Mom Dad

She’s been in bad shape for the last couple of weeks now. It’s her left leg. It might be a varicose vein or something. He’s taking her to the doctor’s today. He asks me whether I could take her instead. He’s been working all night and has come home at 6 that morning. You can clearly make out that he needs sleep.

I am caught unawares by his question and mumble a sort of positive response. I ask her if it’s ok that he’s not coming to the doctor’s. She doesn’t say anything but stares at him. Then she sighs and turns her face away. She’s in pain, and you don’t know what that sigh was for. But he knows. He starts to say something, but she interrupts, “You always have a problem taking me anywhere…”

The inevitable argument ensues, and I have to step in as peacemaker. After that come those few minutes of silence, when no one speaks; everyone stares aimlessly at the TV set.

As I go around doing my morning chores, he cracks a couple of jokes. He’s feeling bad. He wants to see her smiling again. I pitch in with some goofy comments, and finally she gives up trying to be angry. He says to me, “Only you guys can make her laugh; it’s beyond my abilities…” We all have a good laugh.

He takes her to the doctor’s as planned. He never really expected me to take her on my own.

*******

He sits in the living room while she makes parathas; it’s traditional Northern Indian bread. “Please come and get these. You won’t like them if they go cold”, she hollers from behind the electric stove.

He replies from the living room that we’ll all eat together. The TV is loud, so he has to shout over the noise. He asks her to tell us when everything’s ready. “These are supposed to be served hot”, she insists. “No, we can wait. You always end up eating alone, after we finish”, he insists back. “Go and help her; get the plates and glasses ready”, he tells me.

She pleads with him again. This time he raises his voice. This time it’s not the TV. “I told you…” he begins. “Ok alright, alright…” she cuts in. Unspoken words form an essential part of the agreement.

By the time we are having food, everyone’s forgotten about it. It’s routine. The TV is loud as ever. He reaches for the remote and switches channels. I shake my head and point out how absurd soap-operas have gotten these days. She asks him if he needs anything else…

*******

“You never have time to talk to me when you’re home. Can’t you turn off the TV for even a few minutes?” she complains. The phone rings. “Or else it’s that! I tell you, you should have married Air India. Then everyone would have been happy.”

The phone call takes ages. The next arriving flight has been delayed. That means more work. Frustrated, she finally loses patience. “I’m going to bed. Goodnight.”

After about half an hour, he’s finally done. She pretends to wake up from deep sleep as he enters the bedroom. She complains a bit, and then asks what happened with the delayed flight. He explains, but in short. She wants details.

“Not at this time of the night; I’ll tell you tomorrow”, he says in a tired voice. “You never let me in on anything…and don’t you touch that CD player now!”

The walls are really thin. I can hear their banter from my room. Just like two kids in grown-ups’ bodies. You’d never know the difference. I smile as I tuck myself in.

Note: This assignment was "Write a piece about the relationships between Men and Women". I could have picked something/someone else, but the truth is I really, really, only wanted to write about my folks. So here's to you Mum and Dad!!!