Beta (son) Karan,
Let me start this letter by saying something I have been meaning to say for the longest time, but have been unable to. (Hence this letter - I have decided to write down everything I ever wished to say to you in here...) I love you beta. I love you more than anything in this world. I do not know why I find it so difficult to express myself, to proclaim my love for you. Is it just me? Or does it happen to everyone? Why is it so difficult to say sorry, or thank you, or I love you, to your own flesh and blood? How many times have I planned to say this to you... But nowadays, every time we meet, we either exchange pleasantries, like strangers, or angry arguments, like sworn enemies...
When did this happen? This rift between us? I understand that you are now a grown man. And now you are busy with your own world of studies and friends... And I have been busy too... Too busy to spend some time with you. Which brings me to say another thing that I may not be able to speak aloud. I have not been a good father... It was one of the most difficult realizations of my life...
I have been thinking a lot recently. Have spent many a sleepless nights, worrying about you, and thinking about us... Retrospecting, and trying to figure out what went wrong... How did we drift apart so much? Where did I go wrong?
So busy was I in my own devices, I never even noticed when you grew up to be a man that you are now. Now you have your studies, your friends, your own world that's so different from mine. Had it not been for some recent developments, I would have continued going about my daily tasks, completely oblivious that my child has now grown his glorious wings and is fearlessly soaring the open skies.
There is a confession I wish to make, beta. I know what I am about to tell you may enrage you. May make you hate me. I have been sheltering you from my work life and my past for all these years. I did not want either of them to cast their dark shadow on the only person I have and love in this world. But I have decided to be as candid with you as possible. You now fit into my shoes and I fell I need to talk to you man-to-man.
The recent developments I referred to before pertain to the enemies I made in my profession as an industrialist. I would be lying if I said that the wealth I have amassed all came from legal sources. No one who has managed the transition from rags to riches in their single lifetime did it without getting their hands dirty. I have my fair share of skeletons in the closet. I know you may lose your respect for me once you read this. But I hope that when you hear my story, you may at least be able to understand that I had no choice and I did this all for you. My road to damnation was paved, not by the ugly, smooth marble tiles of desire and ambition, but by rough uncut stones of necessity. I did what I did because I had to. And I am not at all sorry for that. Even if you hate me for what I have become, I will forgive you and accept your recrimination with no misgivings. I do not mind becoming Ratnakara - the robber who later became Valmiki, because everything I have done - whether good, bad or ugly, I did it for you.
A few days back, my enemies - powerful and wealthy businessmen and politicos - threatened me with your life. I do not mind if they come for me. I have made sure that you will have enough to live a comfortable life - a life neither me nor your mother could have. So I do not fear for my life. But I cannot bear if anything happens to you. So I had a special team of investigators following you day and night. I hope you will forgive me, beta. For now I realize that doing so without letting you know was gross invasion of your privacy. But at that time, I was too concerned for your life to think things through.
What the investigators reported back to me was partly revelatory, partly very concerning. You have always been my little boy. How did I fail to notice that you are now a grown-up man? There is so much a father does not know about his boy once the boy has flown the nest... There are facets of your life I would never have known, had it not been for this unhappy coincidence that necessitated me to have my men keep an eye on you. I never intended to impinge upon your privacy. All I wanted was for you to be safe. And I hope you will forgive me for that.
When the investigators reported how you bunked your classes with your special group of friends, how you guys got drunk and dived recklessly in the pond at the Old Fort, how you guys sped your car, in an inebriated state, on the empty roads at night - I was first thunderstruck. I got you admitted into the best college so that you would have a better chance at an education than I did. I was never ready to face the fact that my son whiles away his free time in company of good-for-naughts. For a while I was so angry at you. I wanted to confront you and tell you to concentrate on your studies and your career. And to let go of your hooligan friends. I know how a rotten apple can spoil all the other good apples in the basket. I have seen it happen to my brother. Which is also the reason why I have no friends. Because I don't make any. I am always wary of people. I cannot bring myself to trust them. Not after what friendship did to your uncle.
