘Why has she taken up a job that keeps her away for the entire day?’ he thought and then when he had asked her this question she had just asked him to relax and not bother about it. ‘We had enough money in the bank,’ he had angrily asked.

‘Not enough to fight with the sort of inflation that has been attacking the economy,’ she had retorted and then explained to him that her job was not just being a provider but also helping her keep sane.

17 June

Sane. Ha! How can jobs keep you sane? Sanity is when you are together with those you love and care for. Why can’t Anahita understand that all I want is that she take leave for a few days to be with me by my side. I don’t want to talk to those false acquaintances who come in only for stories that they don’t have the capacity to live and experience.

I want her. I want her attention. All the time.

He had found himself getting alienated from everyone, including his wife and his son Zesty. Yes, Zesty was a name given by him to his son because he always found his toddler so full of energy and a craving for action.

‘How is Zesty now?’ he had asked Anahita when he came back from his training in Mhow.

Anahita had smiled and said, ‘His name is Prateek and he responds to his name very well now.’

No, there was no war between Anahita and him on the name of their son, but he remembered he loved to insist on the name Zesty. This was true even now. He had said, ‘Zesty, you need to play more games and keep fitter than you actually are.’

‘Aw, come on now,’ Zesty had replied, ‘don’t be old fashioned. You need to come and tell me how protect my village in this game.’ He was always in front of his computer screen and was playing some game called Caesar II which was really such a ridiculous way of trying to learn tactics and strategy. He told Zesty that only team games have the ability to teach you the tactics of ground manoeuvre and that this is all that would help him in his later life as a professional. Strategic thinking too was something that meaningful interactions with the peer group could give.

‘You’re boring now,’ said Zesty to all his logic about games and strategy, ‘I know my PC is going to teach me everything. I wish you were like you were before.’

18 June

Zesty wants me to be like I was before. I don’t understand this at all. I was like I am now all the time. Have I really changed? Why is Zesty treating me like a stranger?

I still remember the good times we had on the basketball court together. The long walks and the jogging we did together. I still remember the time when I taught him the intricacies of under-water swimming.

But I don’t have much idea about his new world that is so immersed in the PC. It wasn’t there when I…

He wondered if it was technology or his lack of awareness of the new technology that was causing him to drift from his son. He wondered if he really cared to bridge this gap that was seemingly becoming wider.

‘Am I confused?’ he had asked himself when he was alone in the house. He had, it seemed to him, returned to a world that was defying him. Or was it simply that the world had moved on and all he needed was to increase his pace and catch up with it? He did not have the answers and whenever that happened now he found himself moving to the other side of the room he was in, just like he did in his prison cell in Lyallpur jail.

19 June

Is my world really out of my reach now? Can I bring back any of my learning from my own past to help me put me back into this new seemingly alienating world?

Yes, I remember Harlal Sa’ab on the Drill Square giving us marching commands in such a rapid succession that after just a couple of minutes of this the entire squad found itself full of GCs facing different directions and spread unevenly all over the concrete there. ‘This is not good sa’ab,’ he shouted and then laughed before continuing, ‘just hear and do. Don’t hear and think and do.’

Yes, just hear and do. Will this mantra save me?

‘Why is it that life never really works out the moment we start filling it up with the stress of deliberate thinking?’ he asked himself that day. He was not just a fauji, he was a fauji with ‘OG stampeding all over him’ as they used to say back in the Academy. ‘Yes, I need to get over this romance of half-baked thinking that civilians are so fond of and get back to my Olive Green or OG way of life.’

That day when Zesty had come from school he went to him and said, ‘Tell me how to open this PC. Tell me all about passwords. Tell me how to play Caesar.’

‘Later,’ Zesty had said as if trying to brush him aside because of his ignorance.

An hour later when Anahita returned from her office, he asked, ‘So how was your strategic marketing meeting today?’ Anahita gave him a look of surprise that had suspicion written all over it and went into the kitchen to instruct the maid for what was to be done for dinner. ‘Sir has told me what to do,’ he could hear the maid telling Anahita, ‘and dinner is already prepared.’

20 June

I am trying.
I am trying to find my way through this maze, this unfamiliar maze that evolves due to an absence.
I am trying to understand myself.
I am trying to instruct myself.

Will they try and unlearn and be willing to relearn?

He woke up that day feeling better than he had felt on any morning in the past week. He opened his eyes to find Anahita bent over him, smiling.

‘Good morning,’ said Anahita, ‘wake up, wash up, and get ready to wind up.’

He looked questioningly but Anahita laughed and called out to Zesty, ‘Zesty, your father is awake.’

He was told that the day being a Sunday, there would be no office and no school… however, Zesty had decided to teach him all he knew about the PC with a hope that he would learn and not remain technologically challenged ever.

Anahita then added, ‘And we’re going out for lunch to that restaurant where we had gone on the first day after marriage.’ He smiled.

21 June

COCUSB.

It is time to live again.
It is time to type out my formal resignation from the Armed Forces on MS Word.
It is time to spell romance the way it is spelt.

He looked at the last page of his diary and muttered, ‘Cocusb. Not many know what this means. Not may know that this is what makes a fauji what he is.’ He paused for a while, went zipping back into the past and heard his PT instructor shouting to cadets: ‘Don’t ever slouch. Remember, you must always have your chest out, chin up and shoulders back.’ His mind had immediately converted this vital piece of information into an acronym and whispered, ‘Cocusb.’

She did not fail to notice

Author Introduction:

I am Jayashree Srivatsan a.k.a jaishvats and I blog at http://jaishwrites.blogspot.com

I am an Indian currently residing in Singapore with my husband and my little boy. I have always been passionate about creative writing. I started blogging in 2010. Though it was initially for fun, blogging has now become an integral and serious part of my life. I have made a lot of online friends through this medium and that definitely is a huge motivation factor.I aspire publishing my work of fiction in print someday.

Story

It was close to 3 a.m. Malini was seated on the sofa, her eyes exhausted but vigilant. The living room was dark except for the light from the television that kept spraying a myriad of shades across her face.  The volume had been muted. Her eyes were locked on the television screen; at something that was far beyond. The only sound that perturbed the silence of the hour was the gentle rhythmic sounds from the wall clock as its hands kept chasing one another.

 “I am coming home, Malu”, he had said before hanging up. A tear welled up in her eye, slipped over the rim, slowly trickled down and fell on her shawl. She could not recollect how she had reacted on the phone. Had she responded at all?

