The Broken Heart Syndrome

CHAPTER 1

RHYTHM

"We are going to Mumbai," are the first words out of my father's mouth this morning. I haven't fully awoken yet to deal with this. My head already hurts, and I need chai before I utter a single word of the day.

Yeah...yeah, I am one of those people in the morning. I don't like to talk or behave like a decent human before my first cup of chai.

"What!?" my brother, Rohan, screeches with his –not-yet-settled-teen-voice, making me wince. I smack him on the head, but he is already lost to our father's declaration of the day.

"We are going where?" he asks again, all excited now.

"We are going to Mumbai," repeats my father.

That makes me pause as I put ginger and sugar in my chai.

"Why?" asks my brother suspiciously. Yeah, that would be my next question too.

Our father has never taken us anywhere in my 22 years on this earth except for one time to Kashmir and once to Nainital, and that too I was too young to remember. Especially Rohan, he was even younger than I was to remember anything.

Reason? You ask. Well, after those two times, we are never really financially stable for another trip.

My father could barely afford to pay the school fees. Participating in extracurricular activities that required money was very hard for me but that didn't mean it stopped me. Because I couldn't participate beyond the school level, I participated in every activity my school had to offer. For a while, it was enough for me.

We are and have been living on the bare minimum. We are a family of four living on groceries for two. These are a few of the many reasons I didn't go to a good college, and scholarships were off the table due to my not-so-good performance in the last few years. So, yeah, for a man who barely provides food, clothing, and basic amenities, it is suspicious for us when we hear about a trip that surely won't be cheap.

"Your uncle's closest friend is throwing a really important party where many important politicians will be present. It will be good for us to attend," he explains.

He means good for him.

"Unless you are going to make any money, I don't see how good it can be for us," I mutter to myself.

I can't say that to him. I don't have the guts to pick a fight with him, which I know I should do. It's my responsibility, but I just can't. When it was really necessary, I didn't fight then. I don't know what difference it's going to make now.

And yes, I know I said that my parents are "politicians," but they are not what you might generally think. Let me explain. One of them has had a seat in the Nagar Palika of our city for the last twenty years, and the other, that's my father, does contract jobs that make money. So, you might think they must have made a fortune after being in a post for twenty years. Oh no, you are so wrong, I can't even begin to tell you. My father has no interest in making money or saving it, and investment? What is that?

They don't call themselves politicians; they call themselves social workers. And I'll admit that they are very good at it. But what good are you when you can't put food on the table on time and when it comes, it's not sufficient, or what good are you when you help people outside in society when you don't even know what your own family needs?

If any actual politician knew about my father, they would either die of disbelief or would kill him for shaming their business. I won't say that it's all true about my mother. She did try. Oh, wait! She's waiting for the day when her husband wakes up and decides to behave like a husband and a father, and we all will be a happy family. Or she could have used her degree to get an actual job that pays, that can bring food, clothes, and a decent home.

Before you come after me, I had been tutoring since I was old enough to do so, but I couldn't always keep it up because of school and my extracurriculars. Also, last year, I had my first job as a teacher.

Mom has been quiet through all this conversation, and she isn't going to say anything in front of Father anyway. They don't talk to each other if you were wondering. They only talk when its "politics" talk or when he has to tell her what she did wrong. Technically, they have been separated for years, living in the same house for the sake of "what will people say," trying to pretend the other doesn't exist.

She's sitting on the bed in the room in front of the kitchen. I look at her with raised brows, and the same expression is staring right back at me. I don't have any idea what's going on either.

Father is sitting in the room next to the kitchen. So, I can't see him, but I can hear him alright.

I finally jump in, "Really?" keeping my tone neutral.

"Yes, of course," he says like this kind of conversation is normal in our house.

"I've already booked the tickets for the day after tomorrow."

Now, this had me in shock and very, very suspicious. Turning the stove off, I go to him.

"What about my entrance exams next week? I can't miss that," I exclaim.

I have an entrance exam scheduled next week for a postgraduate program. I can't miss it. It's my only ticket out of this city. I can't live here like this, just existing without any purpose or motivation to live.

Existing like this kills my soul. I can't recognize the person who stares back at me every time I look in the mirror. I have to get out of here before there's no one left to save. So yeah, there's no chance in hell that I'm missing this exam.

While all this is going on, my baby brother, who is not a baby anymore, jumps like a 2-year-old who just got candy. I can't help but smile a little at his excitement. He's the reason I've held onto my sanity for this long, and he's the only reason I haven't fallen over the edge that I desperately crave.

Composing myself, I look at my father expectantly, waiting for an answer.

"We will be gone for just three to five days and will be back before your exams," he says.

I want to argue that I need that time to prepare for my exams, but the truth is I'm not going to do any studying anyway. It's going to be me in bed, lost in a fictional world or binge-watching a show, trying to forget everything about studying, exams, and the anxiety-inducing thoughts it all brings with it. I always run away from it all like my life depends on it.

The irony, I know.