I tried to tell you, without revealing that my people were spying on you. But you would simply not listen to me. I guess every father has to go through that painful phase when he sees his adolescent child treading the wrong path. And he tries to warn them. But the hot blood simply rejects the words of experience and wisdom. The more we fathers try to tell you the more you kids choose to defy our love and wisdom. And we are left helplessly watching our own flesh-and-blood crash and burn.
I agonized and spent many a sleepless nights worrying about you. Waiting for you to return home safe. What if, in your drunken state, you misjudged you step and got injured at the pond? What if you hit someone with your speeding car, after getting drunk at some dhaba with your friends? What if that someone died? I would pay any price to rescue you from the clutches of the law - I have quite a few police officers in my pocket. But how will I save you from your own guilt? Having dirtied my hands in the ugly world out there, I know that for a kid who has always lived a sheltered and straight life, it would be a shattering blow to realize that your carelessness cost someone their life. It would crush you. That was what I was worried about you most. You are right now at that delicate stage in life where, your actions and decisions will shape the man you will become. And I wish that you become a much better man than I am.
While I lay awake thus, worrying about you, waiting for you to come home, I realized how I have been so busy, that I neglected you. I never gave you my time. Had I taken the pains to be a friend to you, maybe you would not have rejected my advice and my admonitions.
But friendship is a concept that does not bore well with me. I am unable to make friends. I have given it all a lot of thought lately It is sad, now that I think about it - the fact that I cannot trust people enough to make friends. But I feel even more sad because I have realized that maybe I distrust friendship because I was unlucky enough to never get any good friends. I do not know if your friends are any good. I hope that I have misjudged them. And if they are really good, hold onto them, beta. Don't become a bitter friendless lonely fool like your father.
I agree, I have not been a good father. They say that once your child fits into your shoes, a father is supposed to become his friend. As you made that transition into adulthood, I was too engrossed in my work to spend time with you. And I am so sorry for that...
Unlike me, your Grandpa was a good father. You know that he died when I was just a teenager. So he never got the opportunity to be my friend. But while he was alive, he did spend quality time with me. I have some of the most nostalgic memories of him - riding on his back as a child, learning to ride a cycle with him holding the seat. I have been so busy pursuing inconsequential things that I had almost forgotten all those sweet moments. But I remember them nowadays, while I lay awake thinking about fathers and sons - you and me, me and your grandpa... Wish he was alive now. We would not have been so rich, but we would have been a much happier family.
Nowadays, while I lay awake contemplating, I cannot help but think - did I maybe trade our happiness for the riches? That is one question whose answer I do not wish to find out. I am not sure I may be able to live with that knowledge. But I had no choice. Becoming rich was never my dream. Circumstances forced me to pursue affluence...
Some years down, when you too will be a father, and you have the responsibility of your family on your shoulders, you will realize that growing up is a painful business. It chips away at you, extinguishing the spark that has defined you as a child... But its a necessary transition that everybody has to go through. Either you grow up on your own, or life will teach you the hard way. When your Grandpa died, I had to grow up. Too quickly. I was the eldest. The weight of the entire family was now upon my growing shoulders. My mother, your Granny, was crushed by his death. She tried to swallow her grief and take care of us for a few months. But we were not so affluent then. Not that we were poor. But a police officer's salary is not really very exotic. We were well-to-do while he was earning. Now that he was no more, our meager savings began to slowly dwindle. In those days, women weren't known to land the best of jobs. Mother tried her best to make ends meet - doing whatever work came her way. But that was not enough. Both my siblings, your uncle and your aunt, were too young to help.
I had to give up studies. I do not know whether that's a good or a bad thing. For, over the years, as a businessman, I have seen a lot of the World, and I have come to realize that studies and degrees tend to bind you down. An educated person will hardly ever think beyond the boundaries of his comfortable pond. But an uneducated person has no qualms taking risks, leaving his puddle to go searching for an ocean; for, what has he got to lose? But here is the thing. Sometimes boundaries are good for you. It is better to be in a comfortable little pond, than to live surviving the daily storms in the ocean. In order to survive, the ocean makes you do things that will keep you awake, trying in vain to quell the angry voice of your conscience. That is why I tried my best to impart to you the best education I could afford. Because I want you to have the best possible pond. A pond that I could never have.