Dinesh had been summoned when the war broke out. Three months later, an army officer had rung her up to convey the news most dreaded by every woman who sends her husband to the border. Along with six others , Lt.Dinesh Sharma  had lost his life in an explosion. She had been drowned in grief for the first few weeks. But like so many others like her, she had long before instilled in her own self, a preparedness to face the worst and a readiness to harden her emotions when the need arises. She knew that she had to move on.  At least for Deepak’s sake! He had been eleven then.

Five years had passed. Mourning had transformed to memories, which did tug at her heart but the force had drastically reduced with every passing year.

When she had heard his voice again that morning, it had struck her like a thunderbolt, rocking her in a turbulence of emotions. Emotions she felt anew - Shock, Astonishment, Joy; and those that had rocked her life before – sorrow, grief and frustration! Her palpitations had seemed so loud that she thought her heart was about to burst open. Two days earlier the Indian Army had successfully executed Operation Trident - a mission to secure control of the enemy camp where Indian prisoners of war had been held captive. Some of whom were presumed to be dead like Dinesh.

She got up to drink some water. As she crossed Deepak’s room, she pulled the curtains slightly and peaked inside. Her biggest worry all this while had been about raising her son without the shade of a father. ”I knew it Ma. I knew it that Pa was still alive” he had exclaimed on hearing the good news.  In fact he had stayed awake till almost 1 am. Now, he was in a peaceful slumber on his bed, his hands resting over his eyes. Just the way Dinesh used to sleep, she reminisced. And will sleep, she told herself and an elation filled her entire being. 

In the wee hours of the morning when the sun’s first rays cast an orange hue over the entire place, a green colored army jeep screec hed to a halt outside of their home.

Malini leapt from her seat and ran, almost tripping over the edge of the sofa.

The slumped skinny figure that stood clutching the iron gate was hardly recognizable.  His army uniform hung loosely around his body and his eyes bore into hers from his gaunt face. She rushed into his arms and started wailing loudly. He wrapped his arms around her. Despite the overflowing emotions she did not fail to notice the tremor that was present in his entire being. An incessant shiver! His hug seemed to be like that of a child! A child who had lost its toy!

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 “Aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh………. I cannot …I will not…………” Malini woke up with a jolt hearing him scream. Dinesh was rapidly flailing his arms and legs and screaming. He took his fingers to his own face. She could feel his nails digging into his cheeks. He started howling like a man in extreme agony.

She quickly dragged herself over him, forcefully withdrew his hands from his face and gently placed her lips over his. Trying to pacify him without taking her lips away, she slowly ran her fingers through his hair. Dinesh gradually calmed down and his movements and screams subsided. He opened his eyes. Wiping the perspiration from his face, he dragged her closer.

“Want to talk about it?” she gently asked.

“No” he said softly.

He had not spoken a word until now about what had happened to him.  Ever since his return he had been living the life of a recluse, almost like a lifeless robot.  He would diligently do his day to day basic activities and would spend hours seated at one place with his eyes closed. But beneath his eyelids Malini could see his eyes moving rapidly. Left right, left right, reliving horrors she dared not ask him.

The first time he removed his shirt, she had almost screamed out loud seeing his scars. Without speaking anything she had embraced him tightly trying to remove the deeper ones from inside in her warmth. Every time she saw them she choked back tears but she knew that she had to be strong now. To get him back! She did not want to trigger any haunting memories. He was already suffering enough.

Instead she tried to take him out as often as she could and get him to mingle with friends and relatives.  She thought it would help. He hated it though. She could understand. There were a few senseless ones who would poke and prod him. In the name of sympathy they would delve straight into the centre of his wounds and dig them further.

“Prisoner Of War? Oh My God! It must have been horrible!”

“Did you ever think you could escape from there? Thank God!”

She herself was irked when people spoke such things. Even if it was of good will, she felt they were being too callous.

As days sped by, he started getting very irritable. Little things right from the salt and spice in the food would throw him into terrible bouts of anger.  Malini knew it was all nothing compared to his own sufferings and she simply bore in silence. She believed that things would become better if only he would open up but that seemed impossible.

Deepak did not seem to fully understand what his father had undergone and why he was so different from the man who had left them all those years ago.  Initially his joy knew no bounds. Slowly he realized that the man who had returned was not the jovial, fun loving dad he knew. He hardly listened to anything that he had to share and was always lost in a distant world.  Whenever Deepak tried to converse with him, he responded in single words and was extremely cantankerous.

One evening they were seated watching the news. Suddenly Dinesh screamed “Deepak, switch off the TV!”

“Why? What’s wrong?” retorted Deepak.

“I said switch it off now!”

“Come on Papa”

“Switch OFF DEEPAK!” Dinesh threw the glass he was holding which shattered to pieces after knocking off a framed picture from the wall.

Malini bent down to pick it up. It was a photo of the two of them together. Deepak, dressed in his father’s military uniform and hat, was seated on a grinning Dinesh’s lap.

There was an uncomfortable silence for a few seconds.

“Mom, we were better off when we thought he was dead” yelled Deepak.

“Deepu SHUT UP!” cried Malini as he stormed out of the hall.

She was furious with Deepak, about the way he was behaving. Though she had to admit that there were moments when she felt overwhelmed too.

Though she was a post graduate, Malini had happily stayed at home taking care of her child till Dinesh went missing. When a position in the HR department of a relative’s textile company was offered to her, she thought of it as a blessing; a way to make their ends meet. Now it meant a lot more than that. She absolutely loved her job and career had risen to a higher position in her list of priorities.

She had taken a short vacation when he returned and then she had to get back to her job. She now had a bigger family to run anyways. The household work, making sure all Dinesh’s requirements were met, shuttling between home and work, managing Deepak’s needs –  she felt like a juggler trying to balance all that life demanded out of her.

At times she felt that Dinesh was way too insensitive to her. After all, she also had suffered!  “But what to expect from a man who was fighting his own internal demons” she reasoned.

She even tried suggesting that he take up some form of employment or maybe start his own business. He dismissed it off saying that he needed more time.

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Three months had passed after his arrival. One morning Dinesh woke up hearing voices of his wife and son from the kitchen.

“Ma, I want some money”

“I gave you your pocket money yesterday”

“That’s not enough ma. I…I need around 5000 rupees“

“What? 5000? What do you want it for?”

