Jun 15, 2005

Today morning I found a letter on my study desk in my wife’s hand writing. Since the letter was addressed to me  I gathered courage to read it with usual anguish and anxiety.

“Today is the day, you men always looking forward to! It’s a father's day. I take this opportunity to wish you a very happy father's day if you interpret the words ‘Father's Day’ in its right perspective. No doubt you had been a very good father; always considerate towards the problems of our children right from their birth. You have indeed supported me bringing them up in the right earnest - in good spirit and culture, although you had been a head-strong and rigid person yourself.

You had taught them the good things, ‘do’s and don’ts’ in life. You have always tried your best to inculcate the discipline and respect for time, although you did not practice them yourself. As far as I remember you had reached the marriage registrar’s office - the day we were married officially - two hours later, just to show your importance, the way most of our VIP’s do nowadays.

You had always tried to impress upon our children on the merits of higher education, excellence in life, etc.  although, you were not up to the mark yourself, as far as your progress report has anything to say. Your mother had once mentioned to me - when we were just married - that all your life you believed in taking your studies for granted; at times you had passed through exams by mugging and copying from others. Yet you have managed to convince our children that copying is a sacrilege. They took your preaching’s seriously and today I am happy that they are the best and qualified citizens of this country.

How can I forget the day you blasted at our son for smoking your cigar, behind your back, even though we had been constantly begging you give up this cancerous habit? You always argued that ‘Cigar’ reflects your status symbol and also at times compared yourself to Churchill and Fidel Castro. You had always argued that Churchill was a great statesman in spite of chewing cigar and that cigar gave Fidel Castro the inspiration to rule his country, four long decades with iron fist. 

I would assume that your knowledge on world affairs was very limited in spite of reading newspaper, first thing in the morning. Otherwise you would have quit chewing cigar long ago or at least after reading recent updates on Fidel Castro’s failing health. Yet I beg you on this blessed day - please give up this ruinous habit and try to become a healthy citizen of this already polluted continent. 

Your alcohol record does not need a formal introduction. I don’t know when you got into this contagious habit but this has pushed our family life unto chaos umpteen number of times. You have always justified that the fashion of consuming alcohol prevailed ever since the stone Age, Vedas and the times of genesis. You also argued that Jesus Christ blessed the water and made wine and that it is a divine beverage. I beg you on behalf of the entire human race, father of my children - please give up this habit in celebration of father’s day.

And last but not the least I wish to state something today, out of my own free will and in my healthy state of mind – I have decided to move out of your life, on this father's day –whether or not you decide to mend your ways and start living a decent life. I have found my way out and by the time you are reading this letter, I am gone from your home to a distant place. Please don’t make a mistake by informing the police or our children. You have lived your happy life the way you desired and now let them live theirs, wherever they are. Good bye and God bless you”.

When I finished with the letter, I was flabbergasted to say the least - if ‘dumbstruck’ was not an appropriate word. There was not a little element of truth in what my wife had stated in the letter.

I had always lived a gentleman’s life, whether in terms of my education, profession or religious practice. I had been a gold medalist right from my tenth standard, never ever in my life have I held a 40 number ‘beedi in my fingers, leave alone a cigar to compare myself to a Churchill or a Fidel Castro.

What is wrong with my wife? Do I deserve all this on this ‘Father’s day’ – I asked myself. Why my wife had to paint
me in the red?

There were quite many questions without an answer. 

No doubt, by now I had lost my peace of mind and tranquility. Neither did I call the police nor did I inform my children who were away settled in different parts of the world. Neither did I eat a loaf of bread nor did I drink a glass of milk. I just waited for the ‘father's’ day’ to passer over my tainted star. The whole world looked lying still in front of me.

But in the evening to my great surprise, my wife was back at home. She had a big flower bouquet in her hand which looked like a giant flower basket. A person who sounded familiar to me - brought in a big cake which looked like a replica of Taj Mahal – the monument of love.

“Happy Father’s day, darling”: she said while coming closer to kiss me. “I am sorry for being late as the programme took longer than we had expected”

“Stay away from me, you dirty woman’ I told her. “You have done enough damage to my image as a father and I do not need these material things anymore”.

She was equally stunned – or should I say dumb struck or flabbergasted?

‘What did I do?” she says. “I am just getting back after celebrating ‘Father’s day’ in our club. We invited you as a chief guest but you had declined our invitation”.

“I don’t deserve your invitation” I told her. “I am not a good father according to you. I have copied and mugged in the exams to win gold medals throughout my educational career; I am a cigar chewing bastard, and I am a bloody alcoholic….”

‘Who the hell are you talking about?’ says my wife. “You had been such a wonderful husband all my life. Why should you talk like this on this beautiful day? I am happy I have such an opportunity to thank you for everything you have done for me and our children, as a devoted father and a loving husband”

I saw tears flowing from her eyes. She started sobbing beyond control. Is she alright?

“Then who wrote this letter which I found on my desk?”

“Oh my good Lord” says my wife, tearing the letter into pieces. “Are you in your normal sense to go by this letter? This was the script which I was to play in our programme today. And you should have been there darling; it was so nice to see the ladies applauding me all along, when I was delivering these dialogues”.

‘And where did you get these dialogues from?”

“From the autobiography of Mirta Diaz Balart –divorced (first) wife of Fidel Castro – but I have changed the script to go well with our kind of society”