Unspoken


Anthony walked back to his home slowly.

He was returning to his home from the service at the church. Today’s sermon had nothing new to offer, what he had not known for the last 69 years of his life. His knee was paining as ever, thanks to the arthritis now creeping in due to his old age. The walking stick was his most trusted friend now. Sometimes, he felt his walking stick was the only thing in the world he could trust with his life.

A retired government employee, Anthony had lived a life what many people would have termed as a mellowed down version of a prophet’s. He was a quiet man; hardly spoke to his neighbors, always minding his own business and never interfering in the lives of others. His own friend often complained how little did they knew about him, for which he partly felt responsible. He had seen the matrix of life and had learnt how disillusioning it is.

After reaching his home, he made his way to the cupboard and hung his coat on the hook. He reached his armchair by the window and sat down, admiring the beauty of the rain-drenched street outside. The maid had already left after finishing the household chores. The kettle was steaming with black, hot tea, which he thought he would drink later. For the moment, he wanted to do nothing, but let the silence of his abode engulf him.

The smell of petrichor wafting through the cracks and crevices in the walls of his home reminded him of his bygone days. He gazed longingly at the puddle of water accumulated in the pothole just there on the street. He was a child again, jumping in the muck and playing with his friends. He was rolling in the mud, laughing his heart out and throwing cups of brown mud at his friends. He remembered running for his life as he saw his mother coming at him from their hut, brandishing a cane and yelling at the top of her lungs for him to get out from the puddle. Those days of being carefree had an innocence he never experienced ever again. Those wishful hours on being in school or studying in tuitions, waiting to grow up seemed like a heartbeat now. How stupid he felt when he cursed himself and couldn’t wait to grow up!

His phone began to ring, shattering the heavy silence with its sound. He turned his head slowly. He was sure the call was from his son. He tried to turn away from his chair and get a hold of his walking stick. But even getting up from the chair required every ounce of strength he had in his frail bones. He groaned as he collapsed back in the chair again. When he finally managed to stand up, the phone’s ringing had ceased and the room sunk back in its gloomy atmosphere.

He sighed. Gone are the days, when he had the strength of a bull. His wife had once confessed to him when he had carried her to the bedroom in her arms on their wedding night was the best moment of her life. His mind flashed back to the day when he had made her his own. He never thought he would be happy again.

That was until the day his son was born.

He had rushed to the hospital from work, his heart thumping wildly after the call he had received from their neighbour. He reached the hospital a little late. His wife was already rushed in for the delivery and he could hear her screams of labour. He had never felt so anxious and happy at the same time. After an hour of waiting, when the nurse came out with the tiny human in her arms, he swore he could have died with joy. When the nurse showed him the baby’s face and told him it was a boy, he took out all the money he had, circled it around his son’s head and handed it to the nurse. The tears rolling down his cheeks were of pure joy as his hands felt the tiny heart beating in his arms. He hugged his wife as she lay tired on the bed, smiling with tears in her eyes as well. They were blessed with one more child (a daughter) a couple of years later.

Everything went well. He was a happy man. His kids adored him, his wife loved him and his work enabled him to put meals at the table every night. He was content with the way his life was turning out. The family had moved to a small cottage house in the outskirts of the city in Bandra.

But his peace was short-lived for tragedy struck and sucked out his happiness forever..

An epidemic of smallpox broke out sometime in the seventies. His daughter had contracted the deadly disease and there was nothing they could do or tried from stopping their daughter being consumed by it. They watched helplessly as she writhed in pain, her screams driving his son mad. They couldn’t touch her, breath around her or feed her. She was isolated from them and was always under the care of the doctors in the government run-KEM hospital. It seems God was cruelly testing them. He seemed to be punishing their daughter for their sins or so his wife thought.

Anthony began to cry. The memories of his daughter always reduced him to tears. He remembered her last days as if it had just happened the day before. First, the pox had mutilated her skin, and then took away her vision. Her anguished yells as life excruciatingly inflicted pain upon on, coupled with the wailing of his wife kept him awake for nights later on. They were not allowed to bury her as the doctors did not want to risk the spread of the disease further.

