Kash jogged at his usual pace in the garden behind his apartment building. Although it was the middle of the night, the garden still had a few occupants, all of them pre-teen boys. Maybe because the exam season was on, Kash thought carelessly. The boys must be taking a break from their studies.
Kash vividly remembered his school days. He used to study until his head dropped onto the book in his hands. Even then, he didn’t bother accompanying his classmates for group study, and over time, they had stopped inviting him.
Realizing he had spent several minutes in melancholy memories, Kash sped up his pace until all his concentration remained on the path ahead. Once he started to feel the strain in his legs, he began to slow down.
The park was empty now, and a look at his watch let him know that he had been running for more than 30 minutes. Kash felt the cold breeze clinging to his back, bringing respite from the sweat.
He could hear the chirping of crickets and some bats circling around. It was time to go back. As Kash started to walk towards the exit gate, he noticed a figure from the corner of his eye and halted. Kash wasn’t a believer in ghosts or anything spooky, but he had grown up hearing lots of nightmarish stories. They had all taught him that if you ever felt any presence, you shouldn’t acknowledge it.
Kash found it difficult not to turn around, but ghosts were the least of his worries. He had things to take care of tomorrow. This run was to clear his mind, which was clouded with doubts and fears. Kash pushed himself to move ahead without turning back, but as he exited the park, he felt whoever was in the garden was now behind him. He could hear the footsteps clearly. New beads of sweat formed on his forehead, and he tried to remember the numerous prayers he had learned in his life that might come to his aid now. But when the figure brushed past him, a whimper escaped him.
The figure was of a small kid. He looked familiar to Kash; maybe he had seen him in his building. The kid looked absolutely normal. Neither his face was too pale nor his eyes had dark blackened holes. In fact, the kid had a fearful expression while looking at him. He was about 10 years old, had messy hair, and his clothes were old and well-worn, with a big yellow stain on his t-shirt. There was a rumpled vulnerability to him that made Kash want to comfort him. Kash spoke when the kid took a step back and was either about to sprint away or cry on the spot.
“I’m sorry, I got startled. What are you doing out here? Where are your parents? You shouldn’t be out so late,” Kash spoke in a soft tone, not wanting to scare the kid any more than he already had. The kid relaxed a little but still seemed wary as he kept his distance.
“My parents usually work late. I sometimes come out to see other children after my homework is done. I live in this building,” the kid pointed to Kash’s building, his tone betraying that he was still fearful. Now Kash remembered; the kid must have been the one living just below his floor because he often heard his voice at night.
Kash nodded at the kid and resumed their walk.
“Even though you live here, it’s still not okay to be out unsupervised at such a time. I also live in the same building. I’ll accompany you today, but be mindful next time,” Kash didn’t want to scold him, but the kid needed to understand.
“You… you’re not going to tell my parents, right?” The kid stopped when Kash didn’t respond right away. He looked ready to sprint again. Kash noticed the slight redness of his cheeks and his shining eyes that glittered in the light.
“I… I won’t if you don’t sneak out again.” The kid breathed a sigh of relief and gave a nod to Kash before walking again. A sudden rush of guilt overwhelmed Kash, as he knew he would speak to the kid’s parents.
When they reached the lift inside the building, to Kash’s surprise, the kid spoke first, “Will you take care of me?” Kash was taken aback by this unusual request and was about to ask the kid what he meant when the lift door opened. As Kash stepped inside, he noticed the kid didn’t follow. He gestured for the kid to come in, but the kid stayed rooted to the spot. He tried to speak, but his mouth wouldn’t cooperate, and his eyes felt heavy. He tried to step out of the elevator, but his feet were frozen. He looked at the kid, who smiled at him and said, “Goodbye, Kash,” before Kash’s eyes closed.
Kash woke up with a start as his father yelled at the TV screen in the next room. It took him a moment to realize that he had been dreaming. He tried to remember the details but couldn’t, and the harder he worked his mind to grasp the fleeting memories, the easier they slipped away. He lazily moved his body out of the bed and then his room and was greeted by the normal sight of his family. His father on one side with his legs sprawled on the table watching TV, and on the other side of the room, his mother in a hurry to set the table and at the same time working on her laptop.
