We need true artists

To a casual bystander he looked like a dumb cow gaping at a vast plain of greenery. The analogy isn't quite inapt. On his screen were some of the best stories he ever read. He wondered how he had never found this online or how those stories never made it to a published book. Kesari, upon being informed by his mom, decided to read these himself. A feeling of pity for the author who, he now certainly believed, had a flair and talent for writing, mixed with disappointment, anger and other feelings he couldn't quite name filled him. He was about to leave comments for the author but then desisted - for more than one reason.

He, still in a state of shock, hesitantly switched off his laptop. His movements were slow and dazed. The light in his room was switched off. He had started reading the stories early in the afternoon with an estimate that he'd be done in an hour or so. He looked at his watch now to realize it was well over 5 hours now. And then it was only a set of short stories he had read. He was surprised how he never realized so much time passing. The stories just gripped him. And when he tried to decide which the best of them was, he couldn't. They all seemed amazingly simple, yet interesting; unique in that they were different stories and genres, yet common and comparable in that they were all good reads. No wonder, then, time flew by while he didn't realize it.

Presently the room was dark. He was still. The room was calm. Or so it seemed, considering the clutter in his head. No other noise seemed to penetrate the room. His mom was perhaps in the kitchen, making preparations for a delicious dinner. His mind diverted for a bit to his mom's cooking. Her dishes were a blessing for anyone's tongue. He thought they were even a privilege. He decided that whoever had an occasion to be privileged to taste his mom's cooking was blessed. He thought about his father. He thought about the entertaining stories that his dad told him about his college-time romance with his mother. His mind returned to his main chain of thoughts. His face became grim now. He remained seated on his couch.

He didn't want to move until he cleared the rubble from the storm in his mind. It was barely a minute from when his face became grim when he picked up the phone. His movements were not as slow as when he had switched off his laptop and reclined on the couch thinking all his thoughts. His fingers frantically searched and dialed his dad's cellphone number.

In the room designated Senior Vice-president (SV), on the eleventh floor of the building, a bald man in his early fifties was standing by the window. It opened to the west. Pavan Jandhyala, the SV of a medium scale company which dealt with consultancy of embedded systems and microprocessors - design, development and testing, had watched the sun sink into the sea. His brows were furrowed and his forehead had wrinkles that come to a man who thinks a lot. Those who knew him closely - his family and friends - would always say, "He thinks a lot! And sometimes it is unnecessary to think so much." His answer would be, "I can't stop my thoughts. They are just an integral part of me. And as for the usefulness of my thoughts, I never think of it. I don't think a lot. I just think." On occasions when he'd want to be funny he'd just say with a wink, "You don't want me to think about the usefulness of my thoughts, do you? That is not just ironical, but also adds to the thoughts I think."

This is about the time he generally walks about in his room if he isn't in a meeting. He kept himself physically active all his life. If not rigorous exercise, he made sure he walked often, took stairs to immediate floors. His generally serious thoughts never took the humor out of his public or social face. While people half his age, let alone contemporaries, moved about with a slouch, he would walk upright and with quick and long steps.

Pavan was just left with some files related to the client for the day. It would take him hardly an hour, he estimated. He had to read the requirements for some of them. For others he had to read about the clients and their background so as to be able to give the best consultation for how they should design their product. He took pride in his work. He earned it through his merits. His position as a SV, was a natural result of his smartness, assiduous work and professional ethics. Before getting back to his work, he wanted to clear the clutter in his head. Sometimes he wondered if he really gave things more thought than was necessary. If so, he wished he didn't do that. His work life was smooth. His personal life was not something to cheer about. He decided to get himself a mug of coffee from the pantry.

At that precise moment his cellphone rang. He turned towards the table and walked up to it to see who it was that wanted to add noise to his disturbed mind. With a peeved face, he read the screen. His face mellowed a bit, only for a moment. He answered, "Yeah!" The voice on the other end was soft and appealing.

"Dad... Can we meet in the coffee shop near your office? I want to speak to you about something important."

The coffee shop near Pavan's office was about about a couple of kilometers away but it was not the distance that he was bothered about.

"You need money for something?” he said in an austere tone bordering on callousness. At least that's the way he wanted to sound - callous.

There was a deep exhale on the other end. Pavan knew his son didn't like the tone. He anticipated it. But he didn't care. At least that's what he wanted to show. What he didn't anticipate, though, was that his son's voice would continue to be soft and appealing. But then that was because he wanted money or some such favor as usual, he thought. Or was his mind thinking unnecessarily now?