His wife died three years later. No matter what he said, no matter what he did to help her overcome the death of her daughter could do to uplift her spirits. He remembered being angry, yelling at her to come out of her sorrow; to take care of their only child left, but to no avail. The doctors tried to help her, but nothing could be done. In the end, he became a widower by the age of twenty nine with a nine year old kid.

Perhaps he often wondered whether it was the right decision he made by not remarrying after his wife’s death. People would often come and talk to him to get over her by offering words of comfort, sympathy and making him think about his son’s future. Some often used harsh words to describe his wife’s actions - words his own son would use again to talk about his mother years later. But he just couldn’t bring himself up to the prospect of restarting life once again. He decided to dedicate his life to raising his son.


 Anthony sat broodingly on the armchair, waiting for the phone to ring again.

His grandson Michael had taught him how to use the phone, but he had forgotten how to make a call from it. He preferred his old phone, with all the buttons and the small screen. He still had it, he thought so, but did not remember where it was stashed away, after Michael had gifted him this new device. The touch screen phone was heavy and complicated to use.

He stared aimlessly outside the window. The rains had abated for some time. It had gone from a thunderous shower to a light drizzle in a matter of two hours. People resumed going back to their business on the streets. It was almost midday and he could see many school children, some accompanied by their parents, passing by his house wearing gumboots and raincoats covering them from head to toe.

He recalled fondly when he escorted his son Joseph to school. Joseph was a very shy kid or at least, he pretended to be around him. The tales he had heard about Joe from his teachers and friends portrayed another side of him. Being a government employee and a young widower, he got the sympathy of his boss, who arranged his schedule to accommodate him to drop Joe to school every day. Joe would come back to his office in the evening and then the father & son would back home hand-in-hand.

He would ask Joseph about his day at school and what new he learned today. Although Anthony was illiterate, he made sure to constantly keep a tab on Joseph’s study by enrolling him in tuitions near their house. Joseph was a very talkative kid and would often ask Anthony about his day at work.  Sometimes, he would ask about his mother.

It was in these moments Anthony would become quiet and did not know what to say to the kid, who was still growing up. There were so many things he would not understand. The sorrow his mother felt was still heavy on his heart. Anthony decided not to talk about his mother in order to avoid Joe thinking about her further.

Perhaps, not talking about his mother was the biggest mistake Anthony ever did. Joseph grew up to not only resent his mother and the reason of her death, but also learn that his father was someone who was not to be bothered much.

As Joseph grew up to be a tough, independent young man, Anthony began to grow old. Many people at work would often complain that he looked too old for his age. His face started developing wrinkles in his late thirties. His hair turned grey prematurely and not soon enough left him bald. He became bent more with the experiences of life than age. By the age of fifty-three, he had suffered a heart attack and as he entered his sixties, he had developed arthritis.

Meanwhile, Joseph had immigrated to the USA in pursuit of his medical studies, thanks to the scholarship he received from his school and college. Eventually, he became a doctor, married an American girl and settled down to start a family. Anthony too shifted to the US to join his extended family.

But Anthony could never adapt to the customs of the West. He had grown up and lived all of his life in India. He had to quit his government job and had moved to the US to stay close to his son and his grandkids. Although his daughter-in-law treated him as her own father, there was something which Anthony would never ever overcome.

It was the shame of being illiterate. His son and his family only spoke with each other in English. Anthony had never been to school and had never learnt to read & write.

His daughter-in-law tried teaching him English, but he could not get the hang of it. There was nothing he could connect with being among their midst. The language, the customs, the food – it all felt unfamiliar and despite trying to adapt himself to the situation around him, he realized the ship had sailed now.

Joseph was devastated when Anthony told him going back to India. He pleaded and begged with his father to stay here. He wanted to know why he wanted to go back. But Anthony could not bring himself up to it. After a lot of emotional threats and tears, Joseph relented and accompanied his father back to India.

On the journey back, Anthony noticed Joseph becoming distant. He did not speak to him at all, avoiding eye contact as well. Anthony tried talking to his son about his reasons of moving back, but all his words fell on deaf ears.

When they finally reached home, Joseph helped take the luggage inside. For some time, he stood staring at the house from outside.