When I left schooling, I left behind my opportunity to have a safe pond. I was in a mere puddle. I had to rise up, go conquer the ocean. But that would come later. At that moment I was just trying to survive. Having lost one parent, I was struggling not to lose another. I took up whatever menial jobs that came my way. That was the time I learnt what they mean by the term "back breaking work". And that was the time I decided I would never allow my children to ever have to go though the ordeal... By the time I came home I was so tired all I wanted to do was fall asleep. But the days were long and the nights were so short. When the early morning alarm clock went off it felt like I had closed my eyes just a second ago... And on some nights, there was no sleep to be had. For your grandma would sometimes suffer severe bouts of coughing and I had to stay awake the whole night tending to her.
Grief, like growing up, eats away at you, taking away a little piece of you everyday. But unlike growing up, grief also eats away at your will to survive. Mother could never overcome her grief at the loss of her husband. It kept eating away at her, killing her bit by tiny bit. I was too busy to notice it then... A few years later, she succumbed to her illness. But I know that it was the grief that killed her. Her body may have died that day of TB, but her spirit had died, years back, of grief. Grief of losing her husband. And grief of being betrayed by her own flesh and blood, by her own son.
I knew she was dying, and not just of her illness. Yet I so wanted to save her that day. I had lost my father, I didn't wish to lose my mother. But I had no money. The little money that both me and mother had managed to save over the past few years was stolen from us. You know who the thief was. I told you once, right?
That swine. My younger brother, who would have been your uncle now - that's who stole our hard-earned money. He and his friends wanted to pursue their dreams in the movie world. So they stole our money and eloped. That was the last nail in poor Mother's coffin. She died with her head on my lap, pining for her husband, and cursing her child...
I never heard of him again. May be he died. And good riddance too. While I did love him, I could never bring myself to forgive him. To me, he died the very same day he listened to his friends and stole from his own home; made a hole in the very same plate that served him his daily bread... And from that day on, I could never bring myself to trust anyone. I was wary of making friends, still am, even to this day. The few I did have just faded out of my life, treading their own paths... And a good thing too. When your Grandma was in the hospital, I went from door to door begging for help. No one came forward. A fat lot of good all the friends and relatives were. Your grandpa was a public servant. He served his country and the society. He died a martyr's death, while on duty. But where was the government, the society and the countrymen when his family needed help?
That was the day I realized that each man is on his own. Even though we consider ourselves civilized, it is a ruthless hungry jungle out there. They say that we are all equal - utter bullshit. The system is made and run by people who possess power and money. I realized it then. And I can vouch for it now, after having seen the ways of the world from both dark as well as clear glasses. The rich and the powerful make the world turn. They ensure that the rest of the junta remains economic slaves, serving them, helping them earn and grow more powerful and affluent. The rich become richer by exploiting the common man, selling him his dreams, making him believe that the system is fair. But it is not... I decided that I would rather be a master than be an economic slave. I would rather prey than be preyed upon.
When mother died, the old innocent, straight as an arrow, hard working Rajnath died with her. Innocence and moral high ground were a luxury I could no longer afford. I had three more precious lives to take care of. Your aunt was studying. I wanted her to complete her education, get married, and have a better life of her own. My recently wedded better-half, your mother, was pregnant, with a new life - you - growing inside her. And we had lost all our meager savings. As you can see I had no choice. I embraced the dark side with arms wide open and eyes wide shut.
Anyone who tells you that they earned their wealth by hard-work and clear conscience is lying. If the world would have worked the way our benevolent Creator intended it to (assuming there is a God, which I really doubt), then each man would have been happy earning his daily bread, and asking for nothing more. Man would have helped his fellow man in need, and there would never have been a need for amassing wealth and pursuing power. And those little green pieces of paper that are a root cause of all evil in the world, would never have existed. But the system of the world, unfortunately does not move that way. Hard work had earned me nothing but body ache and a prematurely ageing body. I was desperate, poor, hungry, and had my own to look after. Survival is an animal instinct. It has nothing human about it. I stopped being human then.