His son continued, "I need your guidance dad. I need your help. And that's why I want to meet you urgently before you get back home."

In choosing his words to get the best result, Kesari couldn't have done better than that. He was smart and he knew how to please people. He was, after all, his father's son. He had a secret admiration for his father's tact and was conscious that he inherited his tact and glib ways from his father. Kesari came across as an irresponsible, careless, happy-go-lucky person, but when he had to or when he wanted to, he could melt hearts. He could nicely talk a person into his way though often, he'd just choose to be rash and speak as if he never cared about the other person's wishes. By emphasizing on the words, "need guidance" and "need your help" he broke the ice between him and his father.

Pavan, with more furrowed brows and intense gaze into nothing particular while his mind's eye was trying to discern the view on the other end of the call, asked, "Something that urgent eh? Where are you?"

"I'm at home but I wanted to speak to you at your favorite coffee shop. I owe you some time and I wished to discuss some things with you. Please dad!"

"Okay! How long will you take to be there at the shop?"

"I'll be there in not more than half an hour."

"Sounds fine. Don't keep me waiting."

"I won't. Bye dad!"

"Yeah. Okay."

Kesari noted that his dad didn't end with a "Bye." That is a sign of anger. The extent of anger, though, was not as much as when he disconnects the call without saying even so much. He knew his dad would be confused by this call. His dad would surely be wondering about the motive behind such a call. But then he knew, his dad was giving him a chance. Otherwise, the invitation to the coffee shop would have been declined. He often felt his father was ruthless to him. "Yeah I know he tells me stories of how a caring father should be ruthless to his child for the child to be surviving, thriving and succeeding. Yeah I know the story of how the zebra kicks its newborn to stand up and get walking, instead of caressing and pampering, because if it didn't do so, a predator would soon be feasting on the newborn. But then he takes it to extremes," he'd often think or say to himself.

Without further thought, he washed his face. Splashing water on his face brought about calming his mind. He could almost hear his mind hissing as thought it were a hot pan being cooled by a splash of cold water. It also physically cooled his head. He went to the kitchen to drink water. His mother, a lady of late forties and just about getting to fifties but hardly looking a day older than forty, greeted him. She was of slim to medium build and her hair was just about graying. Her face had a radiant smile and her eyes were pretty and expressive. Looking from a third person's perspective, Kesari often wondered if his dad wasn't plain lucky to have such a pretty wife. Surely in those days his mom would have been very pretty and attractive. To add to her beauty was the fact that she was an engineer just like his father. By no means was she a beauty without brains. She voluntarily quit professional career to take up his upbringing. As a kid, Kesari would wonder why his mom married his dad because looks-wise they didn't seem to match up so much. "Oh no Chinna (Little one/son)! He was the best man. He was humorous, smart, talented, tactful, intelligent and caring. He looked fine too," she'd explain. On different occasions, she'd patiently explain why those qualities were what she valued a lot in a person who was to be her husband. But it was only as he grew up, as his naive mind developed, that he understood what his mom meant.

"Did you fall asleep Chinna? I thought you did, and so didn't disturb you."

"No Maa! I... was uhhmm... reading the stories. Didn't realize the time."

To Kesari, his mother's voice always had the effect of a lullaby to a restless baby, a cow's moo to call its calf - gentle, pacifying, soothing and affectionate.

Presently his mother uttered an "Oh!" She momentarily looked at him to see if he was continuing to speak. He didn't seem to be continuing. So she turned back to her work, hiding her inquisitiveness. After all, she had suggested that he should try those stories.

"Maa... I am going to meet dad near his office. Will be back with him for dinner." He hugged her from behind and kissed her as he said, "Bye!"

Immediately as the door shut Pushpa wondered what it was all about. What was Kesari up to? Although surprised, she was confident it was something positive that her son was up to. Father and son clashes were not known to her as a topic or by experience. She was the only child of her parents. She only heard from her mother-in-law how it used to be when her husband had fights with his father. Of late Pushpa was seeing a lot of fights. She was worried about the latest one because this time her husband didn't seem to want to budge. Her son wouldn't listen too. For about a week now there was a cold war in their home. They both were not speaking to each other. She just let them both be but it didn't seem to settle like their usual ego clashes.