“Ma, I can’t give you reasons for everything! Do you want me to give you an accounts book or something? Stop looking at me like a detective okay! “

“Well, I need to know what you want it for!”

“So you CANNOT give it right?”

“Don’t you dare talk to your mother in that tone young man” Dinesh had to intervene.

“Now I get it. You told her not to, is it? Perfect”

Deepak slammed the kitchen door, took his bicycle out and rode off furiously.

“Its his age.  Very difficult phase!”  Dinesh muttered as he took a bread slice and stuffed into his mouth before walking away.

Malini stared after him unbelievably. It was the first time he had said something like that. It seemed so perfect. For a minute he was like her old Dinesh. “You are coming back Dhinu!” she smiled as her eyes welled up.

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It was around two hours past lunch time when Malini received the phone call. She had never panicked so much, not even when she heard about Dinesh’s explosion.  This time she felt that her world was crumbling and falling.  She somehow managed to compose herself and rushed outside the office.

By the time she reached, Dinesh had already come there. The corridors of Deenanath Hospital were enveloped in the quintessential odours of antiseptic and phenyl. He was seated on a bench outside the ICU, his forehead resting on his hands.

 She ran to where he was seated and flopped next to him panting for breath, her eyes desperately looking for answers.

“He is out of danger” he said in an almost inaudible voice.

She rose and peaked inside through the small transparent opening in the otherwise opaque door. Deepak was unconscious but breathing steady and various monitors were connected to his body.

“Oh Dinesh!  Whats happening ? “, she leaned against his shoulder distressed and exhausted .

A policeman approached them “Excuse me, Mrs and Mr. Sharma”

“Yes?”

“I am Inspector Dutt. I was the one who rang you both”

Dinesh and Malini nodded.

“I am sorry about what happened. He has consumed poison. Apparently the school used to stock some rodent repellents in a shelf within the boys washroom. He seems to have somehow gotten hold of it.”

“Poison?” Malini gasped.

“How has his behaviour been of late? Did you both notice anything unusual?”

“I think I am responsible” Dinesh cried.

“Dinesh! No”, Malini  hastily added.

“I tried talking to some of his friends” the policeman continued. He somehow did not give any significance to Dinesh’s self-blame.“Typical teenage problems, sir!  He has been having some inferiority complex. Has been trying real hard to impress some girl in his class! She apparently was in favour of some of the richer boys. These kids are unbelievable! Must blame the movies they make these days”

“Suicide at this age!” Malini exclaimed.

“I am not surprised , Madam” replied the inspector. “Do you know this is the third such case in our locality in the past six months? Teen suicide attempts are on the rise here. For really silly reasons! Fight with siblings, poor marks! Life is something worthless for these kids. “He paused for a second and continued. “ I have to make a move now. I will ensure that no case is registered, I understand how complicated that can get. Take care”

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The door to the room made a creaking noise as Dinesh gently pushed it open with the edge of the tray he was holding. Two tall glasses filled with freshly made orange juice and a plate of biscuits was neatly arranged on it.

Deepak had propped himself against the bed frame. His gaze was fixed on the branch of the tree outside the window.  There was a bird nest on it and the chicks were a rambunctious lot. The adult birds kept taking turns to come and feed them. After four days at the hospital he had been discharged. Like so many others attempting to take their own lives, his decision had been so momentary and impulsive. Now his every gesture indicated extreme regret. Both Malini and Dinesh knew it would be terribly incorrect and foolish to chastise him now.

Malini who had dozed off by his bedside woke up with a start on hearing the noise of the door. Her stress seemed to have gone past her threshold; At least that’s what the blank expression that her face bore, conveyed.

Dinesh handed each of them a glass and sat down near Deepak on the edge of the bed. He took a magazine that was lying on the bedside table and slowly flipped the pages.

He felt his son’s grip on his shoulders. “I am so sorry Pa”. Dinesh gave him a prolonged understanding look and brushed the hair that was falling on his forehead.

“I was stationed in Assam when you were born. The thought of not being near your mother at that critical hour was the worst feeling I have had all my life. And do you know what the best one is? What I experience when I held you for the first time! No,Not you, actually, a photo of you. All, tender wrapped in a blue blanket! She had sent it to me. The feeling that I had when I held that photograph is the best one I have had so far”.

A brief silence followed.

“When men realize that somebody else is at their mercy, they unleash the beasts in them and can go to any extremes. That’s what I realized in all those years of captivity. They derive sheer senseless pleasure in imposing their power on someone totally defenseless.  You have no idea how much misery I had to undergo in that camp.  Beatings, burnings, starvation, sexual harassment, humiliation, name it and it was all there. There was not one day when I did not contemplate taking my own life. “

Malini rose from her seat and came and stood behind him clutching his shoulder.

He gave her a brief look and continued. “Do you know what kept me from doing so? You. Both of you! Something inside of me kept screaming that at me asking me not to sabotage the chances of being with you some day.”

Deepak burst into tears and hugged him tightly.

There was quietness again for some time.

Dinesh heaved a huge sigh.“Dinakar! His name was Dinakar Patel. He was around ten years older than you. We were in the same cell. They used to give him some intravenous injections that plunged him into extreme agony. One night he fell at my feet pleading with me…pleading with…” Dinesh could not continue.

 He took a deep breath. “He could not handle it anymore. He wanted me to take his life and relieve him of it all. ”

Malini and Deepak stared at him in disbelief and horror.

“We had been each other’s only company for a very long time. I…..I could not see him suffer. I did what he wanted. I wrung his neck one night and he was finally at peace. Was it an impulsive act? I don’t know. An army man is supposed to be brave and rigid. Why did I do it? I don’t know. At that moment I was only helping him, doing a favour and I have no clue where it stands in the laws of righteousness. All I know is that the torture is on, every second, every minute!” He said those words in a dangerously calm tone.

Malini cupped his face in her hands and looked straight into his eyes. “Dhinu….” .

“This is it Malu, this is what is killing me!” Dinesh exclaimed and broke down sobbing uncontrollably.

Nobody was aware how long they stood like that-Malini and Dinesh holding Dinesh tightly in their grips trying to get all the pain out. Finally he lifted his head, extended his arms and pulled them both in a tight embrace.

Despite the overflowing emotions she did not fail to notice that there was no tremor in him. No incessant shiver! His hug seemed to be like that of a child! A child who had found its toy!

