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The doorbell rang. Raj opened the door.
“Who’s there?” asked Nisha from her bedroom.
Raj saw a man in his early sixties of medium height with white hair and white 3-4 day stubble. He looked extremely thin and wasted. His eyes strangely reminded Raj of Nisha.
The gentleman was accompanied by a woman—she too was in her early sixties but had dark hair tied in a bun and a round face. She looked mildly overweight. She looked very Kashmiri, as she was wearing the typical gold chain Dejhoor that dangled from a piercing in her upper left ear and then went to the right.
Raj knew in an instant who they were.
Nisha came out of her bedroom and was surprised to find who was standing there.
“Dad? Mom?” said Nisha.
The man moved towards Nisha. His eyes filled up.
“My child, why didn’t you tell me that you were suffering?” asked Nisha’s dad.
“Stay away from me,” said Nisha rather sternly. She looked in the other direction. Raj sensed trouble. Julia too came running out of the room and growled at the man.
“JULIA. NO. STOP IT,” said Raj in a stern voice. Julia pacified. It was strange that both Julia and Nisha had the same reaction.
Her mom was about to say something when Raj asked both of them—to take a seat in the living room while he spoke to Nisha privately. Raj took Nisha to the other room and commiserated,
“Nisha. You should not be speaking to your parents like that. You haven’t spoken to them in a while. What is wrong with you?”
“Just that I don’t wish to speak to them,” said Nisha. She stared at Raj. Coldly.
“But why? What have they done?” pestered Raj.
Nisha was quiet for a few moments. Then she spoke:
“He ruined my life.”
Raj didn’t know how to react. Was Nisha right? Raj took a deep breath.
“Okay,” said Raj. He held Nisha’s hands and looked her straight in the eye.
“Do you know that I’m your best friend?” asked Raj.
“There is no doubt about that,” said Nisha.
“You’ve shared everything with me. Pain. Suffering. Joy. Happiness. Friends. Enemies. All ups and downs in life. And I’ve always been with you. But you haven’t spoken much about your father. Now tell me, is there something you are hiding from me?” asked Raj in a comforting tone.
“I don’t wish to speak about him. He is a cancer to me,” said Nisha.
“Cancer?” asked Raj.
Then he suddenly realised what Nisha meant. Her father was a chain smoker. It looked like Nisha sub-consciously blamed her father for her lung cancer. Nisha might be right. Or she might be wrong. It wasn’t clear that Nisha had developed lung cancer due to her passive smoking.
Raj didn’t know—how to carry the conversation forward.
“Wait a minute, Nisha. Do you blame your father for your cancer?” asked Raj.
Nisha became quiet. Raj was perplexed, waiting for some response.
“Tell me, Raj, what kind of a father smokes in the presence of his little girl?” asked Nisha.
“Nisha, no one in his right senses can defend smoking. But to impose today’s knowledge and standards on the customs of olden days....... I know what your father did wasn’t right but...” said Raj.
“Wasn’t right? So you do know that passive smoking can increase a non-smoker's risk of getting lung cancer almost by a quarter?” asked Nisha.
“Nisha. I can understand—”
“You don’t understand. That is the problem. Passive smoking is so.... so horrible for children. I have been researching a lot and am certain that children exposed to passive smoke are at a higher risk of respiratory infections, asthma, and bacterial meningitis.”
“Now you’ll ask me what is the connection to all of this with my father. So let me explain. My mom would almost beg my father not to smoke in front of me, when I was a little girl. She’d known instinctively that second hand smoking might make me sick. But my father never listened. Because for him smoking was the macho thing that all his colleagues indulged in. It was his right. God given right,” continued Nisha with such rancour in her voice that it stunned Raj.
Raj kept his hands on his forehead not knowing what to say.
“I know you’re going to say that my father loved me. Now what kind of a father smokes in the house knowing very well that his smoking can harm his child and then claims that he loves his daughter? That he’ll do anything for her,” said Nisha.
