Today? Or tomorrow?
“Is this life only for tomorrow?” I asked myself after reading the e-mail. Being a writer, I couldn’t adjudicate the case. It’s neither a criminal one nor a civil one. It’s the fight between a father and their son for something else which is very indispensable for their life. I summoned up the first mail which was written to me by the father of a reader of my monthly magazine.
After familiarizing himself to me, he started his words; not from the mind but from the heart. “I am a retried government employee from Trichy. It is heart- rending for myself and my wife to be solitary reapers in the desert of loneliness. Sometimes, I even ask myself ‘Why I am still living in this world? Not else a man with duty, except mine.’ I toiled and made my son American engineer; made my sweat into currency for the sake of his life. I sweat now for the reasons that no reciprocate are for me. He has deserted from me; took away all my life with him. Is currency enough to comfort a person?
We are now dwelling now in a private old age home; a one which is owned by my son. Yes, it is a house which was built by my son for the sake of us. We have a nurse; a servant; a driver and everything. They do carry out their duty for exchange; not with love. They furnish with money, lots and lots of money than what we hanker after. But not even a bit of bliss. My wife and me are an asthma patient; cannot come and breathe in cold regions of America where my son is subsisted.
They not even draw closer to us. I have seen my grandson just the once; an age in which he couldn’t comprehend us his grandparents. Myself should oblige my duty to my grandson; but not earned a chance yet. He makes his odd trip once in two years; but barely sojourns more than four days. As he holds green card and as he has established himself in America he made America his local land. This is a life without any persons to speak with; to enjoy with; to interact with. They may suppose that we are good going; but the real fact is that we merely live for the sake that we are alive; are waiting for death to lay its icy hand on us. He procures your book in bundle every time when he comes here. He is a die-hard fan of your writing. Can you direct him to offer my reciprocate?” And, that’s it.
He portrayed the image of his stone-hearted son. Not only had that he also inquired me to sort out the function. Consequently, I forwarded the tear-jerking communiqué to his son. I had no retort for the mail; often my heart sat with the ideas of those poor old solitary reapers. Not for long though. I have put my mind out of that stuff and made myself hectic with other engagements.
But guilt complex beat my heart often. When I walked off to an old age home with my friend who was interested in societal assistance, it pumped up in my heart like a flood does in the streets. The visit dredged up the mail and soon I proceeded home to check out the reply mail. Still it was not there. “I am not goanna leave this”, I said to myself. So again I dispatched the mail to that hardhearted fellow. Within minutes, I had a mail. “If I say my heart, it will not be a medic for the cause; will add infection to the disease”, solicited that poor rich fellow. It added more thrill and kick to the topic. Queries travelled in my brain like “What may be the riposte? What’s may be his motto?”
Meanwhile, I was asked to come to my office. When I set out there, I was snowed under astonishment for the reason that a writing of mine fetched me a trip to Los Angeles, America. Soon I got the reminiscence of the poor rich American -Indian and plotted an idea in my mind to pop in him.
As I had the passport and visa, I got ready for the expedition to America. I pulled up the things and moved up for the scene. I was preparing myself as if I am going to interrogate a prime minister. Awaiting the answer, I couldn’t even sleep well. The very first action which I did do in America was contacting him.
My plan has got established yet a condition was laid. He obviously pronounced “You should not speak about the mail; however you’ll go with the answer.” I wondered why; but went by his words. I was engaged for the dinner at the third night of American tour. I was welcomed with warmth; served properly; yet a different one; had a distinguished beauty. I say forth not by the culture of that American people; but for the Indian who had made Indian culture look atypical.
He was enjoying all the time with me. He never wanted me to come to him; but the vice versa. Usually when we go to a party, we will be served with coffee, then with banquet; but a small sum of interaction. But here, they gave me what I liked; we played carrom and lots and lots of stuffs which made us come close to. It was like an interaction session.“Pull that shot out, uncle!” said his son to me as we formed a squad. In no time they all turned out to be my comrade .It was not a restricted life; not with a cyclic border. Family lives by its heart; not by brain. Any combination of letter cannot articulate that paradise. He is enjoying his life out there in the beautiful paradise of wife and two children. Were I be him, I would be the akin.
It was my time to return. “But what blooper made their parents, a forlorn reaper?” blinked my mind in the plane. It’s is his responsibility to attend to his parents. Within a second, I mailed “But what blooper made their parents, a forlorn reaper?”
Reply: “Life is not for fetching a better end; I mean ‘Life is there for us; not to have a better death’. It’s there for us to be jovial; exultant; cheery. Simply to denote, it’s just for us to be on cloud nine. But my father taught me only for the future; it’s just for the future; nothing for contemporary days.
Yes, not only that he sweat hard that he made us sweat hard; and thus a result to sweat. Not even a single second, I was allowed to take the treasure of joy. We know nothing excluding textbooks. No tour, no worship in the temples and no to theaters. Even during holidays, I had never gripped the bat’s handle, but always gripped a textbook in my hand. I feel repentance at this point as I could not run in the green paddock with no sorrow like a small boy. I was ignored from the enjoyment of childhood. I always felt like a man rather than a boy.
They talked to me only for clearing my pangs in lessons. They never said their pain to me and heard nothing from me except textbook pangs. I often wondered and asked myself “Does the life have only duty?” Yes, I thought in past. But now I am not the same small kid who does posses only textbooks. “No” will be my reply without any concern. After my posting in America, my life has widened up with friends, colleagues. And thus a result I never wanted Trichy to be my native. Also there is none for me to cope with. Still, they think that it is their duty to look after their grandson. When one thinks duty as enjoyment, then the world is full of bliss.
I am not an opposite of them; also not to India. I just wanted them to realize the life; more importantly the beauty of life which is enjoyment. Still, they have something to realize. At that time, I would come up there; waiting for them to shed the tears with love. When they become conscious that Life is not for fetching a better end, I pledge to give them their boundless pleasure.”
“Is this life only for tomorrow?” I asked myself after reading the e-mail. Being a writer, I couldn’t adjudicate the case. But I do want to give the conclusion. “Life is not just with duties. The real beauty is its enjoyment. Small happiness add jewellery to the life” “Thinking about the future, we miss the present”, I added to his son’s mail and delivered it to their parents.
A story by
ANIRUDH
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