The grey canvas

✒Something from the past (3)

Dev:

Ayan had understood that I knew Nitara for a long time, not for mere three years.

He still chose to keep quite. Not a single question did he ask. And as for behaviour, he behaved as if nothing had happened, as if nothing was wrong.

I didn't know how to react to that. Once I felt happy for the way he analysed my situation. Next, I felt proud. While the very next moment I felt guilty for hiding everything from him. He needed an explanation if not anything else. He bloody accompanied me to Kolkata and to Tara's house and I was still concealing facts from him?! How mean that could be??

He was not asking me anything becoz he was eagerly waiting for me to open up on my own. I decided to go for too, in the flight, were he and me would be all alone to discuss about my mundane history.

The flight was two hours late that day. Reason- inclement weather.

We settled ourselves in the waiting lounge for the time being. I got two cups of streaming hot coffee for both of us and my story telling session started over it.

Miscellaneous diaries~

Dev Bose. Son of Nilasha Bose I was.

Bose? Its my mother's pre-marriage surname. The post-marriage surname was Sengupta. Her husband's name was Mainak Sengupta. Mainak sengupta was my father, legally & biologically. But I never used his surname. I just couldn't use it. I had his genes and blood in my body that was already a big deal. I didn't want to repent more by having his surname too.

Throughout my childhood I tried my best to maintain a safe distance with him. But was it so easy? Specially when both of us lived under the same roof?? Wantingly or unwantingly, we kept bumping into each other, thus reminding ourvelses of the other's existence. It was difficult, I swear.

There was no way out of it though. Mom suffered in that house, just like me, but she didn't leave it. She never thought of doing anything like that. To her, leaving her hushand was a sin. To her, the conch and red coral bangles on her hands and the dash of vermellion on her forehead was far more important than her self esteem.

And she still argued with me, saying that she was doing this compromise for me, my future and my education!
Honestly speaking, if education meant studying on my dad's money then I better preferred myself uneducated!!

But then that was not an option. When mom was doing so much for me, bearing all those pains for my sake, how could I just back off?! I studied. Becoz I had to. I couldn't let mom lose before that inhuman psycopath husband of hers, whom I called as 'dad'.

Dad.

Now I wander why I called him so. Was he even worth that call?

No, he wasn't. Neither when he was alive, nor when he is dead. Infact, I wish he was dead when I started understanding life. I wouldn't have known his real self then. I wouldn't have hated him then...Life would have been so easy then.

Dev Sengupta I was, the child who was born with a silver spoon. Dad was a renounced cardiologist and I was the only heir to the riches he had earned all his life. Life would have been easier, only if money could buy the happiness. But then the boy_with_a_silver_spoon was not so lucky to have all the goods of this world!

Dad, being a cardiologist, preferred to be called as the 'heartologist'. Ironically, this heartologist lacked a heart of his own. He was a man turned into a money-minting machine, whose only subject of interest was 'women'. He was need in need of women. Always. This need, this desire arose mostly after sunset and he used to get a woman to his house every night to satisfy his wood. Those women were anonymous. Where did they belong or whether they were paid or not or if dad knew all of them- no one knew. The only thing known to us was that my parent's bedroom didn't belong to my mom anymore. It only belonged to my dad, who used it as his personal prostitute generating centre.