The Blood

Name - Diwakar Narayan

Author Introduction - A former teacher of English Grammar (though I have started forgetting the basics now) and a great admirer of English Language, I took on blogging to show my skills to the virtual world and nick-named myself as Infected Mind. However, having stepped in, I found that I deserved less than the place of a fish in the ocean. Since then, I have been trying to polish my skills to attain the position of a fish. I have no great job and high education to boast of. Philosophically, a God hater who wants to see how life could be, not believing in Him at all.

Story

Let me be permitted to share with you an incident which holds paramount significance in my life. Not because it relates to my personal life, but for the reason that it deals with the acceptance of a supposedly dead man, my husband, into my life and that of my family. They say that dead men do not return and such was my belief when I was almost convinced that my eyes would not see him ever again; a man in his military attire, with three stars hanging proudly on his chest, denoting of his higher rank and awards of bravery in numerous wars, would only come to my dreams for the rest of my life.

The night when his arrival was destined was a chilly one. I lay on my bed, recollecting the joyous moments I spent with him. Each night, it was only after his smiling face flashed in front of me, inside my eyelids, sleep overcame me. Then, my son was not home, for he went for an outing with his college-mates. When I was about to enter the world of my dreams, into the strong arms of my love, I heard the ring of my door bell, and thinking that my son might have returned, as his trip might have been cancelled for some reason, I rose from my bed and walked to the gate.

I could not believe my eyes for what I saw that night. A man stood there in the same attire as my husband with two heavy looking bags beside him and packed bedding on his back. He looked exactly as my soul-mate, with only distinctions in the long hair and unshaven beard that I saw on him. The formal sense my husband contained lacked in the man standing at my door. I thought for a while: even if my husband grew his hair and beard, he could not return; for dead men do not come back. It must have been another insane dream of mine. I closed the door and proceed towards my bed to be alone again.

The doorbell rang again. I stopped and looked back at the door. Unsure what to do, I opened it and saw the same man again. Now, I was confirmed that I was not dreaming, for dreams are not repeated in the same night. This time, he spoke to me: “Janvi, will you not recognize me?”

It was real. His voice was real. I touched him and the touch was real. Tears rolled down my cheeks instantly. Reality sometimes gives more pleasure than dreams do. Words refused to come out of my mouth. It was my husband. His hands approached my face and wiped the drops of happiness off; and holding my face with his shaking hands, he said again: “Janvi, will you still not recognize me?”

In no time, I buried my face in his chest. I was over the moon and crying.

We remained as a coupled statue for some time and after I regained my strength to speak, I looked up at his face and could say: “Come inside.”

He first lifted both the bags and hanged them from his shoulders, then me in his arms and walked towards our bedroom. Then, having placed me in bed and the bags on the ground, he whispered: “God knows how five years I could spend without you, each day and night I thought of you and of returning to you, let me now be absorbed in you again, my existence be merged with yours and form one soul with two bodies.”

His lips touched mine and not sure how long we remained so. When the unity was broken momentarily, I rose from the bed again and proceed towards the main gate, this time to close it to be with him.

*****

The night was a blessed one. Till very late, we remained into each other, silent now and talking then. The chirping of birds and his snoring started at the same time. Smiling, I rose from the bed and engaged myself in the household chores.

I decided to skip my office that day. Since the time I heard the news of my husband being missing from the troops, the entire burden rested on my shoulder. The household expenses and the upbringing of my twelve-year old son were what made me take up a job of a receptionist in a firm. The income was not hefty, but enough for the two of us. Now, that he had come back, he would take care of all affairs, I thought so. Beaming and roaming, I finished the daily chores; and with two cups of tea on a tray, that my hands held, I entered our bedroom. It was almost after fives long years that we would sip together.

Having placed the tray on the table, I looked at my husband. So peacefully he slept, away from the noise of bombings and firings. For a second, I decided not to break his slumber; for the next second, my strong desire to sip together drew me near his face and made me say: “Get up, sweetheart.”

I saw no movement in him. Then, I noticed the drops of perspiration on his forehead. Why was he sweating in a cold morning? I pulled myself back, stood there and fixed my eyes on his face. After a while, he began to murmur, something I could not understand, and then suddenly shouted “No”. It was a long shout, and the very next moment, he was sitting on the bed and huffing to the peak.

*****

The time of evening was near. Both of us expected our son soon. Sudeep, who had faint memories of his father, going to the battlefield, would soothe his eyes by the presence of his father in front of him, and jump in joy; for he remained deprived of fatherly love for five years.  A boy needs a father and a girl a mother to share all they have with no feeling of being betrayed and no secrets of them being busted to unintended ears. The father and the son would unite, sit and chat for hours; and be called on the dinner table at night – and – as they would enter the dining room, engrossed in serious conversations related to the nation and the world, I would sweetly chide them to come back home and taste food, which I laid in numerous plates. Such would be the routine every day and night – life will be as good as it was before. Sudden realization of my having gone too far in my thoughts stuck me when Sudeep entered the house.

My husband and I sat, waiting for him, when he arrived. He saw us and stood silent, skipping the kiss that he would gently place on my forehead when he came from outside. The reason for it, perhaps, was he never saw me with a man after his father left and now someone was inside my house at the time of his arrival. He must have understood nothing of the situation; and understanding his state of mind, I explained: “Sudeep, this is your father!”

These words fell like a thunderstorm for him, for his expressions changed. He was delighted, dumbfounded, skeptical, all at the same time. Believe it or not, too good to be true, not believing one’s eyes, all these salient linguistic expressions applied to him at once. The only word which could slip from his lips was: “Dad?”

Lt. Dilip Singh emptied his chair and stood there, with arms open, inviting his son to give him a hug. Then, the only think I saw was the wet eyes of my husband.

*****

That night, when dinner was served on the table, conversations started. Sudeep sounded much curious to know all what happened during the five years Dilip was absent for. He ate less and spoke more. One thing, I noticed strange, was his father’s avoidance in giving detailed answer to anything he asked. Dilip seemed to escape from all the curiosity his son had. This behavior reached its peak when Dilip almost reproved his son –

“Sudeep, you ought not to know all that I faced in these fives. Know your boundaries, my son, and talk respectfully and obediently to your father. Don’t probe too much and irritate me!”

Dilip left the dining table and retired to the bedroom. Disbelievingly, I looked at my son; and he at me.

