"Where he goes I have no clue."
"He doesn't even tell us you know."
"Really?"
"Yes, he just picks up his bag and walks out. What are we? Door posts? At least say: I'm going. Or I'll be back by 4. Or something like that."
"He would argue with us, but even that has stopped."
"Really?"
"Well, all he says is okay. And the way he says it, it's so irritating."
"I know," chimed in the Mother, "he had rather not say anything at all."
"Look. Not that we don't trust him. But we ought to know where he's off to and where's he working, don't you think so?"
I did not quite agree. Yet my head nodded and I made those noises that indicated they were in the right.
I realized then that their words and demeanour were beginning to lull me into agreeing with them. And I did not want that to happen. So, I coughed, straightened my collar and asked: "How old is he?"
"30."
"Okay, did you two try asking him?"
They looked at each other and then at me as if I had made an unusual suggestion. I pretended not to understand that gaze and stared back in my usual innocent manner.
"Ask him?"
"Yes," I said in a tone that knew how to prod another into irritation.
"Ask him?" the Mother repeated, "do you know what you are saying?"
"Well, if you do not ask him, how will you know what he's upto?"
"Asking him's a task. He never answers."
"Never ever?"
---
"Oh I don't answer? Is that what they said?"
I nodded.
"Did they tell you that they never answer what I ask them?"
I nodded - this time correctly to indicate that they didn't.
"Well, they never tell me anything about what's happening! Nothing at all! When my cousin ran away with a Muslim, we (My Sis and I) were the last to know. Everyone in the family knew - everyone - including the hags in our native place - and we did not know a thing!"
"I see."
"We get to know about it only when his parents decided to legitimize the marriage. And that happened three months later. So had it not been for the invitation they sent us, we would not have known."
"Okay. And you did ask them about this cousin?"
"Oh yes, and all she (the Mother) did was say it was none of my business. As for him(the Father), he doesn't care much, really. "
"Okay."
"He would never even tell us anything properly. He would just walk off and not even bother to tell us where he's going."
"I see."
"So you tell me - why the hell should I tell them anything ever?"
---
Clearly, the Father was awkward. He shifted in his chair so often, I thought the chair had come alive. The Mother would not even look at me when I told her what her son had said to me. She just looked down and let her hand tap the place where her hair parted into two neat black expanses.
"So," I said, as my throat made it a point to clear itself and join in the conversation, "this is what he says."
Again the chair came alive and the mass of hair was caressed. And a minute later, they both erupted.
"This is what he says?! This?! He has no respect!"
"He's forgotten what all we have done for him!"
"He thinks he can manage himself? He can't even wash his clothes for nuts!"
"Everything I have to take care of; his books, his wardrobe, his his - whatever."
"Well," I said, interrupting the flood of complaints, "he says he always wanted to do all of that. But you never gave him a chance."
"Yes right! he can't do a thing properly. And he wanted to do all of that!"
"He says he was never given a freehand."
"We always gave him a freehand!"
"Did you?"
"Yes, all we did was instruct."
"That is giving a freehand?"
"Well, he was free to follow instructions any which way he wanted to."
"You know there's a difference between 'giving one a freehand', 'asking one to follow instructions', and 'asking for instructions when one is given a freehand'."
"We all respected our parents."
"It's not about that. He respects you both. He really does. He just wants to breathe. He - he - your son - wants to be free to take his own decisions."
"Well, he decided to quit that nice job of his and sit at home. We did not say anything to him about that."
"Yes, but did you support his decision?"
Their words evaporated and they were tongue-tied.
"See, I have spoken to him and I know he's quite sure of what he wants. You really have raised him well. All you need to do now is just accept him the way he is."
The Mother looked at the Father and the Father just kept looking away into my rather unattractive bookshelf. This was enough for me to have no doubt about the identity of the ring leader in the family.
I sat there and closed the file. The parents sat opposite and digested in silence what I had just said. The silence irked all of us as if it were scratching iron and teasing us to remain calm. A turbulent 10 or 20 minutes later, the parents began to show signs of talking.
"Well, we'll try to. After all, he's our son."
"It's best that you do. For he wants to try that as well."
"I see. We'll get back to you then."
"Oh sure. You have my number. Please do let me know. I'll be glad to help anytime. And please, please Be patient."
"Yes, we'll try."
I haven't heard from them for a month now. Perhaps, they did what I told them to. I say perhaps because more often than not, stereotypical parents have another counsellor in their head. And this particular counsellor doesn't quite agree with any opinion other than his. Usually, the counsellor's a he. If he were a she, I would be out of business.
So, if they did follow my advice, well and good. If they didn't, I think they'll be back in another 3 months to bombard the peace in my office. Another possibility is that the problem may have resolved itself on its own. The son may have gone back to a regular 9 to 5 mundane job with a company that the parents can boast about at weddings and funerals. And so, the parents might have locked up their complaint boxes.
I have no complaint against that possibility. The parents will love it and I will not let myself be sad for them. It's just that a few years later, the son will again resign, sit at home, and probably go join a religious order. The parents will then want him not to, but no way will they be able to stop him.
Trust me. I know. My son was the same too.
