Ratnakar sat on a plastic chair out in the compound of his house. The gate of the house was in front of him. The design of the gate allowed people to see inside the compound; it also allowed Ratnakar to see outside at the people passing by.
In his right hand, Ratnakar held a pocket radio which played old folk music. Ratnakar had received the radio as a gift on his fifteenth birthday.
Ratnakar lived with his mother Mrs Jayapal. It had been eight years since his father passed away. Their two floored house stood amidst a row of houses and it had grown silent over the time.
Ratnakar was in late thirties and he spent the entire day roaming around with nothing particular in mind.
One day in the past when Ratnakar failed a third time in the seventh grade, he stood in the drawing room of his house, still in his school uniform, his right hand was on his right cheek, trying to sooth the pain from the slap he had received earlier, his tears were everywhere on his face. His father Mr Umesh Jayapal was having a heated argument with Ratnakar’s mother.
“He failed in seventh grade the third time, I have not even heard of anyone’s children failing even once in this grade,” screamed Mr Jayapal, “it’s all because of you, that the boy will not be able to become anything in life.”
Mr Jayapal left the room with fast steps, not looking at Ratnakar at all. Mrs Jaypal looked at the boy and she quickly went to him, wiping off his tears and smiling, “It’s all right, your father is just angry right now. It will be fine.”
Mr Jayapal was right though, Ratnakar did not become anything in his life. He completed his schooling with a lot of effort and didn’t pursue any education further. He was content spending his days doing nothing. He did work for short periods, at a nearby jute mill, at a convenience store and electronics showroom, but that too was as a result of Mr Jayapal’s insistence.
If it had not been for Mr Jayapal’s pension, the household would have collapsed. As the parents grew older, Ratnakar grew angrier and some people said that he was even violent at times. But, Ratnakar’s mother Mrs Jayapal always spoke about her son with a big smile and great pride, it was hard to know how much of it was pretence, but she truly loved her son, beyond what was actually good for him. She could never find a single fault in him.
Mr and Mrs Jayapal were socially active, although it reduced over the years, but it continued until Mr Jayapal passed away and then there was rarely any sight of Mrs Jayapal. It was only Ratnakar, passing by on his bicycle.
When Mr Jayapal passed away, Ratnakar was free from the pressure of doing anything in life and thus stopped doing just about anything. Nobody knows what will happen to this man and especially an aged Mrs Ratnakar, about whom one could only imagine what she was being subjected to.
This is not a lone case, and there are more where people are going into this sedentary lifestyle, a lifestyle which has little comfort to offer but more anger and frustration and eventual pain. I don’t know what Ratnakar’s life would lead him to exactly, but no answer has a positive vibe to it.
Written by Anuran Chatterji
Early Morning Memories 