*****

Sleep abandoned me the whole night. I kept thinking of my husband’s behavior at the dining table and tried to relate this with the cause of his sudden perspiration and shout, which happened that morning. Was he in any trouble that he did not want to share with us or it was for something else? Whatever the reason was, I had to discover it. So, I would talk to him in the morning; so I decided and closed my eyes.

*****

At the morning time, when the three of us enjoyed the tea, my husband said: “Janvi and Dilip, I have a plan for today. Let’s go to the town and shop as much as we can possibly carry back home.”

Now, this plan of him seemed uncalled for both for me and my son; for I had to go to my office and Sudeep to his college. I confess now, I had no courage to say no to him, for he had been a strict man all his life; but for Sudeep, who was a kid when my husband left us, stood calmly from his chair and addressed his father: “Papa, let’s do this on Sunday. I have my college to attend.”

I looked at Dilip. His face was reddened and his body shook with anger. He, who never experienced being disobeyed, stood up and shouted at his son: “Sudeep, stop! Stand there and listen to me. Dare you move a step and I slap you!”

Sudeep seemed not to have heard a single word of his father. He moved out of the veranda and then from the house.

Yet another shock for Dilip it was, after the dinner-table clash, for he expected his orders to be followed blindly by his son and me. I could do so; my son could not. If the ruling of a nation is handed over to a bunch of teenagers, the ruling would prove to be of utmost excellence; for they do not bear any wrong happenings around them and this was the reason my son had disobeyed his father and walked out.

“Calm down, Dilip.” I tried to appease my husband.

Sensing the gravity of the situation, I thought of missing my office for that day as well. The idea was to give my husband some time and understand what he went through. For this, I had to be with him. However strict and formal a man is, he can hide no secret from a naked woman he sleeps with. I stood up, held his hand and gestured to take him inside. He walked a few steps with me and stopped, then said: “You go to office now, and before you go, hand over the keys to me. I will go out and get some fresh air. My home is a home no more, but a house.”

*****

In the evening, Dilip was in the garden, which flourished in front of our small bungalow and watered the flower-plants. He paid no heed to my arrival. I went straight into the house and prepared tea for him. He must have been alone the whole day and not had tea. I thought so and invited him inside, upon which he refused and requested to be served in the garden, upon which I placed two chairs there and sat beside him. This was the perfect time to talk.

Silence prevailed for some time before Dilip started the conversation.

“Why did our son show such insolence to me in the morning?” He asked.

“Dilip, you must understand, Sudeep is still a boy. He wants to live his life on his own terms. Further, what rude words did he speak to you? It was just a suggestion, in my view, and also, he must attend his college, for his studies are not to be interrupted.”

“Dilip”, I continued, “tell me, if you have anything in your mind that you wish to share with me, in an attempt to lessen the burden you feel in your heart; for being your wife and life-partner, I shall entitle myself to share every bit of happiness and sorrow that you feel. Do not hesitate, dear; tell me if something bothers you.”

My husband looked at me lovingly and expectantly, such a look instilled a belief of his trust in me and I drew closer to him to listen to what he would say.

“Janvi, for five years, I remained inside a closed chamber, as a captive of the war I was part of, with a want and a wish coming to my mind and heart alternatively. The want of death and the wish of returning home were the two mental states I lived in. Now, that I have come back to my home, the wishes are still more or less the same but altered only with a word or two. I find myself unable to cope up with the civilized life of yours; and wish to die or want to return to my troops, if allowed.”

I could sense acute pain in each word he spoke. I drew closer to him and hugged him from aside. The empty tea cups, placed on the ground, seemed to empathize with us, with their mouths open to store any drop of tear which might fall any moment from the eyes of either of us.

*****

It was time for me to talk to my son. He must have been very disturbed by the anger his father showed to him. Not once, but twice. All the time when Dilip was not here, I was the one, who was his mother and father. He used to discuss all his affairs with me – affairs of his college, his friends, the gossips and everything that attracted his attention. We spent hours together, inside and outside, and became good friends with each other. Friendship of us was stronger than the mother-son bond, and for this reason, I was sure I would be able to convince him to accept his father the way he was and be in good terms with him.

Late at night, when he returned home, freshened up and had dinner, I followed him till his bed and sat beside him. Though this was not the ideal time for what I was going to discuss with him, I persuaded myself to do so. Things getting any sour further would have been perilous for my family.

“Sudeep, can I ask you something?” I started.

“Yes, mama; why do you look so tensed?”

“Listen, my darling, your father is quite disturbed at your denial of his proposal of this morning. All his life he has seen his orders to be obeyed and suggestions to be followed. The way you walked out today was much unexpected for him. I think you should not have behaved in such a way.”

“Mama, I don’t believe you. How can you advocate for him in spite of knowing that it was he who behaved strangely. There was no point of being so rude and shouting at me. What seems wrong in what I said? This is not his military campus but my home.”

“I know, son, but you must not forget that he is your father, the first man of this family.”

“You know, mama, he is not my father. Certainly not the same man I saw when I was a kid. How I wish I had a sober father that I could boast of... and one more thing! I would like no discussion on this anymore.”

With such words spoken, Sudeep turned his back to me and pulled the blanket over him. For a few minutes, I sat there silently, and then moved to my bedroom.

I was blank now.

****

A few days later, when there was a holiday on eve of some religious festival, I decided that we would go to the town for shopping. Dilip would agree soon, but I was unsure of Sudeep’s decision. Given his behavior with his father since the day he arrived, I was in dilemma whether to ask him or not. Finally, for the sake of my husband’s happiness, I asked my son: “Will you come with us for shopping today?”

He gave me a stern look and then smiled with a nod: “ok”. Soon after the smile, his face returned to seriousness. It was for me, not for his father, that he had agreed.

When we reached the town and were walking towards our shopping destination, we noticed a fight between two laborers on the roadside. Dilip moved to them and tried to understand the cause of it. When the fight started to become tense, he intervened and when objected for his intervention, he angrily beat up both the guys and took them to the nearby police station. The policed booked both of them, thanked Dilip and said to me in a low voice:

“Make him understand. These cheap folks fight every other day on every other issue. We have other important cases to look into.”

Sudeep stood there when the police officer spoke these words. His hatred for his father seemed to grow more, for he felt ashamed.

