The Bench Day 1

He was sitting on the bench looking at nothing in particular. His mind wandered into the past, the glory of his youth, how arrogant he was, how unmindful of others. Today as he sat here alone, the wind smacked him on his face, how he wished someone had smacked some sense into him then. To while away his time and to maintain some semblance of hope, in his mind he played the movie of what could have been. An alternate life where he was a perfect father, a perfect son and a perfect husband. Even as he thought about these things, a realization crept into his mind of how even in his thoughts being a perfect husband was last. The one relationship where he was given the most, the one place where he had the strongest chance to touch another soul with love. He told himself, that’s what everyone does, take the things we have for granted. Like always he had found a way to excuse his behavior. As his mind played the movie, a young kid came and sat on the bench. They looked at each other directly, and as equals. The kid made him uncomfortable, there was an unabashed look on his face, as if daring him to reprimand him. He reminded him of all the times he failed to discipline his children, how they slipped from fingers. The journey was hard and change difficult to accept, it started with idolization, followed by anger and finally the indifference. They rightly said indifference was worse than hatred. He was brought back to reality by the kid poking him with his little finger. He innocently asked the man why he was sitting here all alone. He wondered whether to share the cruel realities life with this young man, and decided against it. He told him that his family lived far away. The kid was not satisfied, the old man could feel the next question bubbling up in his mind. And then came the barrage of questions.

Kid: Why don’t you live with them?

Old Man: Well…That is because I like living alone. I have the freedom to be myself.

Kid: Are you a bad man?

The question shocked him, he wondered what brought that up. Is being yourself bad? Then memories of him asking his kids to study and not play, to not ask questions but accept order, to respect elders, to be more docile, slowly crept up in his head. He wondered, had he crushed their innocent spirits to develop a shell of a human being whose only purpose of existence was to meet the expectations of others. Is that why this young child feels it is bad to be himself?

Old Man: Being yourself is not bad.

But before he could launch into an explanation, and make some amends for his past mistakes, the kid pronounced his judgement.

Kid: You look sad and I know why. You are bad person and you did bad things, other people don’t like bad people. And because no one likes you, you are sad.

The old man found it hard to argue with this logic. It was true that he failed in most of his relationships and his family did not like him anymore, which was the root cause of his sadness. But he wondered was he sad because he was alone, or alone because he was sad. Because ever since he was first conscious of his thoughts he had been trying so hard to meet other people’s expectations. First it was parents then teachers, then society, everyone he ever came into contact with, expected something of him. His failure to meet those expectations had created a well of sadness within him. A well which periodic rains added water to, but no one ever drew water from. He looked at the kid and smiled.

Kid: I can help you.

Old Man: How will you do that?

Kid: I can be your friend. See I am bad too. Maybe we can become good together.

Old Man: What makes you bad?

Kid: My father says that my mother left him because of me. I guess she did not like me much. I must be a bad person.

Old Man: What did your mother say when she left you?

Kid: I never met her, she left to meet God when I was born. She must have been really nice, because God wanted her to visit him. May be if I become good she will come back.

The Old Man felt his eyes tearing up, he looked away to some children playing in the sandbox. Their laughter carried over to the bench, but neither of them could feel the splash of joy in that sound. He turned to look at the child and wondered, does it make sense to be good? Being good will bring with it the hope of a mother’s return. A hope which is meant to crush his tiny little heart in the end. He was saved from this dilemma by the bells of an ice cream van. He took the little boy’s hand and walked to the ice cream van, the bigger questions will be answered another day.