He shook his head and walked to the kitchen.
“Uth gaye laadsahab.” His father’s usual greeting welcomed him as he came out after taking a glass of water during a commercial break on the screen. Should he ignore the jab? There was no point in replying, but it would become a scene if he didn’t.
“Yeah, I slept late.” He offered lamely.
His father laughed in a manner that showed how unfunny he found the situation. “Must be wasting time as usual. It has been two years since you finished college, and you haven’t even got a job. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? I know I am.”
Well, you should be because you still live on your wife’s salary. The reply burned on Kash’s tongue, but he dared not say it aloud. His mother wouldn’t approve.
“I am trying.” He said instead. Again, his father laughed and shook his head, then turned to his mother.
“You are way too soft with him. If you had let me handle him, we wouldn’t be in this situation. Anyway, I have found a solution for all of us.” My mother and I sneaked a look at each other, silently asking if the other knew of the new scheme being hatched.
“Be ready, a girl’s family is going to come and see you.” To say I was shocked would be an understatement. I had my mouth open to reject the idea, but then the commercial break ended, and my father dismissed us and got back to his TV. I turned to my mother, who was looking at me with nervousness in her gaze and a plea for silence. My heart was in my throat as I walked back to my room. She can’t fight for me; that was what her plea and request for cooperation meant.
I can’t get married. I can’t get married. I… I am not ready. Why does he want me to get married? I can’t get married. But what can I do? If I go outside and say no, my father would beat up my mom in their room, and if I try to stop him, my mom would scold and plead with me for society’s sake. I can’t leave this house; I don’t have any income. I don’t even have any friends who can help me out.
I can’t get married. I CAN’T GET MARRIED. I don’t know how, but I was standing in my bathroom, near the mirror, and there was a blade in my hand. A hazy memory from the dream startled me, and I almost dropped the blade, but the voice of a kid echoed in the room, “Will you take care of me?”
“And then what happened?” My therapist probed after I didn’t continue with the story.
“I don’t know, I don’t remember.” She looked at me like she didn’t believe me, but then she shut her expression down as that would be unprofessional. She nodded in understanding. I know she knows; we both know she doesn’t understand. I am a 40-year-old person, married, and the father of two kids. And this is my first visit to a company-mandated therapy session.
When she asked me what she could help me with, this is the incident I decided to divulge. Why? I really don’t know. I know my subconscious wants to give me a hint. That kid what exactly was he trying to say? I know it was me. That was the first time my father beat the hell out of me when I came back from school. I had saved money and bought an ice cream, but it left a stain on my clothes. I was scared and ran out, fearing he would kill me. Later, my mother found me. When I returned home, I found out my father couldn’t find his wallet, and when he saw the ice cream stain, he thought I had stolen from him. My mother told me to ask for permission next time. I could never say that I hadn’t stolen the money and that I had saved it. My father never apologized, and my mother never asked him to. It wasn’t right.
And the other day didn’t go as I described as well. I did end up succumbing to cutting my wrist, but that really didn’t resolve my issues.
I had to move out of that place, letting go of the hope that I could save my mother. Living with the guilt of not loving her enough and choosing to run away. I lived somehow until I got a job to sustain myself, and maybe the birth of my son a year back and the constant detachment I feel towards him could have led me to that story. Because it’s different with my son. I had a daughter previously, and with her, I never felt this way. She never brings out that ugly monster rage inside me like my son does sometimes, involuntarily. I’m scared I’m going to hurt him. And I don’t want to. I love both my children equally, but then why do I feel this way? What is it that I can’t understand?
Numerous things could be said and done right now, but having said this story out loud felt like a long burden I finally accepted that I carry around with me. I didn’t know I had to tell this story, but now that I did, I want to say a lot more. A lot of things that were lodged in my throat and now they have found their way out. Finally. Maybe I will start with why I wanted the ice cream that day.