****

All the time we shopped, Sudeep remained distant from us. He talked on phone with someone and did not engage him with us at all. Dilip must have realized this and hence he, too, spoke nothing all the while. On the way back home, all three of us were walking separately; my husband was ahead of us two; I was in the middle; my son much behind us, still on phone. It looked that three strangers walked, not knowing each other. I was lost in my thoughts, yet again.

A sudden cry filled the air and the vehicles started stopping. There was an accident. People flooded the site. I, too, rushed to see the injured man… and it was Dilip moaning in pain, with his cloths blood-soaked.

****

When the doctor announced that the patient needed blood to survive, Sudeep came upfront and expressed his wish to donate his blood to his father. After all, they were one blood.

****

The moment Sudeep came out of the donation room, he caught my hand and started to sob. “I am sorry, mama. Dad must have been thinking of my behavior when he got hit. It’s my fault. I have lost him once, and cannot lose him again.”

****

When I went to meet Dilip, after he was out of danger, as declared by the doctor, he had tears in his eyes. “I am sorry sweetheart, I must not have shouted at Sudeep, and picked up a fight with those roadmen. Do me a favor, darling! Allow me some more time to adjust with my family. Life cannot be imagined without you.”

****

I had tears in my eyes; both of sorrow and happiness. Tears of sorrow – for the condition Dilip was in. Tears of happiness – for my family will be united again.

Rediscovering family

Author Name: Deepa Duraisamy
Author Introduction: For Deepa Duraisamy, Indian classical music and her love for writing are two interests that have stayed with her through the years. A huge fan of the blogosphere and the plethora of perspectives it has exposed her to, she hopes that her writing would have a deeper purpose eventually. She blogs at Deepa's Kaleidoscope.

The Story:

16th June, 2010

2:53 AM

The shrapnel pierced his exposed neck and arms, sending a searing pain shooting through his body. All around him, bodies were exploding and being reduced to masses of pulp. The stench of urine mixed with blood was so overpowering that he could feel bile at the back of his throat. If he didn't roll onto his back right then, he was afraid he would choke on his own vomit. He tried to roll over but his body refused to follow suit. His left leg felt useless, numb. Close to passing out, his mind subconsciously summoned the image of Miriam and Carter on the Ferris wheel from a few years back. She had been laughing her heart out, her giggly laughs being carried by the wind to where he stood. Standing on the ground with the rest of the crowd, he could see Carter’s tiny hands wave excitedly. It was the one image that he could never forget. How they had been so high up and far away, yet how he had never felt closer to his family.

Then his eyes glassed over and he wondered if the liquid pooling into his eyes was tears or sweat. As it flowed down his cheeks and grazed his lips, his taste buds registered the sickly sweet taste of blood. He wanted to wipe it off so he could see Miriam and Carter more clearly but his hands had been tied up by his thumbs. They were hitting him hard, kneeing him, kicking him, subjecting him to every physical lashing possible. He remembered the feeling of waking up to ice cold water being splashed on his face. Had he not heard what prisoners of war were subjected to? He wanted to get back home to Miriam’s arms, but he didn't want her to see him like this. Stripped naked in every sense. Of his clothes, his strength, his self respect, his confidence. Like a crazed prey caught in a hunter’s trap, he thrashed around, kicking and clawing, screaming from the bottom of his lungs. He could hear Miriam calling out to him, her voice growing louder every second. As his callused hands made contact with warm fingers, his eyes went wide recognizing Miriam by his side. She switched on the bedside lamp, flooding the room with light. With the onset of sharp blinding white rays, he could feel the darkness fade away. A second later, he collapsed into Miriam’s arms. 

***

16th June, 2010

2:57 AM

Stroking his hair, Miriam felt the tears flow down her cheeks. She could feel John’s hand grasp her arm in a death like vise and she wondered how it had all come down to this. She could still remember the day he had landed at their doorstep. She had been waiting for Carter to come home from his late night stint at the movies where he was working part-time trying to augment the meager cash flow at home. She had been livid with rage. School day or not, Carter was supposed to have been home by 11 PM and it was now 1 AM. He had called to ask if he could catch the last show with friends, but she hadn't been around to answer the call. Taking advantage of her unavailability, he had simply left a voice-mail that he would be home late. She could still vividly picture herself throwing open the door to his incessant knocks, ready to ground him till he grew some sense. But instead of her teenage son, she had come face to face with her husband’s ghost and it had knocked the wind out of her. Even as her friends and family had tried to make her see sense, she had held on steadfastly for the last five years, refusing to believe that John had died. 

And seeing him stand there, her legs had given away and she had crumpled into a heap. Her mouth had gone dry and words had escaped her. Even now, recollecting the events brought tears to her eyes. How those initial incredulous moments had soon turned to a teary eyed reunion filled with questions and counter-questions instead of answers. And when Carter had walked in a minute later, their living room had become a tangle of limbs – arms flailing everywhere. Carter had been shy at first; he had been only ten when his father had left to fight the war in Russia. Now in his teens, he must have felt awkward being hugged and kissed. She smiled now, recollecting how he had wiped his father’s sloppy kisses away.  John whimpering in his sleep brought her back to the present. He was having a bad dream again. It had been a month since his return from the dead, but the nightmares had refused to stop. Most nights were relatively better. After hours of tossing and turning, he would settle into a fitful sleep in the wee hours of the morning. But some nights were worse. His guttural screams would tear her apart, making her shiver even in the warm balmy weather. Lying next to him, she could sense him writhing and thrashing around, trying to fight off his demons. Now, running her fingers over his hair, she whispered assurances into his ear, extracted her hand from his grip and soothed him back to sleep. 

***

26th June, 2010

7:13 PM

“Mrs. Wembley, you have a call on Line 1. Mrs. Wembley, Line 1.” 

Hearing her name being broadcast on the public announcement system, Miriam Wembley strode to the nurses desk at the St. Anna’s Nursing Home for the Elderly. She had had a particularly exhausting day so far, and on a normal day, she wouldn't even have been here this late at night. She would have been home on the couch, curled up with a glass of wine and a good book. Of course, with John back the past month had been an endless period of discussions and catching up. Friends and neighbours stepped in from time to time, to meet the miraculous John who had been presumed dead. They were curious to know how Russia had finally let him go after grilling him for five years as a prisoner of war. He would talk a little and then change the topic. They were all picking up the threads from before, inching along in their life, wary of each other at times but confident that it was just a phase and sooner rather than later, they would be one big happy family again. But every once in a while, tempers would flare up and arguments would ensue leaving them all feeling like strangers even in the familiarity of their home. John had been in discussions with the military again, seeking to re-enlist. John often used to say, ‘You can take a man out of a country, but you cannot take the country out of the man’. Miriam and Carter’s pleas, asking him to return to a life of normalcy had fallen on deaf ears.