"It is hard when both father and son are similar in attitudes, have an ego and are adamant," her husband's mother would recount to her some incidents from the past. "As a wife and mother, your job is the toughest, you will be tested and pressurized, but you have to care for both of them. That is a challenge which, in the words of professionals, if successfully completed, adds to your resume in your homemaking career," she once said to Pushpa with a chuckle when Pushpa sought her advice.

Pushpa closed her eyes for a moment praying that all should be well soon and then got back to her work.

Kesari was riding his bike to the coffee shop. On the way he stopped at a printing shop to take prints of some mails. Pavan liked coffee. It brought him a sense of calm and a feeling of strength. He was amused at how his son called him up to speak to him after about a week of avoidance. More than that it was the timing of his call - just when he was about to get himself coffee from the pantry. "You never know why some things happen the way they do, but you have got to let them happen. It is God's way of surprising you." That is what he learned from his mother.

He informed his immediate subordinates and the receptionist that he was leaving for the day. And within ten minutes of the call he was out of his office building. It was drizzling outside and the intensity of the drops increased. He was getting into the parking lot, but then on the way he stopped. He looked back outside and saw that it was raining not so heavily. He quickly turned back, having decided to walk to the coffee shop. He loved to walk... Especially when it was raining. He loved to do things differently. Presently his life was seeming monotonous with success in professional life and tumult at home. He saw this as an opportunity to break the monotony. In a way it was like celebrating the fact that his son called him. It reminded him of those days when his son would throw up his arms, tired of taking those tiny steps learning to walk, begging to be carried. Oh! The joy it used to bring him to pick his son up and carry him around in his arms or on his shoulders. There was a time when the only thing in his life was his son.

He was on the streets now, getting wet by the sprinkle from the heavens, as he was thinking these thoughts. He was looking around him. There was the usual buzz of downtown crowd. It was time to leave for home for many. He stopped at an intersection. He watched the vehicles go by. He watched people running about, trying to get to a shelter as soon as possible. He found it strange that people don't give time to the elements. They pray for the rains to cool down the Earth; to bring relief from the summer heat. And when it drizzles, let alone rains, people run for the nearest shelter refusing to let the drops fall on them. He had a strong desire to stand in the middle of the intersection, grab a microphone and penetrate the insensitive heads to convince them to give the drizzle a chance to soothe them.

He, however, shook himself to reality and continued to cross the intersection and on towards the shop. Soon he reached the shop and if his son was prompt, he should be there in no more than five minutes. He got in and sat at a table for two next to the big glass window through which one could have a view of the busy street outside. He smiled at the waiter as he took the menu card from him.

"Waiting for someone..." he said to the waiter as he put down the menu on the table. He unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled them up above the elbows, placed the elbows on the table and rested his chin on his fists, looking to his left outside the window. His attention was drawn to the streetlight. He could see the drizzle, the light drops in the light from it. It was like a play with the actors coming into the spotlight and going out of it. He noticed how the drops seemed to move slowly, assuredly and quietly at the top near the bulb, but move fast, chaotically and noisily at the bottom, near the foot of the streetlight.

It reminded him of how, at the start of his career, he was uncertain. The people at the top of an organization or the industry seem so settled. Their lives seemed so easy. Their lives seemed devoid of any pressure. No need to please the boss. No worry of someone judging you all the time. No stress of a boss venting his frustration, often out of his inability, on you.

Now he knows that it was all an illusion. Although it is a cliche, the adage, "with great power comes great responsibility", isn't false. And it became a cliche because no matter how many times you say it, it is still not emphasizing the point enough. As a SV of his organization, he seems to have more pressure than as an entry level employee. Perhaps that is true of the rain drops and streetlight too. From a lower level, the drops seem to be calm and steady at the top, becoming chaotic towards the ground. When you go higher, the ones at your level seem chaotic while those at a still higher level seem peaceful.

He had seen it all. From an entry level position to now, professional life was supposed to move from 'hardest' to 'easiest' on the difficulty scale. However, the pointer remained at the same place. His father once said, "Everyone has his/her own worries in life. And to each one of them those will be difficult." How true!

Kesari, after parking his bike on the street, briskly walked to the shop, entered inside to find his father looking outside the window immersed in deep thought. He saw that he was no more than a minute late for the appointment, technically. He knew that stopping by the print shop would delay him but he accounted for it and was confident he could still make it. The minute's delay could be attributed to the fact that as he logged in to check his mails his girlfriend pinged him.

