Day 19 of Paradise: A funny thing happened to me on the way to the elevator. A beefy figure appeared at the entrance to the elevator lobby where I had been waiting, effectively blocking light, air and ventilation to the space and more importantly the only escape route should the elevator doors open to reveal the building secretary. You see, the evening before, I had scratched ‘RaGa is smarter than you’ on his door in retaliation to him putting up my name on the society notice board for for running down the steps and pressing the buttons on all the floors. My only fault is that I got caught. Ok back to the beefy guy. Being a socially responsible guy no names, lets just call him Ashutosh Shirodkar. AS squinted in the semi gloom and as he recognised me, a smirk broke out over his face. ‘Aha!’ he boomed so loudly that the spiders scuttled out in alarm from behind the poster announcing the Society Dandiya celebrations.’ It’s the Author himself. Of that masterpiece, what do you call it? Paradise something, something. Yes, Paradise Lost, isnt that correct?’ ‘No, that was Milton.’ I answered stiffly. ‘My posts have the word paradise within them but thats where the similarity ends. One is a poem by a….’ ‘Yeah, whatever’ he cut me off ‘But its crap, this stuff you write.’ I glanced nervously at the indicator. The lift appeared to have been stuck at the tenth floor and showed no sign of descent and a crowd was building up. They were all listening in intently.. ‘You know what’ he said warming up to his pet peeve ‘I think we should get Your Wife back quickly, so that you stop posting, and spare us the agony of reading it.’ I remained silent, digesting this information. ‘I can even suggest that we crowd fund, and there will be enough people in similar agony, who will willingly donate to buy her an earlier ticket back.’ I thought I heard applause from the crowd. We didnt speak much on the way up. He was convulsed with laughter, beating the scratched stainless sheets of the elevator car with his hands. He winked on his way out ‘Im serious. Think about it.’ Some bastard behind me tittered. Yes, he got me thinking. We have two types of audiences for our posts. The Loyalists and The Genuine-alists. Loyalists hit the Like button without reading the article, for the sake of family peace, protecting fragile male pride, and proving loyalty. Its the other category that we are after. What if ALL the Likes I got were from The Loyalists. It would mean I had great friends and family and little else. And what if ALL were from the second category. It would mean I wrote great prose and I had a bunch of Bastards as friends! I shared a beer with The Elder that evening. He is a few weeks short of twenty. I know this act will show me in poor light, an irresponsible parent encouraging under age drinking. But its was a Saturday evening and its rare to have him home on a weekend, so I took the opportunity and asked him if he would share a beer with me. His eyes narrowed in suspicion, life had taught him that there was no such thing as a free beer. But it must have been my melting, brown, trusting eyes that did the trick, and we are soon sitting companionably on the sofa watching cars being blown to smithereens in ‘Gone in Seconds’. ‘Son’ I started nervously ‘Yeah?’ ‘Do you read what I write?’ Not really pop, but can you pipe down, that car is going to get totalled. Woa-hhhhhh!’ I persisted after the program got over. ‘So, you like my stuff huh?’ ‘Not really Pops. You know what; I think we should get Mom home earlier so that you would stop posting. And Pops, can I have a hundred? Im a little short.’ I stared at him in a daze as he riffled through the contents of my wallet. ‘Were you also in the lift this morning? Has AS Uncle been speaking to you of late?’ ‘No Pop-sicle, and will you calm down and stop waving that kitchen scissor around? You asked me a question and I answered truthfully, and can I have another hundred?’ I am writing this post after conquering some disquieting thoughts. It has been the toughest thing I have done for some time, barring that day when I had to run the 5km Dream Run at five in the morning with the February chill nipping at my ankles. But then I said to myself. I will not be swayed by words and opinions. I want the world to know the trials and tribulations of enforced bachelorhood. My heroic rise against sustained abuse by children who you nurtured, and whose nappies you changed, and who pluck hundred buck notes from your wallet as you watch. My paean to unrequited fatherhood shall echo from galli to galli gathering momentum as more and more oppressed fathers join in. I shall not be stopped. I will not give up.
Posted on: Mon, 13 Oct 2014 14:25:45 +0000
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