Posted:
Trip and Fall
I don't know about you! But I'm feeling 22!
Ok no. I'm not even freaking 23 anymore. Twenty four and in what I like to call the messy part of life. Others call it the actually growing-up part of life. Either way, it's a part of life I'd hoped to fast forward.
But no matter how miserably I failed, Papa was always there. He didn't have it all, he worked as a meager accountant his entire career, working 'till 70 so he could support me while I was at college putting a significant dent in the bank. Now he's 74, I forced him to retire last year. Assuring him I'd figure it out.
Now I'm almost halfway to 30, with no income (nothing impressive anyways), barely any property, drowning in student loans, and the responsibility of the one man who's been there for me my entire life.
I had faint memories of Ma, I was not 7 when she passed away. Although now that I look back on it, she had died way before that.
Dad missed Ma, I'd catch him "man-crying" (which was basically him standing there trying not try) in front of her 30 by 50 portrait in the living room. And I could only wonder what she was like. There was one thing though, despite the tension in those 6-7 years, I remembered about her. It was one thing I was sure belonged to my mom.
It was her scent. She smelled of apples and cinnamon. Ironically enough, I hate apples and cinnamon, together and alone. But I like the way they smell. And every so often, she'd come over to my room with her big red puffy eyes and kiss my forehead while I pretended I was asleep. Then she'd sit there, caress her baby, until I really fell asleep. I don't exactly remember when she left. Or what it felt like. I was asleep.
I remember Dad crying, it was the only time in my life I'd seen him cry. My scattered relatives in the States, some of whom I've never met, came. They mourned. They left.
That day, Papa had hugged me so close, I could barely breathe. But I didn't say anything, his vulnerable state needed assurance of the fact that I was there. Those days he'd put me to bed every night, with a kiss on my forehead, "From Ma," he'd say.
I still get one, even today. My relationship with Ma today is different from that of a typical mother-daughter. I wish I'd known her, my ma.
Dad didn't put on both hats, he loved Ma too much for that. I felt the void, but I couldn't blame him.
And today, I couldn't make him work anymore than he had to, which regardless, he'd already done. But I couldn't bear the lines of stress on his forehead. He'd hide it around me, but I knew he was worried.
Teaching jobs were hard to find. Everyone these days became a teacher, it was the easiest, quickest job that was respected and paid a decent amount. $25,000 starting salary was more than decent for my needs.
I had an interview yesterday, and the day before that, and I have one tomorrow. They were all over the place, New York, South Jersey, Pennsylvania--I didn't care.
Or maybe I did. A little. A little less than I should. Because amongst all of this, I had him. My friend, confidant, and companion.
I admired his immunity to the rat race this world was. Counting the stars, weaving lives of people foreign to us in the air, it was nice. He wasn't the better half, not even a half to begin with. He was a piece of the incomplete puzzle my life was and still is.
I have duties to fulfill, bills to pay, and my own personal needs to satisfy. All while coming to terms with who I was, as a 20-something year old should do. I wanted to go through, no, come out of this existential crisis myself. I wanted to make my own mistakes.
And he was most definitely one I was willing to make.
***
A/N: I was in one of my moods. Don't expect a story of more than 5-6 chapters.
Character driven stories are ruined with forced plots.
And finally, it's not for everyone. If you don't like the "story" I understand.
Character driven stories are ruined with forced plots.
And finally, it's not for everyone. If you don't like the "story" I understand.
-Shweta
Jhanak
Hindi TV Shows
Ye Hai Mohabbatein
Writers Corner: Books, Stories & Poems
124