"Hey sweets! Whatcha upto? You were supposed to be going somewhere? :p"

"Hey pretty! Yeah. I am busy. Sorry  I'll call you later. Will explain."

"Everything alright?"

"Yep! Relax pie! Meeting my dad for coffee :)"

"Oh! Nice..."

There was a pause during which he was away printing things.

"Gtg now. Bye" he typed when he was about to log off. He didn't even wait for her to say bye in reply. He logged off. He knew he could explain everything to her later. Besides, she knew of the situation at his home. Although not yet married, she was learning, from Kesari's mother by observing her, how things can be when a father and child don't see eye to eye on certain things. An ambitious and demanding father can be hard on a son who hasn't yet discovered what he likes to do. Kesari, during those soft moments, confessed to his girlfriend - Megha - that sometimes the reputation of his father intimidates him more than assuring him that he has his father's protection upon him, just in case something goes wrong. Kesari was talented. He wrote well. His writings interested the readers. They captivated the hearts. They, at times, inspired people. That apart he had an interest for music. He was a key member of the college rock band. He was mainly a drummer but could also play the bass guitar well. He was one of the top students in college, sure to get a job in any finance firm or department, if he puts his mind to it. That has been the problem with Kesari. He hasn't put his mind to anything particular with respect to his career. That way, he still was a jack of all trades. Megha didn't worry a lot about him but of late his clashes with his dad seemed to get intense. That was one of the reasons why she couldn't visit his home as frequently as before. She didn't want to be present at an awkward moment for both her boyfriend and his father.

Kesari stood for a moment at the table waiting for his father to turn and acknowledge his arrival. Despite the cold war, subconsciously he perhaps still wanted every act or move of his to be approved by his father. Pavan looked at his son without looking into his eyes and half-nodded. Kesari sat in front of him. He quickly looked at the menu and then looked up at his father. He didn't know what to speak. "It was strange how you didn't find words to speak to your own father after a week of not talking to him whereas you could easily talk to someone after years of being out of touch," he thought. So he decided to fill up the silence by nervously asking, "Did you order anything?"

Pavan shook his head, continuing to look everywhere except at his son, and then he looked for the waiter. He had his favorite coconut flavored coffee in mind. Kesari ordered a plain cold cafe latte. He wanted to keep focus on what he was going to say and so didn't mind drinking anything that came his way. Unfortunately waiters are trained not to take 'anything' as an order. So Kesari just blurted out his order.

No sooner had the waiter left them than Pavan had an expression of question on his face, reacting to which, Kesari started speaking.

"Uhhhh... Dad... (now breathing in and then out deeply)..."

Pavan was getting restless. He firstly didn't like the idea of his son's rudeness a week back when all he wanted to do was to drive the point through to his son to take up some job and career, preferably a salaried one. His son had spent about half a year doing nothing, trying this and that, wasting his time. In this age of cut-throat competition, every second spent on useless things counts against you. And to think of six months of inactivity for no particular reason? And now what does his son want? To try out another fancy job or career? How long will the trials happen? As a father he was always liberal. He let his son do things that interested him. He showed interest in music, so he encouraged him. He showed interest in sports, so he encouraged him. Literary events, upon giving a little push, he took them up too. In the six months, he let his son try out such fancy jobs as even a salesperson, which he was sure even his son himself didn't want to do for a long term. Was he playing fool or was he thinking he can fool his father when in fact he is harming himself more than anyone?

His restlessness was showing in his body language - his fidgeting with things around and his rigorous and jerky movement of head around the whole shop.

But one passing look into his son's nervous and earnest eyes made him stop short of bursting out or even uttering anything. A feeling of shame that he was not even giving his son a chance when for once he seemed to be putting an honest effort to do something grew in him. That feeling lowered his head a bit with his eyes looking down, then outside the window and then he askance at his son almost saying, "What is it? Quick!"

"Dad, I wanted to show you something." Saying so he pulled out a few sheets. Handing them to his father, letting him read a few lines allowing the context to be set and for the idea to sink in, Kesari continued to speak.

"That is an offer letter for a job, dad. I am being offered a job as a writer for City Times. I get to write for their editorial. They saw my work which I submitted with my application."