“This is Miriam Wembley here.” She said, answering the phone.

“Mrs. Wembley. This is Officer Rodrigues from the Atlanta Police Department.” 

By force of habit, her hand went to her chest. What had Carter done this time? In the months following John’s presumed death, there had been some instances of Carter acting up. He had slashed some tires, upturned a few Dumpsters simply to show to the world that he could do it and get away with it. It had been his way of venting his anger at his father being taken away from him, his way of coping. But he had been caught and he had paid his dues to the society through community service. Carter had grown up since and she hoped that his father’s return hadn't triggered any fresh episodes. 

“It’s Carter, isn't it?”

“I’m sorry? Carter? No Ma’am. I am calling about John. I have your husband here with me. He was picked up for drunk driving. I need you to come down to the station and fill out the necessary paperwork to sign him out. We can talk about his court appearances when you’re down here.” Officer Rodriguez said matter-of-factly. 

At the other end of the line, Miriam sighed. The officer had probably done these notifications a million times now. Easy for him to simply call someone to come over right away, regardless of what their responsibilities entailed. But one of her wards, Mrs. Rogers had passed away last night and it had driven a cold shard of depression throughout the nursing home today. With every such passing, the fear of death and isolation would bite further into the depressed minds of the elderlies. On days like these, they would act like petulant children, craving for attention. And with the staff size being what it was, it only meant that the task of soothing their inner fears fell on those working the following morning shift. And Miriam had been one of those. She hated pulling double shifts, especially on weekends. But on these days, she did the best she could, going about her work cheerfully, hoping to spread some cheer and infuse warmth through her words. She felt guilty at having to talk to the other nurses about covering for her, but it had to be done. 

“I’ll be there in an hour Officer.” She replied. 

***

26th June, 2010

9:25 PM

“Crazy sons of bitches, acting as if they run this country. Bloody hell, who did they think they were talking to! I fought for this country and this is the way they treat me, throwing me in a lockup with the dregs of society. They think I’m a drunkard, hear that Mimmy, a drunkard? I only had two drinks and they say I am a drunk. They kicked me out of the military, refuse to take me back! Told me I am incapacitated - incapacitated my foot! I limp. I haven’t lost my leg! I limp because of the fucking war, the war that I fought for this country Mimmy, how dare they forget that!” 

Driving along the unlit roads, Miriam was experiencing the onset of a migraine. John had been ranting this way for the past twenty minutes and she had nothing to say. It had been years since John had called her Mimmy, and hearing the name made her eyes well up, but she willed herself not to break down. Between handling work at the nursing home and raising Carter, she already had her hands full. She did not need any more complications. And John being refused by the military would be just that. She had met and befriended many ‘Army wives’ as they were commonly referred to and she had heard the same tale everywhere. Once out of the Army, veterans didn't know what to do. They had lived a life of discipline, command and order. They had had schedules, worked with regiments, given orders, followed commands and put their lives on their line. They had learned to live without family, often relegating their emotions to the end of their priority list. Now suddenly kicked out from the only life they knew, they were lost. Miriam was terrified that the same thing would happen to John. 

“Maybe you could apply to local jobs? We could all stay together then.” She suggested.

“You mean civilian? I am a veteran Mimmy. The only job I can do is serve my country.” John argued. 

“But it couldn't be all that bad. You could try. It would be nice for Carter to have his father around in his teens.” 

“Don’t be a drama queen Miriam. The boy grew up just fine without me. And you already knew about Army life when you married me. Don’t try and feed me this emotional nonsense.” He retorted.

Miriam took it as a cue to shut up and focused her attention on the road. They rode the remainder of the way in silence, both of them lost in their own thoughts. 

***

4th July, 2010

9:05 PM

The door was wide open, empty soda cans strewn around throughout the living room. Half opened packets of chips lay on the counter, a messy plate of dips by the side. Someone had overturned an ashtray on the carpet. Somewhere in the distance, Led Zeppelin croaked mercilessly as he plunked his guitar, the bass reverberating throughout the house. Sounds of high pitched giggles and boisterous laughter resonated through the hallways. He felt like fate was laughing at his misfortunes. As he followed the sounds to the poolside, the scene that met him at the pool pushed him over the edge. Teenage boys and girls in their swimwear playing in the water, children jumping in and splashing water all over, a ragged group of youngsters stood to the side, head banging to none other than Led Zeppelin. He felt a feral rage grow within him and explode. 

“Who the hell do you think pays for all this shit?” He roared. The group scattered around the pool went dead silent. Some kid had the common sense to turn off the loudspeakers and in the ensuing silence, his words hung in the air. Nobody dared to say a word. 

“Everyone out of here. Right now.” He said, his voice loud and firm.

“But Dad ..” Carter started. John gave him a threatening look that quieted him for a second. But then, he tried to reason again. “Dad, I think you’re overreacting.” He said softly.

“I don’t remember asking you for your opinion. What is wrong with you kids these days? You think this is the way to celebrate your Independence Day, do you kids have no respect for the people who fight for your country? Look at you losers, idling around, wasting your time swimming and partying. Those soldiers at the front would be bummed to know that they dying for a bunch of pricks. Get out. All of you.” 

Carter went silent. It was embarrassing enough for a son to have his parents walk in on a teen party. But to get blasted in front of all his friends, for his friends to listen to his father haranguing, this party and his father were bound to be the topic of conversation at school for at least a week. A mixture of shame and anger crept up inside him. Right now, he hated his father. Why couldn't he be like the other cool fathers of his friends? The only time he had seen a father react this way was when his friend Gavin had tried marijuana. Back at that time, Carter had felt immense respect for Gavin’s father. He had had reason to run interference. But all Carter had done was throw a small party at his house, no drinks, no drugs. It had been harmless fun. He couldn't understand why his father behaved the way he did nowadays. As the group filed out of the poolside area, a redhead tattooed teen spoke up. 

“Hey man, nobody asked you to sign up for the Army, man!” Carter bore his eyes into the teen’s, willing him to shut up. But the damage had been done. A beer bottle crashed on the wall, splintering into pieces. John, his anger blunted by smashing the beer bottle, growled in a low voice, telling them to leave. Carter felt tears well up in his eyes but not wanting to give his father the satisfaction of seeing him cry, he turned to leave. 