“Aren’t you going to come inside?” asked Anthony.

“No,” replied Joseph.

“Why is that?” he asked again.

“Why don’t you tell me about why you really don’t want to leave with us?” asked Joseph. There was a hint of a plea in his voice. Anthony was strongly reminded of himself pleading with his wife so many years ago.

There were so many things Anthony wanted to say to him. But what he said next was something he would come to regret soon.

“Son, how do you expect me to stay in a foreign country in my old age?” yelled Anthony, his voice cracking like a whip. He burst out, “Don’t you have any shame, forcing your old father to move to a country, where everything is strange to him? Is this the reason why I sent you abroad to study? I toiled all these years for you and YOU HAVE BEEN SO SELFISH! Why can’t your wife and kids move back in here with me? Never once did you think how your old man would survive in there, didn’t you? Perhaps, this is what you wanted all along – to punish me for what your mom did to you all those years ago -”

He froze, realizing what he had just said. He saw tears streaming down Joseph’s face. It came as a shock to him to see his grown up son, a man in his thirties, crying in front of him. He had never seen Joseph cry before.
Without saying another word, Joseph walked past his father. Anthony called out for him. But Joseph simply called out for a cab and left, never to see his father again.


Anthony sighed. He was surprised by the torrential influx of memories he was remembering this morning. There was something about today, he could feel it. The cool breeze rattled his window. A little of the rainwater tried to seep into his room from outside, but got obstructed by the curtains, dampening them. The rain had started again and he could see people running helter-skelter to protect themselves.

There was a time when he loved the monsoon season. He still did. Those stolen hours sitting at Marine Drive with a corn cob in his hand as the sea waves crashing at his leg. Sometimes, the waves were too big, rising over the pavement and drench those sitting on there. He would always visit the promenade every monsoon, just to sit there quietly and admire the dark grey clouds approaching the city like an invading army. The south-west monsoon winds brought him messages from his daughter’s ashes now settled at the bottom of the Arabian Sea.

It had been 15 years he had seen Joseph
since that fateful day. He had never spoken to his father again. Although Joseph had made arrangements to ensure his father’s financial needs were taken care of, he had never bothered to call him again. The grandkids would often come to visit him a Christmas or two, sometimes along with their mother, but Joseph never did. His daughter-in-law tried to reconcile them both, but Anthony would never mention what had caused the rift, nor apparently had Joseph. In the end, she gave up and would occasionally send him pictures of the family.

Anthony cupped the phone in his hands. This is how his day would be. Go to church every morning, come back home by the time the maid had done the day’s chores of cleaning the home, washing his clothes, preparing his food and take care of his medicines. Such kinds of maids were hard to find in the city, but she was loyal to him and spoke to him very kindly. He guessed it was more out of the amount of money he gave to her as salary, which ensured she did not have to work in any other house after his.

Anthony looked out the window. He saw a flock of birds flying away in the distance. He gazed at them longingly. If only he could fly away like that..But, there were so many things that tied him down to earth. His home, his son… But, was he really tied down? His own blood would not talk to him. His home did not felt like home ever since he started living alone. He felt heavy inside. His heart had grown weary, just like his body had grown too. All he wanted was a slice of happiness, but the human chains of shame and pain had prevented him from flying away to the horizon.

He looked out of his window for one last time before closing his eyes. The view was breathtaking. The grey stretch of the city bathed by monsoon under the dark grey sky, the sound of the raindrops falling on the streets, the smell of petrichor and pollutants in the air contrasted by the gloom and silence of his house.

As he closed his eyes, he muttered, “So much time after all, so much left unspoken…”

****

It was around 11 in the night when the phone began to ring. The kids had already gone to bed. Laura was in the kitchen, completing the late-night chores as Joseph sat in the hall watching a movie.

“Hello?” he answered not taking his eyes off the TV.

“Is Joseph there?” asked a quavering voice in Hindi. It was a woman.

“Yes?” he answered back, “It is me, Joseph.” He understood the call was from India.

“Joseph ji, your father has passed away,” she said.



“I’m sorry, who is this?” he asked, not certain whether this call was meant for him.

