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‘Your watch?’ I asked, perplexed. ‘Why? I mean…’
He shook his head.
‘Eh?’
‘Dad,’ he said, in a voice so low that I had to strain my ears, ‘died in a car crash.’
My heart skipped a beat for this was only the second time Purva was speaking voluntarily about his father. Anju Aunty had mentioned his untimely death to me once but, not wishing to upset her, I had refrained from asking her anything more.
‘I was thirteen,’ Purva continued, his large expressive eyes boring into mine. I felt his fingers clutch my hand tighter and a lump appeared in my throat.
From the dark clouds that now gathered in his eyes, I knew he was briefly reliving the horror and the pain. I gulped as I recalled what a wreck I had been, at twenty-seven, when my dad had had to spend a few days in the hospital. Thirteen is so young, it is so cruel.
‘And Vikram was nine.’
I tried to not imagine the two boys, aged thirteen and nine, dealing with such an immense loss.
‘I … I’m sorry … it could not have been easy,’ I mumbled uncomfortably. Where was my brain when I needed it to come up with something comforting? Where were the bloody words? I looked on helplessly.
‘When you look back, Kasturi, can you think of a moment that completely changed your life and defined you into becoming the person you are now?’
IIT Jee results? In spite of my best efforts I had not gotten through, but my idiotic study partner had somehow managed. I vaguely recalled crying non-stop for fourteen hours. The entire household had come to a standstill. The drama!
‘No,’ I said, shaking my head.
‘I can,’ he said softly. ‘We were to head to Disneyland in a week’s time when it happened. I grew up in an instant – went from being a child to head of the family with a mother and brother to take care of in a matter of minutes.’
Silence.
‘Dad was the only earning member and he was gone…’ he said, more to himself than to me. ‘I don’t even know how we survived till Mum started working again. I tutored kids for the money…’ he said and then smiled a slow smile. ‘I was such a horrible teacher!’
In my head flashed the image of a scared thirteen-year-old taking charge of his mother and brother, the boy-man. The head of a shattered family.
People are not born beautiful. They become beautiful. Through despair and struggle, pain and suffering, they come out armed with a kind of sensitivity that enables them to empathize with the pain that others are going through a lot better than the rest of us. As I sat there listening to Purva, his ways began to make sense to me.
‘I worked very hard for so long and from such a young age that I don’t know any other way now,’ he said, almost by way of an apology.
I nodded my head. I understood. Finally.
‘Vikram is only four years younger but you know…’ he struggled, looking for the right words. ‘I think, no, I know … I am sure … he is like a son to me. I knew that he would follow my footsteps, so I wanted to do everything correctly, for my sake and for Vikki’s.’
And he had. His younger brother was also a doctor, a promising surgeon, saving lives, just like his Purva Bhaiyya.
I took Purva’s troubled face in my hands and kissed him on his forehead, my heart welling up for the thirteen-year-old boy that still lingered somewhere in those dark, deep eyes. From tutoring kids for money to becoming an incredibly successful surgeon, Purva’s journey suddenly weighed more. It had to be a story of grit and gumption; a story that, if I’m lucky, someday the shy, quiet man in front of me will share with me. Till then, I shall wait.
I could now understand why he liked me best when I was goofing around, laughing carelessly and why he would smack Pitajee for upsetting me. For in my madness, he glimpsed a freedom he had never had the luxury of. It was a madness that could only be a part of you if you never had to teach to support your family, if you grew up with both parents at your beck and call, if did not live your entire life feeling completely responsible for your sibling.
‘You make me happy, Kasturi ... happier than I ever thought I could be,’ Purva said, bringing me back to the present. His face looked a little relaxed now.
I traced his eyebrows, lost in thought. I wished I could go back in time and give the thirteen-year-old Purva a hug, hold his hand, tell him that it would all be okay … or wait, would it?
‘Don’t let anything take your spirit away from you, Kasturi. Not your work, not family, not me,’ he said, holding my hands tighter.
‘Yes, boss,’ I said and forced myself to grin.
‘This watch,’ he said nodding at the watch that he clutched tightly in his hands, ‘survived the crash without a scratch. I have never voluntarily taken it off … till now.’
And then he put the watch in my palm.
