30 TEENAGE STORIES

My Son Rises Debashish Majumdar

The evening sky changed hues like a chameleon. From orange-red to a dark grey, casting dark shadows upon the football field. The tired referee limped along and blew the long whistle which sounded like a railway guard welcoming a chugging train home. From one corner of the wide, lush green field I watched with care as the young teenage boy sank, untying his football shoelaces and then lazily stringing his boots over his shoulders like a fisherman's catch. He looked around and saw me. I waved at him frantically. With casual steps he approached me, homeward bound. A group of teenage boys rushed upto him, smothering his shoulders with affectionate hands. He jerked them off like a lazy cow driving away flies with its tail. He looked up at them, shook hands with a few of the red-and-blue outfit bunch, his opponent team, then reached me without emotion.

 "Your team won?" 

He looked the other way. It was a question he was tired of listening to.

 "Yes...I scored the winning goal/' he spoke routinely. "Didn't you watch me score?" He sounded rough.

 "Sorry, Son," I apologized for the umpteenth time, "I arrived late from office." 

"Again?" He sounded cold. "Everytime I score, you are late?"

 We did not speak to each other till we reached home. I was afraid to open my mouth. My son did not communicate because he felt it was useless talking to an ignorant man. 

I cooked chicken roast for him. The toast got burnt. I licked my burnt fingers like a wounded pariah. My son raised his eyes and ignored me. I served his meal hot. With his favourite sauce. 

"You must be hungry, dear..." I spread a smile, hoping it would echo. Depayan did not even thank me for it. Maybe a son does not need to thank his father after all. 

He ate quietly, dodging the little bits and pieces of school topics I had held out to him. He left the dining table silently, not even waiting for me to finish my dinner.

 Ten o'clock. I creakily opened his bedroom door and saw him studying for his Test. He looked full of responsibility. "Goodnight, Depayan."

 He was engrossed in thoughts. He did not wish me goodnight. I closed his bedroom door. I passed the lively photograph upon the patio. I retraced my steps and stood byit, in our sitting-room.

 "Supriya," I whispered, and a silent tear rolled down my cheek, "You must return, for Depayan's sake... Will you not forgive me?"

 I carelessly held her photo between my palms. I heard a click and looked towards Depayan's room. Two eyes were watching me. I nervously placed 'Supriya' down. Then I briskly walked towards my room and went to sleep.

 Parent-Teachers' meeting. I looked like a passerby. Mr Chapman enthusiastically smiled, drawing me close with his kind words.

 "Congratulations, Mr. Chatterji...your son has swept all the honours," he looked mighty pleased with Depayan.

 I grinned like an ignorant shepherd.

 "He has not only topped Class IX with merit," emphasized Mr. Chapman, his class teacher, "he has stood First in the school debate, individual quiz and elocution too! He led his school cricket team to victory and his football skills..."

 Mr. Chapman's words fell upon my ears and his words drowned in the noisy traffic. Within myself I knew I had contributed nothing towards my son's success. It was Supriya, his mother, who had always worked hard towards his all-round achievements. 

Mr. Chapman stumped my inattentiveness. His final words shook me. 

"Mr. Chatterji, you are Depayan's father, are you not?" 

"Yes.. .yes'' I assured him, "his tutor is brilliant. And of course, Depayan works very hard, as you know." 

Stung, shamed and humiliated I drove home and shied away from my son. "Congratulations...! I never knew you had done so well on your own."

 He did not answer me. He walked up and switched on the music player. Then he swung his limbs upon the sofa and covered his face from my view with a book. 

"Boy, you have achieved so much in school," I told him light-heartedly, "I have not achieved all that even in a lifetime..."

 He closed his novel. Then he asked me abruptly. "Do you still love Mum?" I paushed. Then replied, "Yes I do..."

 "Well she loves you too!" He raised his voice, as if in desperation.

 I charged after him, anxious to know more about Supriya. 

Depayan did not continue, leaving my thoughts suspended. The next morning, he asked me for the customary monthly tuition fees for his private tutor.

 "Bring home your tutor one day," I told my son. "After all, he really guided you well." 

Depayan nodded his head in agreement. 

I cleverly slipped in, "Know where Mum lives?" 

"I should be asking you that" he quipped smartly. Then he left for school.

 My son had become a hero of sorts in school. I was a proud father, a father only in name. I wished to guide my son in every step of his teenage life. But I found no beginning and no end. My monotonous life dragged on without Supriya. When I got promoted in my job, letters poured in to congratulate me. How I longed for Supriya to be back and share my joy with Depayan.

 But I did not tell anyone. Like a crocodile, I slipped into the routine cooking and later tucked my son into bed.

 Sunday, my birthday, would have been dull like any other day. But believe me, Depayan changed my life with a bouquet of flowers. There was also a card tucked away beside my pillow: 

"I love you Dad for all that you gave me... and for all that you could not give. Love Depayan."

The message touched my heart. It moved me. I always knew Depayan to be a mama's boy. Now life without his mum had brought about a change in his sensitive teen-life, I thought. 

I strolled into his room. It was empty. He had always taken special care of all the things his mum had given him from childhood. Even the brown teddy bear, the dinky car and the table cricket game occupied pride of place in his bookcase. There was a cassette which held his mama's voice, a dusty photo album which held smiling pictures of our togetherness. Depayan, Supriya and me.

 I realized the sad truth. While I let the pieces fall apart, my son had risen to hold his mum and dad together in his disturbed, young mind. 

That evening, Depayan entered home with a birthday cake in his hand. I had cooked his favourite chicken roast in appreciation of his beautiful birthday message to me.

 "Dad..." he smiled as I wrapped him in a hug, "I have invited a surprise guest.. .my tutor." 

For once, I hated an intruder in our house. I wanted to spend my birthday with Depayan who loved me after all.

 Then Depayan brought in the honoured guest. Supriya!

 I simply could not believe my eyes.

 She walked in graciously, erasing the past with a swish of words:

 "This house is in a mess. I have got to change everything including that silly man over there!" Depayan, Supriya and I burst out laughing.

 I realized now the inspiring force behind Depayan's success. It was his mother who tutored him, guided him in his debate and elocution, and even inspired him to present me with the birthday card. In fact, she had always taught Depayan to love his father deeply. 

In one quiet, hurried moment I whispered to my wife, "I am sorry, Supriya.. .please forgive me." 

She whispered back in her own calm way, "Together we should be sorry for Depayan."

 She meant every word and how right she was! 

"Our son rose above our petty squabble and united us with his love once again." Depayan smiled deeply. 

He knew that of all his achievements, bringing together Mum and Dad would always rank as his greatest triumph!