I will tell you no more. Not out of fear that you might come to hate me. Something tells me you are already on that path. But because I wish to shelter you from all the bad things out there in the real world. That is also the reason why I have never been so candid with you. I always wanted to shelter you from the trials and tribulations of my past. But now I can hold on no more. You are now a grown man and I feel, or rather hope, that you may be able to understand me better now.
The first few years were the hardest. Not just because it is hard to survive economically when you are proverbially broke. But more so, because it is not an easy task for a straight man to go crooked. It requires a particularly pachydermatous hide to be able to go around doing wrong without feeling guilty about it. Without losing sleep over it. Without having to bear the discontent of the little voice of conscience growing inside you like a cancer. I was originally not equipped with that kind of shameless skin. I think no human is. But I guess life makes us grow that skin. Its a necessary mutation for surviving the death of innocence in the harsh real world out there.
I know you may not agree with this home-grown ideology of mine. And I won't blame you. Most people don't. But here is the thing. It was painful, every time I trod over someone's head, or snatched away the morsel from someone's mouth, to earn my living. The voice of my conscience would keep nagging at me like a thorn in my side. Would keep haunting my nights. And you know what kept me going? It was you.
You were the best thing that happened to us during those trying times - a ray of bright sunshine during a perpetually raging storm. The pattering of your tiny feet brought happiness into a family that had been unhappy and beset with bad times for quite a long time. Every day, when I returned home, tired in the body and in the soul, your mother's comforting embrace and your happy childish antics were my anesthetic. I would hold you in my arms and all the pain and guilt would simply vanish. Your giggles, your meaningless and yet so very expressive gibberish, the way you played on my body, the way your little hand held onto my finger as you stood on your own feet and took your first tentative steps... These were the moments that made those strife-filled years bearable. That was what kept me going... That, and the promise I made your mother on her death bed.
Those first few years after my mother's death were dog years for both of us. You were our first priority, above everything else. I would later come to amass a lot of wealth. But unfortunately your mother would not be with me to see it. To celebrate my success. To be able to enjoy a contented four-course meal twice a day. Forget about a four-course meal, there were nights that we both would spend tossing and turning sleeplessly, fighting the grumbling stomach, the infernal ache that they call hunger pangs. Her medical reports would say that your mother died of Malaria. But I know deep inside that she died of hunger.
Today I have so much. But I don't have her. If only I had just a single drop out of all this ocean of wealth that I possess now, I could have saved her then. But time and death are the two irreversible absolutes in man's life. She loved you so much son. While I was away the whole day trying to earn a living, she would ensure that you got the best. She would ensure that you had sufficient to eat, even if she had to go hungry. She never told this to me. It was only later when she succumbed to her illness that I realized the sacrifice she had done for your sake. She had grown so weak, her body just couldn't fight the disease. As I held her in my arms, in that unholy public hospital, she asked me to promise her that I would take good care of you. That I would ensure that you got the best possible things in life. And then she breathed her last.
She need not have asked for the promise. I love you as much as she did. And I have tried my best to give you a good life. A kind of life I unfortunately couldn't give to your mother or mine. At least I hope so.
After your mother's death, I began pursuing wealth and power with a relentless single-minded tenacity... I never married again. I missed your mother, still do. I know you missed her too. As a toddler, you needed a mother more than you needed me. I understood that. But I was not sure how well a step-mother would have taken care of you. So I stayed unmarried. Your aunt took care of you until she got married. After that it was just you and me.
I agree I have not been a good father. I could give you everything money could buy. But I couldn't give you my time. And I think that is what has driven us apart so much. I am so sorry, son. I wish I had as much wisdom then as I have now. Hope you will forgive me some day. And I hope you will be a better father than I was.