His saw that his father was digesting his words. He knew that his dad should approve it if convinced that it interested him. He was always the one who gave him the impression that he wanted his son to pursue a career that interested him. Preferably a salaried one... That is why he didn't force him or urge him to take up sciences, or sports for that matter, in college. He even let his son choose the firm he wanted to do an internship with, while at college, and didn't make a fuss of it even though his son in his arrogant and naively rude manner said, "I don't want to do an internship with your company. That's it!" But Kesari also knew that somewhere he crossed some lines and that didn't meet with the approval of his dad.

Almost as if reading his dad's mind, he admitted, "I know you don't like the way I spent the last six months but I really was overwhelmed by the fact that I was going to be done with my college life. I'm sure you had felt something similar in your time too..."

There was a quarter of a nod from Pavan, not more, lest he appear softened to his son. But he surely knew what his son meant.

"I know I have been trying out fancy jobs..."

At this point Pavan interrupted, "And this is a trial too?" His face had an intense piercing look, which his son didn't like. But he didn't want to be doing his son easy favors. The world is not so gentle, so his son had better get used to the harsh ways of the world.

The waiter reappeared with their order. Kesari thanked the waiter for his timing because it couldn't have come at a better time than that. It allowed Kesari to gather his composure.

---

He took a deep breath. "Allow me to explain dad. Please! I know I didn't behave well for a long time now. But I am serious now as I am speaking to you. While I tried out fancy jobs something that I have been doing is to write. I have been writing various things. I wrote my thoughts. I wrote short stories. I wrote articles and movie reviews. In fact in college too I used to write. I just never paid attention to the fact that I used to write. I paid more attention to the rock band which was giving me ready fame in college. But I realized during these six months that I really have a passion for writing. I wish to take up writing as my career, dad! I am sure you'll understand this one more than any other 'fancy' decision of mine... because I got his from you, after all, dad! I inherited it from you, right?"

At this precise moment Pavan softened. There was an element of surprise. His expression said, "Where did that come from?"

Kesari paused, to take out another set of sheets. He handed them to his father. Pavan glanced at the sheets. The first one was titled, "We need true artists". His jaw dropped. Inside him, a chord had been struck. It was as if he spotted his long lost love. As he held the printed versions of his writings he gulped and choked with a little joyous emotion not unmixed with sadness that he couldn't pursue writing. The one about true artists was written by him when he felt that India, for her progress, needed genuine writers, movie directors and artists in general too; not just engineers. He flipped through the rest of the sheets to see what else was there. There was a short story too

Kesari continued, "You were an amazing writer dad! I am ashamed I never knew about it. I don't think I can write better than you, and I don't even want to compare. All I know is that I have a passion for writing just the way you did. Mom told me you had to give up the thought of writing as a career. Your situation was a tough one. So you had to pursue a conventional career in Engineering huh dad?"

Kesari's lips pursed at the end of the rhetoric. Pavan guessed that his wife must have told their son about the difficult choices they had to make. How depressing it was for him that he couldn't get enough time to wait for a publisher to offer him a deal! It so didn't work out that he altogether quit writing. At least that way he forced himself to believe that he never wanted to write. He never had a passion for writing! So he could continue working in his field of education - Electrical Engineering.

Kesari continued his appeal, "I am very honest when I say this dad. You are great! Not just as a writer, but as a person, a father, a husband... If I were you, I'd have just thrown in the towel. I'd have not cared for anybody but myself. I'd have continued writing even at the expense of uncertainty for my family. I not only want to take up writing because it appeals to me and is my passion, but also because it was - if it isn't now- your passion too but you never got to pursue it."

Pavan was contemplating. He finished his coffee and Kesari was almost done with his too. He was hiding his face from his son. His son's words appealed to him. He was at that point ready to burst into tears but somehow maintained a brave front. He nodded as he looked deep into his son's eyes. He didn't need to look deep this time because he knew these were genuine words from his son.

"I wish you good luck son! You'll see your dream come true, and in doing so, my dream come true too!"

They got back home. Dinner was spent talking about the next cricket match. Pushpa was pleasantly surprised that her ordeal - and surely the ordeal, in the form of a cold war, of her two most valuable people was over. She was happy and proud of her son for taking that step.

In a week from that day, at Pavan's birthday party organized at his residence, after cutting the cake, he proudly re-introduced his son to his friends, "Friends! Meet my son. Kesari Jandhyala. Editor of City Times. Above all... a writer... an artist..."