An Invisible Father: A Short Story to Read This Father’s Day
Here’s a simple story of a father this Father’s Day.
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Most ordinary was his appearance; an unremarkable face, rotund body and chevron moustache, characterisitic of most men his age. He bore no defining characteristic; no sharpness, no gravitas, no personality.
Men like him seemed to be a common, everyday sort of sight; of the sort one might find in any street in the city.
Before leaving the house, Mr. Kumar looked himself in the mirror – he met with his reflection, wearing ill-fitting pants and an off-white shirt. His shirt had once been white; repeated washing with ordinary detergent had stripped it off its whiteness.
Normally Mr. Kumar left office at half past seven. But that day he had somewhere to go. Mr. Ravi from Accounts offered to drop him half-way, but he declined, saying he had no problem taking the metro.
Besides, he couldn’t depend on the city’s erratic traffic. The metro would be safer, thought Mr. Kumar.
6: 00 PM; the clock at the metro station boldly exhibited. Mr. Kumar had to take an auto to reach his destination. Thirty rupees, he haggled with the brusque auto wallah. Auto wallahs in this city had no respect for middle aged men who had to hail autos.
Once he reached the venue, Mr Kumar felt small. So small. Like a weasel. Although he had lived in Delhi for 22 years, he hadn’t once been here. His Delhi had not consisted of five star hotels.
Gathering courage, and faking confidence, he walked inside. It seemed to him, as if everyone – the guard, the security person, the lift man, had identified him. They knew his secret; he wasn’t rich enough to be here. And yet, they were exhibiting their trained hospitality towards him, as if he’d really mattered.
Seventh floor. The venue hall had chairs on either side of an elongated plane. This must be the ramp, Mr. Kumar guessed. A host of men and women similar in style, mannerisms and diction, were chatting away.
The women were beautiful. Their bodies so fit. And their skin... perfect. Mr. Kumar secretly envied the partners of these women.
The sixth row had a vacant chair. Mr. Kumar sat on it. No one struck up a conversation with him. After ten minutes, he went to the loo. The magnificent fittings intimidated him; they made him want to puke.
It was now 10 PM. The fashion show was about to begin, the lady on the mic announced. Beautiful models in designer clothes began sashaying down the ramp. After every show, the designer came onto the ramp to thank the audience. The models pretended they loved the designer, and his clothes, even more. Bollocks.
During the entire time of the show, Mr Kumar’s eyes were looking for someone. They were looking for Manvi.
Idhar hi kahin hogi. Mr. Kumar wanted to see his daughter in this alien world, amidst a world he had never known, amidst all these people.
At 11: 45, the show got over. Manvi will come anytime now. Mr. Kumar was eagerly awaiting his daughter. Just then, out came Manvi. Wearing a short black dress and lots of makeup.
“Thodi zyada hi chotti hai yeh dress”, Mr. Kumar was feeling uneasy about the hemline of his daughter’s dress. He was furious at the boys looking at her daughter from top to bottom. Bastard Boys. Nevertheless, today is a big day for my daughter.
“I am so proud of Manvi. She is trying so hard to be someone big. One day, she will also earn as much as these people. Then I will come to this very hotel and have coffee from here.” Now, all Mr. Kumar wanted to do was convey to Manvi his approval of her ambitions.
But Manvi wasn’t looking. Even though she had seen her father, she pretended not to notice. She was occupied in a conversation with the designer she was assisting. After months of coaxing, the designer, a powerful man in the business, had granted her an internship at his fashion house. Manvi was grateful to him for having okayed her. The other interns came in Mercedes’. She had to make do with the rickshaw.
Her father, Manvi began to think, always fulfilled his basic duties. “Papa was always a good papa”. Whatever was needed, her papa had always provided.
But she also disliked him for the same reason. “Papa never aspired to anything further... But I am not going to be like him. I won’t let mediocrity and middle class wither me away”.
Manvi slowly came out of the vortex of intense thinking she had been engulfed in. Nodding her head vigorously to what the designer said, Manvi was now more determined than ever.
Mr. Kumar had now been looking at her for 15 minutes, and Manvi had still made no attempt at making an eye contact. Mr. Kumar had earlier thought of going up to her and participating in the conversation. But his daughter’s indifference had smashed his confidence to smithereens.
Dejected, Mr. Kumar left the hall. Just then, behind him, out came Manvi. Couldn’t dad wear something nice, at least today, Manvi thought to herself. “Sorry, Papa, I was too busy in there”... “I didn’t see you”.
No worries beta, no one noticed me there. It’s okay if you didn’t too.