“Nisha.... but you yourself have shared with me such happy memories of the time you spent with your folks. You told me that whenever you were stressed out, your father took you out for a walk on the Marine Drive. He knew that you enjoyed the sea breeze, the splashing of the waves and the honking of the ships approaching the harbour. He knew that these things made you smile and giggle with joy. You told me how you enjoyed sharing an ice-cream with your father. How he’d just take a bite and would give the rest to you. Because you were his little girl. What about—”
“But did he stop smoking? He didn’t. Did he ever care about what that will do to his little girl’s lungs? Now I don’t want to hear the answer that nobody is perfect,” said Nisha.
“Think about the day when he bought you a gift. It was a stuffed puppy, you said—soft and fluffy. He knew how much you loved puppies. You’d kissed him on his cheek and said that that was the best birthday gift you ever got. Do you remember?” Raj was thinking furiously of what next to say.
He saw a little bit of emotion in Nisha’s eyes.
“Yes I do remember. But a father who never gave a damn about his little girl’s health? How can that be forgiven?” asked Nisha.
“You told me you had differences with your father. When you’d told him that you wanted to be a singer, he had his reservations. That’s okay. Conservative parents do think about conservative careers like medicine or engineering for their kids because that’s what everyone around them may be doing. He probably didn’t understand that you were passionate about singing as a full-time career. But he never became an obstacle in that path, did he? The key is: he understood. Isn’t understanding a form of love?” asked Raj.
“Had he understood me, he’d have never smoked in front of me. I’m glad I’ve shunned him from my life. He was so idiotically adamant about our marriage too, have you forgotten? Just because you came from a different community and caste? That’s why I never sought his approval to marry you and didn’t even invite him for our wedding. I wish others did the same to their fathers who smoked or were so idiotically conservative,” said Nisha.
Raj took Nisha’s hands.
“Nisha, don’t be so angry, pleeease. Please forgive him. Do it for me,” said Raj.
“I cannot believe you are saying this. What kind of an emotional blackmail is this?” asked Nisha.
“Nisha. Do it for me. Do it for yourself. You’ll feel much better. I know a part of you is suffering from inside because you’ve not forgiven your father. Trust me,” said Raj.
Nisha was silent. She looked in the other direction. Raj remained persistent. He repeated the request. Then he repeated again. And again. It didn’t work. He had to try something else.
“Nisha, do you remember the promise you made to your fairy godmother— Bosphorus?” asked Raj.
Nisha looked at him. She was surprised.
“Let me remind you. You’d told me that you’ll take charge of your destiny. That you’ll not blame yourself or anyone for anything that happens to you. That you’ll not be a victim anymore,” said Raj.
His words appeared to have a magical effect on Nisha.
“Forgiving your father would be one of them. It’ll release the victim within you,” insisted Raj.
Nisha nodded.
“Do it for yourself. Please,” implored Raj.
“You rascal. You are forcing me to forgive my father. I’ve never asked you to improve your relationship with your father and mother. It is your personal choice. Why can’t you allow the same privilege to me,” asked Nisha.
“Nisha. Please,” said Raj.
Nisha took a deep breath, and said:
“Alright. I promise I’ll do it for myself. Because I love you and myself,” said Nisha.
***
Nisha’s father and mother were sitting in the living room, rather quietly.
“I don’t think she’s going to forgive me. Ever. Let’s go,” said Nisha’s father.
“But we’d come specifically to meet her. If we leave, Nisha will never forgive us. So let’s wait,” said Nisha’s mother.
Nisha’s father nodded. And both of them waited. And waited for quite a while.
Then he saw Nisha coming out of her bedroom with Raj. He was afraid to face his daughter but her eyes indicated something else.
“Daddy...” said Nisha in a soft voice.
“Nisha, my child,” said her father and hugged her. He then kissed her on her forehead.
“We were so saddened to hear about you. We watched the Indian Idol session which you were judging. And then we heard about lung cancer. I am so upset that you didn’t choose to inform us directly. Have we become that irrelevant?” asked her father.
Nisha didn’t speak. Her eyes were cold.
“Father, I forgive you,” said Nisha. Her father smiled.
“Really?” he asked.
Nisha nodded.
Raj asked them to spend the evening with Nisha. Without him. He wanted Nisha to relive her happy memories. He asked her father to take her out for a walk on the Marine Drive. And also to have an ice-cream together.
He was glad that Nisha was no longer a victim. Not anymore. She’d crossed the waters to the other side of the shore. She’d become—a survivor!
