It doesn’t take an Einstein to figure out that
relatives are the “necessary evil” we all need in our lives. Though you can’t
get away from them, you also can get enough of them too. From the day we’re
born to the day we’re cremated or buried six feet under, they are always
around. Some are there in your life invited; and some, uninvited. Here’s a fun
fact – everyone is related to us in one way or the other.
My childhood was the most obnoxious one and my
relatives know the story very well. They would tell their version of me being a
menace of the top order. I was like ‘Dennis’
to their ‘Mr. Wilson’. When my
parents got married, my mother was flabbergasted by the number of relatives my
father had. It’s been 35 years now and my mother still doesn’t know most of the
relatives from my father’s side. Being from a small village in the Northern
Karnataka, my father’s family comprised of the whole village (almost). He worked
as a teacher there for years in the 70s and those children now are married and
have multiple children. It’s like keeping count of the “Swadeshi” customers. The
multiplication just goes beyond the calculator’s limit. I guess that’s how
super-computers got invented. But, on a serious note, my father, being a noble
servant of citizens, thought about global welfare and all such philanthropic
ideas while he was on government duty. My parents never let me and my elder
sister worry about anything and they had perfected the art of camouflaging
their feelings. My mother disliked how my father always thought about others
more than his own family. But my father never let us feel it otherwise. He was
gruesomely trying to be the best person to both, his family and his relatives. He
still feels that he’s obliged to make good to them, even though the people he
thinks are his “own” never did him any good.
That’s where my father and I enter a cold war. My mother
has taken a neutral stand because she just cares for her family and nothing
else. I inherit her trait when it comes to speaking my mind. My sister, on the
contrary, inherits my father. She knows (rather, she’s learnt) to take a
diplomatic stance and favour both parties. I am of the opinion that, when
anybody tries to break the bond of blood by words or deeds, they don’t belong
to our circle. Be it friends or family (relatives, in this context), they are
officially defunct. And when it comes to those whom I’ve never met, or never
talked to, I wouldn’t be the right person to tell if they are the good ones or
not. I can only tell that after looking at my parent’s expressions. Whenever I
see my father helping people in his village, helping people in his work group
or any random person, I see the enthusiasm of a child who wants to keep rolling
in the mud. He knows it’s dirty (literally); he knows it will harm his health;
he very well knows the mud won’t get any cleaner, but he enjoys it; he likes
mud all over him. In short, he is obsessed with mud. When I look at my mother,
she seems so damn helpless. She’s handled two kids wonderfully, and she has no
strength to handle the third. My father knows this too, but he’s torn between
infinite torments within himself.
My father still believes in “Karmanye vadhikaraste ma phaleshu kadachana”. But, nobody is wise
enough to convince him that, people change. The relatives that he thinks are
blood relations; most of them have forgotten the meaning of it. It is only he
who thinks they are family and goes that extra mile to help them regardless of
what kind of help they need. Be it financial, official, or moral support, he
has given it all and expected nothing in return. I only despise those who do
not see his sacrifices and yet continue to act like they are living in the 70s.
My father is almost 70 years old now and he doesn’t possess that sort of energy
to still go around the world to see that everything and everyone is doing well.
Unfortunately, I too haven’t been much of help to him
in recent years, considering all the qualms he had to overcome. He never
included me in his battles like these and that’s why I feel repulsive to such
relatives. It seems wrong to blame them for my father’s ill health, because in
the end, it was my father’s choice. He could have chosen not to care, but he
has a heart. He was compelled, intrigued, moved, provoked, and to some extent,
emotionally blackmailed to get into all of this. I could have stopped him by
being blunt and speaking my mind. I could have told him, “They’re not worth it.
Please let it go.” And I was sure of getting one befitting reply, “You won’t
understand. Just keep quiet.” I didn’t want to get into an argument of how much
I understood or did not understood. But, the only thing I knew was, I didn’t
want to see my father being estranged, betrayed and insulted by his own
relatives – the one he calls family. Maybe he acts like nothing is wrong,
nobody would know, he might shed a flood of tears in silence, but we all know. He’s
not alone. Someday, I will find that courage and tell him – enough is enough. You’re
not doing this anymore. And I think I’ve found my inspiration, a trigger
rather, to instigate this conversation.
After my ring ceremony, it’s not just me and my fiancée
who’s hearts have united; it’s our families too. And with two families united,
there are two universes of relatives colliding together too. We’re about to experience
another “Big Bang” (Astronomically!) I feel like a rookie when it comes to
handling relations like my father did. I am still scratching on the surface,
trying to keep everyone in my family happy, and now I’ve entered a relationship
where I’ve to think beyond the wellness of my own family. I’ve to think of hers
too. This is the time where I need my father most. I can’t let him lose his
mind over someone or something that he’s trying to sort for decades long. I
know I can’t let him leave his responsibilities all of sudden just because I am
getting married. I’ve to make him my (OUR!
I speak as a couple now) responsibility (which I should have, long ago), but
nevertheless – better late than never. He’s the one who’s taught me the meaning
of love, more than anyone or anything that I’ve come across. Though I get
poetic sometimes, and write to my fiancée, never I’ve written poetry for my
father. To me, he meant more than poetry. He’s a person of prose. Not every
relative will understand my love for him, or his love for family, but one thing
I wish they would all take away from this story is, “He’s done serving you. He
can’t tell this in words like me. He may say so, in actions or deeds. But, I
request you all. Let him be.”
I need a guide who will direct me towards the
right path on my way forward in life; that’s him. I need a mentor who will
listen to my relationship issues and counsel me to do exactly what I am meant
to do; that’s him again. I need a friend who will sit quietly and watch James
Bond movies marathon with me till the clock strikes twelve in the midnight.
Well, that’s definitely him. I am sure I won’t get another person like him in
the whole lot of relatives that he’s had. They can pretty well pretend to love
him and care for him, but will they do the same for his family? Will they never
let him suffer like he did while helping them? I strongly deny. According to
me, every family has such relatives which they cannot debar. They are the
inevitable force that drives us to help others. They are surely an inspiration sometimes
or a blessing in disguise when they come in form of cousin brothers or sisters
who really do not follow the footsteps of their parents. They defy the odds;
they love everyone selflessly and are a new generation who do not hold grudges
against anyone. They prefer to either end the relationship instantly or tag
along for lifetime. But, very few are blinded by the false stories told by
their parents, just to keep themselves away from having awkward conversations. Well,
that’s just how cowards would respond. The truth still remains the same, no
matter what version you tell it in. As a novice in relationships, I’ve spoken a
lot on it. Maybe I am wrong on too many levels. Or, maybe I am dreadfully
right. Only time will tell.
