Portrait of a Father

​He sat down on the couch, being the victim of his own offenses. He had begged to differ with the world at one point of his life, but now he was one of them. It disturbed him. How his silent but optimistic web of dreams had succumbed to the wars of his own creation. He had tears in his eyes and a blank smile on his face. 

He looked at the frame on the wall opposite to him. His father stood tall and sincere. He respected him all he could, but never did he love him. He stood up and gazed at his reflection on his father’s photograph. He had his father’s eyes, he knew. But he didn’t want to find himself there anymore, for he thought he had lost all reasons and dignity.

That night was going to be long. He heard a knock on the door. He knew it was her. He opened the door. She was cumbersomely dressed, her hair all wet and kajal smudged. He was surprised and stared at her for quite some time before he asked her what had happened. She rushed inside the apartment and he stood still in amazement and doubt.  He  was scared and the fog of mystery didn’t promise to disappear anytime soon. 

She sat on the couch. She tried to appear strong and unaffected from the ghost of her doings. My weakness must not be revealed, she told herself and that was the only thing that kept her going.  He offered her water. She took a gulp down her throat with a heavy breath. She tried hard but couldn’t succeed. She cried. Out loud, disturbed and perpetuated by what time had made of her. Her voice cracked, and he felt feeble. He didn’t gather the courage to ask her. He wasn’t a coward, he just cared far too much. 

He sat there. Waiting for her to vent out her feelings. He was helpless and his only source of strength was withering away. But still, he waited. He knew no good could come of consoling a troubled heart. Her anger, her anxiety all were accepted without question. At the end it was only her smile that mattered, and he awaited for that glimpse. His sister could not surrender herself. After all that had happened, she was the only person who could take them to where her father wanted them to be in life. A life of content and peace. A life adrift of agony and fear. The time had come to lose the hope of perfection. It was time to accept that flaws are not so bad after all. He wiped her tears, baked his emotions in the furnace of his will to win over his life.

Ego, fame and recklessness had cost them a fortune. Lost of their father’s hard earned respect and money, they held each other’s hand. The photograph was still there. It still stood tall. But the smile appeared a little more brighter this time.

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