That man is my father

Dear Reader,
If you have time to spare, spend it with me for a while...I know it is a bit long..Hope I don't bore you..It wudn interest u, I should say..After all, why should u know all these things..Well,lemme make it clear..I don mind if u dont join me here either..I am used to it..being all alone..n I hav no complains.
                                                                     luv,
                                                                             Chinnu a.k.a Malavika
I looked at the mirror that had stains and specks of dirt uniformly spread on it. May be, no one had ever cleaned it. They remained with time, but the reflections changed. I looked at myself in the mirror.I was looking a bit tired.The pimple on my forehead was red and swollen."Arrgh...i jus hated it" I tried to cover it with my fringes. But it did not work.I ran my fingers over my face.Atleast the light pink nail polish on my nails looked good. I just stared at the mirror. Something was swelling inside. On the outside,just some drops of tears. I did not know why I was crying. Was it for all the long years I had missed being with him or was it for knowing him so late or was it for having hated him once or was it for realising that I will lose him soon?

I turned the tap on and washed my face. Once,twice and a couple f more times. I just splashed water on my face. It drained down my neck. My cream top had turned wet near the buttons.I turned the tap clockwise. Just pressed my eyes with my wet hands. I don't know if I was comforting myself. My eyes had turned red.

I walked back to a table at the corner of the canteen. Here friends did not chatter. Here no one cracked jokes. Here no employees sat and discussed about the budget,perks and union strikes. Here no one talked loud enough even for one's own ears. The board on the opposite wall read SILENCE PLEASE. I don't think it was required there for no one ever shouted here. All who came here had been muted by the silencer of fate. I was in the canteen of ward three of the Regional Cancer Institute. Some walked in with the help of others, some struggled themselves. At the adjacent table, sat a young lady with a scarf covering her head. I could hear an old man coughing from behind. All of them were sitting in groups except me.

I have been a loner all my life. I had no siblings to play with or parents to pamper me. I come from a broken family...Yes...I was raised by a single parent. Initially, I tried to hide it from my friends.(well,if I cud call them so...ok,let's call them classmates.) I would make up stories."You know my dad is in the Gulf... in Mexico... in Japan..." That was my first introduction to World Geography. At some point in my life, I don't know to who all, but surely to Raj and a few others, I wept "My dad died when I was just two months old." It was jus to get his sympathy and when I realised, I could not impress him, I modified and tried it out with some others, "I am a posthumous child." Well...My fantasies cooked no more stories because after some time I could not remember what stories I had told to which people. By then I had grown up and told a few friends, to be specific, Suhi, Michchi and Thanu, " I have a father...But I have not seen him. My mother is a divorcee." They never asked me anything more and accepted me as I am...bold,weak,happy,sad...

The waiter brought me a cup of hot coffee and two 'uyunnu' vadas.Yes! the one with the hole..Hole..Holiday..Michchi would wait for the holidays. I remember her standing at the door for her parents to come at the start of the vacation. I never wished for a vacation. My mom would come and pick me up. Hug me, kiss me and drop me at home.If I cud call it one. Michchi and myself have been together since we were five years old. Classes, hostel, mess..Her parents..oh I have admired the glow in her eyes when she used to say..."I am the daughter of Mr.Rakesh Verma and Mrs. Sunanda Verma", both some big wigs in the Middle East.That vacation, when I was six and a half, I asked my mother, "Amma,who is my Appa?" She just looked at me with a blank expression."Chinnu when you grow up,you'll...that man...mm..go play dear...Amma has some work to do." I just walked into my room and my heart kept repeating That man..That man..This reference frequented our conversations. I heard my grandmother saying once,"God will see to that man.." and my grandfather stammering on his death bed,"marrying Tara to that man was a mistake." During one of our parents visit to school, shortly after that, I remember Thanu's parents walking up to me.My mother had not reached yet. The beautiful aunty (Mrs.Abraham) in green saree asked me the 'ugliest' question, "What is your dad's name?" as if knowing me as Malavika T. was not enough. The eight year old in me said with pride, "Mr. Thatman." Oh even Mrs.Abraham can look weird.."eeh...Batman?'
"No,auntie...I am the daughter of Mr. Thatman and Mrs. Tara Thatman...Malavika T." I went back and sat on the swing. Yes, finally I had a father...Mr.Thatman...T for Thatman. I felt happier and swung higher and higher.

The white glass did not look clean, but coffee tasted good. I sipped the cold coffee.

Mr.Thatman came with me everywhere. He suddenly became my guardian angel whom my mother taught me to hate. I often felt like telling her "see Amma..angels dont stay with u...But u kno dey r dre fr u." As I grew up,I giggled at Mr.Thatman, shouted at Mr.Thatman, cried for long hugging my pillow who acted as Mr. Thatman, put my hands around the pillar in my house who again was Mr. Thatman. I saw Mr. Thatman everywhere where my mother could not reach me.

I took a bite. Vada was hot..hmmm...tasty. Meeting Mr.Thatman was not an accident in my life. Back from my walk, last week, one day, I had a message on my mobile phone."Call me asap."
Panicky moments...Was Amma not well?...What if Ammoommaa...
"Hello amma..."
Amma sounded composed."Listen Chinnu...You are nineteen years old.I don't know if I have wronged you...Chinnu, I have lived my life for you"...(she was getting emotional)..
I interrupted,"Amma..are you fine?'
"Chinnu...Chinn.I have never ...(deep breath)...I want to tell you something.Your father...(Ohhhh!!!! MR.THATMAN)............................................................................................................................................................................................"
The rest sounded like cracked words, lost dreams,unlived moments. Hopeless ramification of three individuals...a broken family.
When my mother ended the call, I looked at the newspaper where I had taken down an address.
Block C, Ward 3, Room 2B. Regional Cancer Institute, Bangalore.

I did not try to weigh my life in the balance of gain and loss at that point. I did not think too much about it, what if I felt like not going? Mr. That Man had finally a name..Mr. Gopinathan Nair.

When I walked into the hospital block, one week later, I did not know what I was going through..
That man in my stories...That man who gave me sleepless nights...that man who never ever cared for me...that man who made me sound funny to myself...
"Thatman...Thatman...Thatman..."
I measured my steps to his bed.That man lying in the bed extended his fingers to touch my hand. He mumbled something. Words filtered in tears. I moved closer." Chinnu....." My mind exploded..I was not that girl.That man is not just that man. That man is my father..my father..my father..

The waiter brought the bill.I paid the amount and slowly moved back to the room where my father lay.