the chronicles of the Singh's on lane 42 (iii)

I think dad is going into depression. He has stopped going out and usually keeps himself alone. He spends late nights in office. His appetite has dropped to an alarmingly low level, dark eye bags and crow's feet have become more prominent; and the worst of all he has gone back to smoking.

I and my sister on the other hand have started to move forward. We won't deny the chasm left by her departure, but words of Strider on Gandalf's death, "we must do without hope" provides a lot of solace.

It has been two months since she died. Fight between me and my sister have restarted over the handling of the remote. My dad not so actively involved in the tiff has started to re-mingle with people. I and him had a fight a few days ago regarding the self-immolation path he was treading. after an exchange of a few heavy words all three of us were down on the floor crying. Since then, dad makes it a point not to stay late alone in the office. Most of these days he has dinner with us. Though i am sure he wont quit smoking again.



Me: "Dad, stop this smoking. It has caused the whole room to suffocate."

Enya, who has her hazel eyes similar to my mom's, would get up from her couch and in one swift motion would snatch the cigarette from his hands quite like the way my mom used to do.

Dad: "thanks."

Enya and dad both would smile at each other. Dad humming away would go to his room to sleep.

the chronicles of the Singh's on lane 42 (ii)

My mom died last week and my father is devastated. He is not showing it, but i have seen him crying in his room. He doesn't wish me to see him broken down. His trials of brave front are as hollow as this house without her.

I miss her in lot many ways. Inadvertently after coming out of the bath a few days ago I shouted, "Mom, where are my clothes." Suddenly I recalled she wasn't there. My sister, Enya, came out running from her room, and both of us cried like 3 year old kids.

After a gap of fortnight dad went to work today. I went to drop him till his workplace. Suddenly old memories flashed back. There were days when mom and dad used to drop me to work and go for long drives. at times they used to go up to 300-400 kms and I had to hire a taxi back home.



God plays games, and few of them are brutal ones.

the chronicles of the Singh's on lane 42 (i)

Mr. Virender Singh fell in love with Geeta when he was in college. He used to bunk classes to smoke cigarettes, and she used to ignore him taking him to be a local goon. On the contrary Virender was mad and crazy and undoubtedly in love with her. They two later on became imprisoned in a social rite called marriage; and i am their son.

On one fine day, during their college days, when the sun was a bit lazy and decided to doze off when on duty, my dad went up to my mom and asked her out, "Would you go out with me?"

My mom had a charm around herself which at times attracted eve-teasers. She had made it a point to learn karate ever since her kindergarten days. If my dad had moved an inch forward, I am sure his balls would have been giant footballs and my birth an aborted mission.

She replied, "aren't you the smoker across the gate?"

"a question for a question? yes, I smoke and the future of the pack in my pocket depends upon your answer."

"You are either going to smoke it indifferent of my answer. Take a breath; go finish your pack."

That is how they met; and how they fell in love is a mystery to me. No matter how much i coax them they refuse to bat an eyelid. They say, "we are saving it for our grandchildren. ask us no questions, we will tell you no lies."



(i hereby promise to make an effort to be regular. :P)