“I am the maid who worked at your father’s home in Bandra,” she said, “I just came home now to find him resting on his armchair, looking outside. It was very unusual as he always went to church in the morning. I called him twice, he did not answer. When I went to check on him, I realized he was not breathing. The dinner was left uneaten and his bed untouched. I called a doctor and he confirmed that he has departed.”

“How did you get my number?” Joseph asked confusedly.

“Your son, Michael, had given it to me; the last time he was here,” she answered, “In case of emergencies.”

Joseph sat in silence. He could hear his wife from the kitchen, asking who was on the phone. He did not know what to say. He felt confused by the rush of emotions he felt in him. He had not spoken to his father for the last 15 years. He felt odd. He had never thought about of him much. He spoke to the maid, thanking her for informing him and asked if she could arrange for his body to be transported to the nearest hospital.

Thankfully, the maid was a smart woman, who had already called an ambulance and had already checked with the hospital for the body to be stored in the morgue for Anthony’s family to arrive from the US.

Joseph later broke the news to his wife, to his children and grandchildren. Strangely, he found that he was calm and at peace when he told them about the patriarch’s death. They broke down into sobs, especially his children, whom he knew were close to the old man. His son Michael immediately jumped into action and started arranging for the flight tickets to India.

“I am so sorry, sweetheart,” said Laura softly. She gave him a hug.

“I am okay,” he said, trying his best to control his urge to cry, “It is good that he passed away in his sleep”. H was moved by the sympathy displayed by Laura more than the shock of his father’s passing away.

“I know, love,” she said.

They left for India around 5 in the morning. His wife and his children, Michael and Rose, along with their spouses accompanied them. Joseph was caught in a daze; his heart going through a whirlwind of emotions. In all these years, he had rarely thought of his father. His father’s last words had pierced like shards of ice and broken his heart beyond repair. Whenever he thought of meeting him or calling him, his mind would often recall that afternoon, when he had heard those disdainful words from a man he worshipped. Laura would often try to talk to him, nudge him, get to know what really transpired, but he refused to tell her. He did not want to tarnish or destroy whatever love and respect she had for him.

The funeral arrangements had already been made by some common friends Joseph still had. Throughout the service, he remembered the last time his mother had died. He was a small kid, sitting in the very same church, crying his heart out as his father was silently staring at the coffin. The funeral proceedings went smoothly.  He did not say a word or let any emotion betray him. He stood quietly watching by the side, consoling a distraught Rose, while Michael and Laura paid their last respects.

At last, it was his turn to approach the coffin. As he stood by it, he saw the heavily wrinkled face for the first time clearly. He noticed how pale his skin had become. Surprisingly, he had never paid attention to his features before. His hands were covered with gloves, crossed over his diaphragm as if in prayer, a rosary wound between his fingers. For him, he was always the young man who would take him home after school, holding his hand.

As he stood by the coffin thinking of the life his father had led, he couldn’t help but feel anything. His heart wanted to cry out, hold some part of him before he was lowered in the grave. He wanted to touch his face, hold them in his palms and kiss his forehead, but couldn’t bring himself to it. He knew this sadness was temporary.

His mind was filled with the sound of those accusations his father had unfairly yelled at him. He wanted to yell at him, hurt him, abuse him for saying such things; how could his own father call him selfish, when he had done so much for him? How could his father think he forced him to do anything? Did he not wish to stay with his grandchildren? How could he even think Joseph was punishing him for his mom’s death? He hated his mother for ignoring him, when he needed her. He had always loved his father more than anything, and yet the arrogant old man never understood.

He often wondered what his father actually wanted to say to him that fateful day - perhaps a bit more of that hate speech. He had succeeded in scarring Joseph’s life forever; why not damage him mentally even more?

‘When your spoken words have broken me so much, I wonder what those words you left unspoken would have done to me’.

The coffin was finally lowered and covered with earth again. The flowers were laid. Joseph looked up. The sky was becoming overcast with dark clouds and soon it would rain. The sooner he got out of there, the better.

As he walked back to the car waiting outside, he resolved never to come back to India again.                                                                                                                          

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