In Search of Harmony

I couldn’t see clearly through the heavy rains outside but I knew this place very well. Even after a decade, the sheer presence of the hospital across the street made my mind feel like a paper boat caught in a hurricane. Though the rain in Bangalore brought the temperature down, I was sweating in the humid air, completely unaccustomed to it after years in the Seattle cold. He sat across the table. His drooping shoulders carried the weight of  several sleepless months. He kept shifting in his chair with a restless energy. He turned his gaze away from the hospital towards me. I saw his jaw clenched and my throat developed a lump. I dropped my eyes down to the table.

“Nine years,” he scoffed.

His sudden voice jerked my head up.

“I wonder if the ashes were still hot when you packed your bags and ran. And now after nine years, here you are, visiting from your better life,” he said. 

I wasn’t sure if I was sensing resentment or disgust. A full day of flying to face him did not feel like a smart idea at that moment. But I had to do it for my own sake.

“I am happier, ” I admitted. “I was suffocating back then. I had to leave,” I said calmly, trying hard to hide any signs of defensiveness. 

“You had a responsibility!” he snapped. “You were supposed to be a good son. You should have stayed and taken care of the family, like you always had. Instead, you abandoned the wreckage when the captain was lost.” 

My eyes widened. The old wound of losing dad tore open again . I also felt a familiar weight of expectations on my shoulders. I had a strong urge to abandon this conversation once again and leave.

I took a few deep breaths.

“Living for approvals was killing me,” I said, leaning forward. “I was the dutiful son but my life was a performance. When he died, the curtains dropped and I had no idea who I was outside that act,” I said.

He leaned forward, placing his hands on the table. “So you left for the US, leaving the life you had built here and starting over as if nothing mattered? What happened to the guy who once gave up on his American dream when his dad was diagnosed? You said you couldn’t imagine Mom doing everything by herself. How could you then leave her when she was all alone and needed you the most? “ His accusatory voice reminded me of my treason.

I winced at the memories that flooded me.

“I craved mom’s attention from the time the doctors gave up on dad. I could see our world crumbling and all I wanted was to hug her and cry my heart out. But we never spoke about our common grief. She cried before others and I never got a hug. I only got a list of things I had to do,” I said, recollecting my raw emotions. “I felt she did not need me,” I said sadly. 

He looked right through my pain with sharp defensive anger. “She needed someone to keep things going while your brother and extended family members were visiting. She needed someone to keep the house running. After dad, that was your responsibility, “ he said.

It wasn’t the first time I was being asked to let go of my emotions and carry out my responsibilities. “I had just lost my father. It was my time to grieve for him. In fact it was time for mom, brother and me to be there for each other,“ I said. “The expectations from me drowned my grief within me and I was suffocating,” I said looking him in the eyes. 

“Are you saying she was a bad mother to you?“ he asked rhetorically and visibly upset.

I offered a small, quiet shake of my head. “No. She did not know how to grieve her husband of forty-three years. And that took the form of anger towards me,” I said. The ghost of our old family dynamic was staring back at me. “We never spoke about our emotions within our family. We still don’t. Any difficult feeling quickly shapeshifted into an angry monster. I had to find solitude to seek help and work through my own confused emotions.”

He looked confused. “Have you seriously started believing your stories? You left your mother here all alone, while you lived comfortably in your new world,” he sneered.

This was going to take a lot more work than what I had anticipated. “I did grow comfortable. But not in the way you think,” I said. “I am comfortable asking myself what I want from my life. I am comfortable in pursuing my dreams without any guilt. I am comfortable in realizing that I don't need others to approve of my choices,” I continued. 

I clasped my hands, comforting myself. I was unsure he could understand what I was about to say next. “And I am comfortable in trusting mom, an adult, to figure out her next phase of life. I will always be around for her. But I am comfortable not giving up on my own life to save her, ” I said. 

I studied his facial expressions, much like a child searching their parents' faces for a sign of approval. His eyes widened. His shoulders felt loose as if some of the weight on them was lifted momentarily. Momentarily.

His voice was genuinely curious this time with no hint of anger. “Was it worth it? Leaving everything behind. Building a comfortable life elsewhere after having preached about family values all along,” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I said unconvinced of my answer. My voice presented the conflict within me. “I haven’t abandoned my family values. My life in Seattle allowed me to foster a relationship with my little niece. I am no longer a face on the phone to her. I am part of her life and she enjoys spending time with me, ” I said, reminiscing about the time I spent with my niece.  “When mom comes visiting every year, we all are together as a family. It is not always easy with our old habits still at play but it is still something,” I said. “We all share memories with each other and with my niece. Most of the time, we all remember the same incident differently which my niece finds hilarious. In those moments, moving away feels worth it, " I added. 

I felt the lump back in my throat. “Then there are those times when mom falls ill. And I wish I was right next to her to care for her, “ I said softly. “In those times, I regret everything. I regret having left.I regret not being good enough to save dad. I regret having chosen me. ” I choked. 

We both were looking at each other, not being able to breathe. His tired face was now showing nothing but sadness. 

“And what about me? How have you convinced yourself that it was okay to abandon me?” he whimpered. 

I stared at him, the question hanging in the dead air between us. “I… I didn’t abandon…” I said, quivering under his gaze. 

His pain was all over his face.  "You are here because you feel guilty, aren’t you?. You need absolution," he said  "You want me to tell you that it was okay to leave me. You want me to say I forgive you for being selfish," he said in a strangled voice.

It was true. I did want him to say all those things. I wanted to bridge the gap between us. I desperately needed that. "I want acceptance," I said softly. "I want you to understand that staying was not a choice"

His gaze was now back at the hospital. The anger in his jaw seemed to quiver once again, giving way to the raw, unadulterated grief of a boy who had just lost his father. A boy who was drowning in responsibilities before he could sit with that grief. 

I wanted to reach out across the massive divide between us and hold his shaking hands. “I want you to understand that shedding you was the only way I could survive,” I whispered.

His sad eyes pierced my heart.

I looked down to the table, at the fresh ink in my journal. The words felt like a fragile bridge built between two completely different men. Both men still alive within me, pulling in opposite directions. I capped my pen slowly, the soft click was loud between our silence. When I lifted my eyes, I caught my reflection in the rain streaked window. The dutiful version of me staring at me from across a nine-year divide. And beneath the reflection, hope of harmony.