Kabir

They didn’t kill Aman. But they beat him mercilessly. Then they took him to a police station. They told the officer on duty that he had been caught teasing a girl. ‘Must be the spoilt son of some rich father,’ said the officer. ‘What is your father’s name?’

Aman was grinning as he told the story. ‘It was really hard to smile because they had bust my lip and my jaw was swollen. But I couldn’t help laughing. I said, “My father’s name is Prem Shourie, DGP North Mumbai.”’

I gave a shout of laughter. ‘Shabash! Your father was the DGP?! Fuck! What happened then?’

‘The officer in charge almost had a heart attack. He sent a constable running off for the first-aid kit. But it only had some cotton and a bottle of mercurochrome. He yelled at the men who had brought me in, “Marwayega kya?” They vanished very quickly. Then my father arrived.

‘He didn’t say anything. We got in the car and drove away. He took me straight to a doctor who patched me up. I had to get six stitches in my eyebrow. I lost a couple of teeth and had three broken ribs.

‘Then my father asked if I would like to have an ice cream. There was no way I could have had an ice cream with the state of my mouth, but it was our childhood code. Whenever I needed comfort, my father had bought me an ice cream.

‘We took the car to Marine Drive and found a spot on the rocks. Then I sat there, watching my ice cream melt as my father tried to talk to me. We were talking after years. It wasn’t easy for either of us.

“So, the girl is in your college?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, through swollen lips and broken teeth.

“Did you know who her father is?”

“Yes. You could say I was reminded the hard way today,” I said. I waited for the lecture but it never came.

“Is it any use to tell you to stay away from the girl?” he asked.

“No,” I said.

‘To my surprise, my father began to laugh. “This is me and your mother all over again.” He told me their story. He never talked about my mother. He had never told me a thing about how they met and got married. I always thought they had a boring arranged marriage. Turns out it was way more interesting than that.

‘My father was the local goonda. He and his friends used to hang around the locality, organizing all the festivals and the football tournaments. Once, my mother’s cycle got a puncture right at the edge of the football field. His father ran the local repair shop. When she went to the shop, my father fixed the puncture for her and promptly fell in love.

‘My grandfather refused to let his daughter have anything to do with the useless local boy. He tried to get her married to someone else.

‘But my father then turned up at that boy’s house and told him if he dared to marry her, he would break his legs. After that, my grandfather found that no one was willing to marry his daughter.

‘So, my father went over and suggested he let them marry. The old man said he would only give her to someone respectable. Then my father asked, “What is respectable enough for you?”

“Someone who puts people like you behind bars,” my grandfather replied. So my father went to my mother and asked her if she would wait five years. She said yes.

‘He sat for the civil services exam. Went off for IPS training. The day he got his uniform, he went to the old man and saluted him. “Now am I acceptable?” he asked. To his credit, my grandfather kept his word and let them marry.

‘All these years and my father had never told me the story. I had a sudden vision of him, young and reckless and in love. I liked it.

‘My sober, stable, respectable father looked at me and sighed. “You’re too young,” he said.

“How old were you when you met Mum?” He was silent. “You’ve forgotten, Dad. Try to remember what it was like.”

‘He sighed. His voice was very sad. “I made myself forget. I loved your mother very much. I couldn’t bear it when I lost her.”

“Me too,” I said. We were both silent for a while. I mushed the ice cream in the bottom of the cup. He finished his.

“So, what are we going to do now?” I asked.

“Go and ask her if she will wait five years,” he told me.

“She will,” I said. “I don’t have to ask to know.”

“Then let us see what happens next,” he said.

‘A great happiness filled my heart. I had my father’s support. It was worth getting beaten up to have got that.’

I looked at Aman and didn’t say what was in my own heart. I would have taken a hundred beatings to have my father’s support. I would have taken more to see my mother one more time.