‘If you could not afford it, why did you even attempt to take it up?’ mom cried out loud. As far as I could remember, I always saw her head dotted with a constant line. She had come all the way through this on her own. Her family was presented with several petals of luxury. She was told that the boy earned well enough and was a partner in the family business. He earned Rs 3,000; a princely sum in the 70’s. Being a Delhiite and a pretty one at that, had given her several reasons to feel proud. After marrying Dad, she realized that she was duped. She came to a family that already had 3 mothers-in-law, a father-in-law who did not think it necessary to involve dad as a partner and a husband for whom sports defined life. Sure he did work; he had a few trucks under his name; a business better known as freight in today’s world.
After dabbling in several Gymkhanas, he made wealthy friends. After all a game of badminton was expensive; the shuttlecock was made of albatross feathers; a rarity at the time. So when Dad would come back often tired after a soul shattering game of badminton, all he could think of was rest. I was scared of going up close to him as perpetually mom would ask him of the project that he had taken up. Of course he never answered her straight up front. He was too tired to do that. Though I was the only child; mom made sure that she would keep me under severe discipline. After all single children always tend to be pampered is what she had learnt.
On my part, I rarely thought of Dad as a villain. I mean, he signed my report cards, smiled at my remarks and was least bothered to prance on Mom’s constant irritation about me. For me he was Superman; but without wings. He was always tired after a good game of badminton and all he found when he got home was a comfortable bed and a cuddly daughter in me. As time passed he went through immense torture in making ends meet. He suddenly realized that I was growing, and fast. While I was the obedient child, I was scared of his superficial poverty. It broke me into bits when I had to ask him for a 2 rupee note. I wondered if it added to his debt. When I was a college going teenager, I used to wonder why we lived so far. I mean I could have walked unto my college. I did not have to ask for money to get to there.
But I think it was before I went to college that I learnt the most precious lesson in life. That to earn someone’s respect, you needed to be financially independent and a little dishonest. On the occasion that I had been slapped by my grand mom, for speaking the truth, I found everyone against me; including Dad. He said nothing but gave me the feeling of being unwanted because I was a girl. I was reduced to skin and bones after severe thrashing for speaking the truth; only because the race to earn money was much above feelings.
As life churned on, I realized that with every lakh Dad made, he gave away a little of his soul. Almost as if he was sacrificing pieces of his heart while flying up the money ladder! Feelings were nothing but opportunities that needed to be trained, so that they are tapped, & at the right time. My Superman was somewhat jaded with salt and pepper hair, a constant line glistening over his forehead and anger seething through his bifocals. I am not sure what we sacrificed then, morality, happiness or time; or all of it. It only made one picture clear; that to earn money and to drive yourself into wealth, you have to sacrifice. Most men would call it sacrifice, others would call it business and artistic fools like us would term it as the cremation of life!