"He doesn't even tell us you know."
"Really?"
"Yes, he just picks up his bag and walks out. What are we? Door posts? At least say: I'm going. Or I'll be back by 4. Or something like that."
"He would argue with us, but even that has stopped."
"Really?"
"Well, all he says is okay. And the way he says it, it's so irritating."
"I know," chimed in the Mother, "he had rather not say anything at all."
"Look. Not that we don't trust him. But we ought to know where he's off to and where's he working, don't you think so?"
I did not quite agree. Yet my head nodded and I made those noises that indicated they were in the right.
I realized then that their words and demeanour were beginning to lull me into agreeing with them. And I did not want that to happen. So, I coughed, straightened my collar and asked: "How old is he?"
"30."
"Okay, did you two try asking him?"
They looked at each other and then at me as if I had made an unusual suggestion. I pretended not to understand that gaze and stared back in my usual innocent manner.
"Ask him?"
"Yes," I said in a tone that knew how to prod another into irritation.
"Ask him?" the Mother repeated, "do you know what you are saying?"
"Well, if you do not ask him, how will you know what he's upto?"
"Asking him's a task. He never answers."
"Never ever?"
---
"Oh I don't answer? Is that what they said?"
I nodded.
"Did they tell you that they never answer what I ask them?"
I nodded - this time correctly to indicate that they didn't.
"Well, they never tell me anything about what's happening! Nothing at all! When my cousin ran away with a Muslim, we (My Sis and I) were the last to know. Everyone in the family knew - everyone - including the hags in our native place - and we did not know a thing!"
"I see."
"We get to know about it only when his parents decided to legitimize the marriage. And that happened three months later. So had it not been for the invitation they sent us, we would not have known."
"Okay. And you did ask them about this cousin?"
"Oh yes, and all she (the Mother) did was say it was none of my business. As for him(the Father), he doesn't care much, really. "
"Okay."
"He would never even tell us anything properly. He would just walk off and not even bother to tell us where he's going."
"I see."
"So you tell me - why the hell should I tell them anything ever?"
---
Clearly, the Father was awkward. He shifted in his chair so often, I thought the chair had come alive. The Mother would not even look at me when I told her what her son had said to me. She just looked down and let her hand tap the place where her hair parted into two neat black expanses.
"So," I said, as my throat made it a point to clear itself and join in the conversation, "this is what he says."
Again the chair came alive and the mass of hair was caressed. And a minute later, they both erupted.
"This is what he says?! This?! He has no respect!"
"He's forgotten what all we have done for him!"
"He thinks he can manage himself? He can't even wash his clothes for nuts!"
"Everything I have to take care of; his books, his wardrobe, his his - whatever."
"Well," I said, interrupting the flood of complaints, "he says he always wanted to do all of that. But you never gave him a chance."
"Yes right! he can't do a thing properly. And he wanted to do all of that!"
"He says he was never given a freehand."
"We always gave him a freehand!"
"Did you?"
"Yes, all we did was instruct."
"That is giving a freehand?"
"Well, he was free to follow instructions any which way he wanted to."
"You know there's a difference between 'giving one a freehand', 'asking one to follow instructions', and 'asking for instructions when one is given a freehand'."
"We all respected our parents."
"It's not about that. He respects you both. He really does. He just wants to breathe. He - he - your son - wants to be free to take his own decisions."
"Well, he decided to quit that nice job of his and sit at home. We did not say anything to him about that."
"Yes, but did you support his decision?"
Their words evaporated and they were tongue-tied.
"See, I have spoken to him and I know he's quite sure of what he wants. You really have raised him well. All you need to do now is just accept him the way he is."
The Mother looked at the Father and the Father just kept looking away into my rather unattractive bookshelf. This was enough for me to have no doubt about the identity of the ring leader in the family.
I sat there and closed the file. The parents sat opposite and digested in silence what I had just said. The silence irked all of us as if it were scratching iron and teasing us to remain calm. A turbulent 10 or 20 minutes later, the parents began to show signs of talking.
"Well, we'll try to. After all, he's our son."
"It's best that you do. For he wants to try that as well."
"I see. We'll get back to you then."
"Oh sure. You have my number. Please do let me know. I'll be glad to help anytime. And please, please Be patient."
"Yes, we'll try."
I haven't heard from them for a month now. Perhaps, they did what I told them to. I say perhaps because more often than not, stereotypical parents have another counsellor in their head. And this particular counsellor doesn't quite agree with any opinion other than his. Usually, the counsellor's a he. If he were a she, I would be out of business.
So, if they did follow my advice, well and good. If they didn't, I think they'll be back in another 3 months to bombard the peace in my office. Another possibility is that the problem may have resolved itself on its own. The son may have gone back to a regular 9 to 5 mundane job with a company that the parents can boast about at weddings and funerals. And so, the parents might have locked up their complaint boxes.
I have no complaint against that possibility. The parents will love it and I will not let myself be sad for them. It's just that a few years later, the son will again resign, sit at home, and probably go join a religious order. The parents will then want him not to, but no way will they be able to stop him.
Trust me. I know. My son was the same too.
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