Jungtina Jamir
It was a Sunday and a friend of mine had come to take me for a ride. God had intentions that day. The afternoon was just waking up from the heavy showers it had in the morning. It was beautiful.
I remembered the first time I learned to ride a bike. My brother let me take the wheel and steer to my hearts content. Of course it was a disaster!
I guess the cringe on my face showed my ‘o-my-goodness, it’s that dangerous speed-bike’. But my friend had the peace of a monk! We headed aimless. Just about anywhere the road led. Then it came, just like that.
“I had an argument with my dad this morning. I am darn ANGRY. I guess he doesn’t love me like he would have loved his real son!”
It was almost unbelievable to hear that. I thought I was hearing things.
“You know why I asked you to come with me for a ride?” he asked.
“er…time pass?” I stammered.
“No man!...I want to share the fret I have inside me”, he said
At that moment uncertainty dropped like a heavy log in my heart. Worries make me worry. So there! But anyway, I was ready to listen.
“What happened?” I asked.
“I don’t think my dad and me ever had a good conversation. Normal conversation!” he blurted out. “I have things going on in my life but he always has something to say to the things I want”.
“You know, my father! He is not my real father. I was adopted years ago, when I was six or something. I must admit though, that when he first held me I felt excitedly warm, that I belonged to him all the time; and like I was all the time born to the wrong woman, the wrong husband, the wrong parents. I am now 26 and riding upon a road aimless. The idea of death is so simple to me …and even at this age, I dismiss it with morbid hopelessness. I didn’t mind dying at age six and I don’t mind dying now either”, he lashed.
Despite the fact that on my mind I was nervous we might crash on the road, it was not enough to make me realize that here was a friend not ANGRY but hurt and confused.
‘Just like many of us’ I thought.
“Hey, don’t talk like that”, I said with a calm.
His words drowning at the noise as he whispered, “I am sorry. I shouldn’t be talking like this”.
After few seconds of silence I cried out, “hey, let’s stop and talk for a while”. We stopped at a place where there were a whole lot of kids playing cricket.
“Noisy huh?, but its not so bad”, I said. Finding a place on the grass we sat and talked a little about work, a whole lot about video games, a tiny bit about food and a pinch about his girl. I was thinking what he told me earlier. I never knew he was adopted. He never mentioned. So, I guess in some sense I wanted to know what happened. Picking the most careful words I asked him if he remembered a special time he had with his now-dad. He thought for a while and smiled, looked up the sky and gave a sigh. At this point he told me what really happened.
This man he called ‘dad’, lost his wife and son. Sadness could never be explained! He felt the most brutal loneliness in his life. Then, someone in the family opt him adoption. But he though that a child would only remind him of the past. But deep inside he needed unconditional love…it was either that, or death.
“It was strange, how he picked life. So strange…so strange. Sometimes I wish I am his real son”, my friend murmured. “My dad, he tells me that he holds on to me as thought I am the last memory of home”
“aww..thats so heartbreakingly sweet” , I said.
“I have him and he has me. Come to think about it, I love this man….for taking me into his life”, he said.
There was a moment of silence and I can tell you that he welcomed the silence as though it were the only response to a confession.
It was an overwhelming experience for me. I nearly cried on our way back. I got off and said bye bye to him. “What time is it?” he asked hurriedly. “4:30”, I said.
“I better hurry …I have a date with my girl” and he zoomed off.
I got a call pass midnight from the same friend. I had just got home from work then. He sounded happy as he said, “thank you man! Our conversation today let me remember the way my dad held me the first time….a tight grip of love”.
Well, my friend told me that after he got back home he and his dad had a long-good conversation. I guess most of all he renewed his reasons, his faith, his love and his hopes.
I did too!
As I crawled to bed and closed my eyes, I thought of something I never thought before. That when love itself fails, the only way to regain it is to love in other means.…
And right before ‘sleep’ overtook me, I heard a man and his child laughing, and then at last, everything became silent, except the strain of my own breath.
