by Raghu Sarangarajan
It is April, 2027. A lazy Sunday afternoon. Our home is quiet. My wife has gone out with her friends. A perfect time to sit on my wing chair, prop my legs up on the foot stool and read a book. As I walk up to my cosy corner on the mezzanine floor, I hear voices.
I stop on the top step and peep inside.
My son is sitting on the wing chair, his legs propped up on the foot stool and talking to himself. No wait, not to himself. He is talking to his girlfriend. With his phone on speaker. I’m surprised at the nonchalance with which he treats what I would have thought of as a private conversation.
“Baby, baby. Listen. I need to talk to you,” he says. There is no emotion in his voice.
“We are talking,” says the girl.
“No, you are talking, I need to talk. For once.”
“What happened? You sound different. Wait, are you going to break up with me?” she asks.
“No, baby. I am just telling you that we are not in the same space right now.” Well-rehearsed lines. Wait. Have I heard this before?
“But why? Did I do something wrong?”
“No. It is me. I don’t feel I am the right person for you.” He is sticking to his script.
“I knew it. The problem is with you. You are no longer the same. You were sweet when you were trying to take me out for a date the first time. After the first few dates you started acting as if you own me. I am the one who always calls you. You are always busy with your friends. And your friends, they are a bunch of jerks. They always have this wry smile whenever I walk up to you. I don’t know what all you have told them about us. I wish I could punch each one in his face. I wish I could punch you in your face right now. You are such a coward. You do not even have the guts to face me when you want to breakup with me. You don’t even have the balls to face me when you are admitting your mistake. I hate you. Don’t ever call me again.”
My son is sitting up now. Things have not gone according to plan. Breakups: do they ever go according to plan? The line is dead and my son is still staring at the screen as I walk into the room.
“You want to talk?”
“No, pa.”
“I know it is hard…”
“Pa. I am not comfortable talking about all this.”
“Okay.”
I walk down the stairs and pick up the newspaper again. I pick up a pencil to solve the Sunday crossword.
I am chewing the back of the pencil trying to solve at least one clue, when I find my son standing in front of me, smiling mischievously.
“What?”
“Nothing. I was talking to thatha…”
“What did he say?”
“I was telling him about, you know…”
“Your breakup?”
“Hmm, yeah.”
“To your grandfather?”
“Thatha is more like a friend to me.”
“Friend? Hmph.”
“Leave all that. I was talking to him and he was laughing. He said even you had a breakup. And that even he had a breakup. Before I could ask him about it, he started coughing. He asked me to call him later.”
“Okay. Call him later.”
“Pa. Please pa. Tell me about your breakup. Please.”
“Sorry, I am busy right now. And I don’t want to dig up old stories.”
“Pa, please pa.”
“You were moping around as if the whole world had come to an end. Now you are jumping around like a monkey asking me about my breakup.”
“Yeah, but when I got to know that breakups run in our blood, I feel okay about it.”
Well, he has a point. I put the newspaper down. With the pencil dancing between my fingers, I am transported to April 2007.
She and I were sitting on the beach. It was a pleasant evening. It was a full moon day and the waves were coming closer to the shore than usual. She was talking and I was replying with mmm’s and aah’s.
Mustering some courage, I interrupted her. “I need to talk to you.”
“What do you think we are doing now?”
“You are talking. Not me. I need to talk. I need to say what I have to say.”
“You are going to break up with me, aren’t you?”
“No baby. I am just telling you that we are not in the same space right now.”
“But why? Did I do something wrong?” she asked, getting up.
I got up, scared that she was about to create a scene. “No. It is me. I don’t feel I am the right person for you.”
“But I don’t think so. I think we are perfect for each other. Why do you want to break up with me? I will do whatever you want me to do.”
Newfound confidence warmed my heart.
“I would like you to make intelligent conversations. Can you? You are always about some sale or the other. Then about your puppy. I care damn about your puppy.”
“Who gave me the puppy?”
“I did.”
Her silence conveyed a thousand words. I stood there, like a statue. She looked like a picture of misery. And a woman in misery is not one you would want to stand in front of. She placed her hands on my shoulder. I thought she was going to hug me and cry. Instead she pressed my shoulder as if holding for support, lifted her knee and banged it between my legs. I literally saw stars. I blacked out for a moment. That was the last time I stood at-ease in front of any woman.
My son is howling with laughter.
I glare at him and he immediately gathers himself and asks me, “Did thatha know about this?”
“Not only thatha, the whole street knew about it.”
“How?”
“Oh, I couldn’t walk straight for about a week after that.”
My son stifled a laugh.
“Ok wait. I will call thatha.”
“Put him on speaker.”
“Thatha. I heard appa’s story. It is your turn now.”
“Hey, pa. How are you? I heard you were coughing.” I ask.
“Ha ha. Nothing, I got reminded of the incident and I was laughing hard and I started coughing. Remember? I was so angry with her for punching you then. But she turned out to be a darling.”
“What? You met that girl after that?” asks my son.
“Yeah. Nearly every day after your dad’s wedding.”
“What? Was that amma who did it to appa?”
“Ha ha. Yeah. I was actually scared whether they would have kids after what she did. But when you were born I came to know how good your mom is in Karate.”
“Appa, please. You are embarrassing me.” I say.
“Ha ha ha. Appa’s ears have become red. Thatha, only you could make such a serious thing sound so comical. I will have to talk to amma about this when she comes home. Okay, now tell me about your breakup.” My son has totally forgotten about his breakup.
“Let’s see, it was 1977, if I remember correctly. I was heading a student protest in our college against the administration. I used to make a lot of speeches and she was in the organizing committee. I think she was impressed with my speeches. I too was smitten by her, but later found that we were poles apart.
‘I need to talk to you,’ I said.
‘Oh, are you going to break up with me?’ she asked.
‘No, dear. I am just telling you that we are not in the same space right now.’
‘But why? Did I do something wrong?’
‘No, it is me. I don’t feel I am the right person for you.’
‘You are a weakling. I knew it from the day I met you. You put up a farce when you are on stage. You sound all manly when you speak at the rallies. But deep down, you are scared. You are scared of getting hurt. Even now, you are scared that I will dump you. So you came up with this stupid idea of dumping me before I hurt you. I will tell you what, you were anyway going to get hurt at the end of this relationship. If I had dumped you, I would have just wounded you with my words, but I am sorry to do this to you. You should never ever try to hurt another girl.’
And with that she slapped me so hard that I fell and hit my head on a chair. The scar that you see above my eyebrow was caused by the only girl I ever broke up with. It was not from a lathy charge at a protest rally.”
“Don’t tell me it was paati who did this to you!” my son says, expecting a story similar to mine.
“No way. Your paati is an angel.”
“Thanks thatha, you made my day,” he says, chuckling, and hangs up.
My son is smiling now. After all, he has done our family proud. He had broken up with a girl without getting physically hurt.