“Where do you think you’re going, I’m not finished with you yet.” John bellowed, following him into the house. Something inside Carter snapped.

“Yeah well. I’m finished with you. With you and this .. this .. this whatever attitude of your’s you have brought back from the war. What are you going to do Dad? Ground me huh? Well go ahead and ground me. Then what?” He yelled. 

John’s face turned red. He took a thundering step towards Carter, perilously close to hitting him. 

“Then what Dad?” Carter continued. “How will you run the house if you ground me? Out there, you asked me who’s going to pay for all this shit. Well guess what? I am. I work and I pay my share. What do you have to proud of? You .. You can’t hold down a single job anyway.” He could feel John going quiet and he felt a little sorry as he said the words, but he had started the rant, so he went on anyway. “So you fought a war, so you lost your leg. .. Dad, many others have too. They have fared worse. But you don’t get to ruin my life. Or Mom’s. Did you ever notice how much stress she’s under? You go away for five years, we start building a life and then one fine day you come back and you want to run it your way? Well, news flash. Not happening. What are we supposed to do? Take pity on you and bear your tantrums? I may be fifteen Dad but you’re the one who needs to do some growing up!” 

“Carter, that’s enough!” Miriam’s voice spoke up from the doorway.

“But Mom .. He’s the one ..” John said, looking in her direction, ashamed to meet her eye. 

In his heart, he knew he shouldn't have said what he had. But his father’s behaviour had lately been driving him insane. Carter tried to count the number of times he had gotten a call from the bartender at the local brewery asking him to take his father home. He could probably count them on his fingers and toes and still fall short. In an inebriated state of mind, how his father would create a ruckus all along the way blaming the government, the military, today’s generation of kids, anything and everything but himself for his pitiful state. He had grown tired of his father’s excuses. Excuses on why he couldn't find a local job, excuses on why he couldn't hold down a job. Every day had a different excuse, a different victim of blame and yet, every single day it was the same story. He hated seeing his Mom having to clean up after his Dad. She had been patiently trying to juggle her work with his alcohol induced stupors, and under the circumstances, she seemed to be holding up alright, but he could feel the burden it laid on her.  He knew she wouldn't say a word, that in her own way she would wait and play along patiently and a part of him was angry at her too for bearing it silently. But he wasn't tolerant and honestly, he had had enough of this. It was time to put an end to this situation. Someone had had to tell his father how his behaviour was affecting their lives, and if his mother couldn't do it, he had to do it!

“Up to your room. Right now.” She said. 

“Mom, he had to. I had to.” Carter uttered, unable to lend words to his frustration. 

“Carter. Right now.” She said, leaving no room for discussion. 

Carter knew that his Mom was angry. But his own anger hadn't diffused yet. Sulking, he stormed out of the room and took the stairs two at a time. Miriam set her bag on a couch and set about picking shards of glass from the broken beer bottle. 

“This is all your fault. You've spoiled him rotten. Look at him. What a pathetic son he is. Mouthing off to me.” John said. But his voice held none of the anger or the conviction he had felt before. Miriam wanted to mouth off a retort herself but then her rational side took over. What good would it do anyway? She looked at him, her eyes searching his for an opening, a way to start a dialogue. Taking a deep breath, she addressed him. 

“John. You need to give him some time. He’s not used to having you around.” 

“Not used to? Not used to? I’m his father Mimmy.” He cajoled. 

“Yes you are. And nothing in the world will change that. But you need to understand that Carter grew up without you. He had to grow up too soon. He’s not ten anymore. You can’t treat him like he’s a child. This is all new for him.” 

John was silent for a minute. He had so many questions but no answers. How had it come to this? Miriam took the silence as a positive sign. Listening was good. It was the first step in resolving conflicts. She cupped his face with her hand, turning his face towards hers. Her eyes welled up with tears, but she continued. 

“We both had to do a lot of things which we had never done before. It made us new people. There’s no going back John, it’s too late. We cannot go back to who we were. There’s only one way we can go from here. And it’s forward. And we all need to do it together. I need you John. Carter needs you.”

I need you too Miriam. John wanted to say the words, but he couldn’t. In the face of his failures and shame, no words materialized. Miriam’s face fell, maybe she had thought he would say something. I need you. I love you. Something, anything. But he hadn’t, and now the moment had passed.

“You know, you said he’s a pathetic kid. You are wrong. He’s everything I could have ever asked in a son. I am not saying this because I am angry at you. He’s a good son and you need to know that too. I just need you to think about what I said.” She gazed at him for a long minute, then dumped the shards of glass in the trashcan,  turned off the lights and left him in darkness.

***

4th July 2010

10:33 PM

In the darkness, John staggered. He had come back from the world of the dead, and rather than be a good father and a good husband, he had made things worse. He had wallowed in self pity, when he should have been supporting his son and his wife. Carter had taken the reins of the house in his hands.  He recollected mortgage loans, education fees, utility bills and his heart cried at the burden his family had been drowning under.

***

4th July 2010

11:03 PM

Sitting by Carter’s bed, in the soft light of the night lamp, Miriam thumbed through his baby pictures. Carter in his PJs at two. Carter on his father’s shoulders at the Independence day barbecue when he was three, their sun-kissed faces red in the afternoon heat. She lovingly grazed her fingertips on the glossy prints, wondering how their loving little family had turned into strangers who were no longer sensitive to each other’s feelings. In the silence, she wept recollecting the hurt Carter had hurled on his father, for the lost love between a husband and his wife, a love so lost she was didn't know how to rekindle it again. She yearned to touch him, lean into him, look into his eyes and have him tell her that it would be alright. But she didn't know where to begin. 

Standing outside Carter’s room, John could hear her muffled sobs. They tore at his heart and he wanted her to stop. Building up his resolve as best as he could, he shuffled into the room. His eyes met Miriam’s across Carter’s sleeping form and with forlorn eyes he mouthed the words “I am sorry”. She looked at him for a second, then the floodgates opened and tears flowed down her cheeks. Rushing into his embrace, she let herself have a good cry. 

“I need you too Mimmy. I need you and I need Carter, I am sorry. We’ll be alright. We’ll be alright. I promise. Shh... Shh” He said, in a rush to get the words out. Sitting up in his bed, a sleepy Carter just smiled.