I think I have been rambling too much about my past. I always wanted to share all this with you, but I held on, for I wanted to shelter you from my rough and unhappy past. How fast you kids grow up. One moment you were this sweet toddler. And now suddenly you are a grown man. And while it is true that, for the parents, their child never ever grows up, I feel that it is now time I shared my story with you. Not to justify myself. But in the hope that it may help you understand the circumstances that made your father the man that he is today.
Maybe you will still resent me for what I have become. Maybe you will start hating me. This is one thought that has been troubling me for a long time now. The one worry that has been eating away at me most on all these recent sleepless nights.
Getting you hands dirty, while painful to the soul, is not really difficult. In fact, it is the easier of the two paths. But once dirty, they stay dirty forever. When I realized the danger to your life, I tried to pull myself away from my corrupt cohorts. But life of corruption and crime is like quicksand. They would not have it. They were afraid I would squawk on them. I was after all their partner in crime. So now they threatened me with your life if I withdrew. Talk about being caught between a rock and a hard place.
For the first time in life I was afraid, desperate, like a cornered animal. I decided to end my life then. That day I came to within a second of pulling the trigger. Sitting in my bedroom late at night, with the cold nozzle of my personal revolver held into my mouth, my only thought was for your safety. I did not wish for you to find that your father died a coward's death. But if I died, both my enemies and my cursed cohorts would no longer have any reason to come after you. And your safety was paramount to me. Even if it meant falling from your eyes. But as I was about to pull the trigger, I suddenly realized that I had no way of guaranteeing that they would still not come after you, if not out of necessity, then out of vengeance. So I reluctantly pulled the gun out of my mouth and sat there and cried. I had not cried even once after your mother's death. But that day I cried until my eyes went dry.
The next day I approached my partners and told them that if they ensured your safety, I would not turn on them. They agreed to extend their full support. Yet I could still not be hundred percent sure of your safety. So then I secretly approached my enemies. And in return for your safety, as a favor, I secretly negotiated a Defence spare parts deal for them. Little did I know then, how this action of mine, meant to keep you out of harms way, would end up hurting you instead. But for the time being I could rest assured that you would be safe.
I have been walking on slippery ground here. Sooner or later, my double cross will get exposed. And then they will come for me. But your life had been spared. And that was all that mattered.
For a while, my investigators kept following you, just to double check. Then I pulled them off of your back. It felt like a voyeur, spying into the personal life of my own son. But just before they discontinued their surveillance, they reported back to me a disturbing news.
One of your friends who was an AirForce pilot died in a fighter plane crash. And you all appeared to be very upset about his demise. While a friendless man like me is unable to understand the loss of a friend, I could clearly see the pain etched on your face in the days that followed. No parent can ever see their child in pain. I wish I could drive away that pain. But I cannot. I tried to talk to you, but you would shut me out. You had withdrawn even further into your own world.
Being a parent I can empathize with the loss and pain your friend's parents must feel. Sometimes I contemplate - was it I who was indirectly responsible for your friend's demise? The Defence deal I had helped negotiate, in order to ensure your safety, was for faulty spare parts of fighter planes.
I know you will be very enraged when you read this. If you feel hateful towards me I will understand. By the time you are reading this, I will have already lost all respect in your eyes. And though this is the most painful thing for any father, I will accept it. You may be unhappy now, but I will have left you a sizable fortune. And, though money cannot buy happiness, it certainly makes it easier to bear sadness. And it ensures that you do not have to stoop as low as I had to, in order to earn a living. You need not dirty your hands trying to survive a harsh life. As long as you are safe and well-off I am ready to live with your hate and your disrespect, in a Father's Hell.
But if you ask me whether I regret negotiating that deal? Then my honest answer would be - No. I do not mind being responsible for someone's death, if it means saving yours.
I had a promise to keep. The promise I made to your mother. And the one I made to myself. That I will try to give you everything that I could never have. That I will always take care of you. That I will never let anything bad happen to you. And I have kept that promise.
You know, a few days back, I had a dream. You are very upset about something. I take you in my arms. I get an impression that you are angry at me. You are asking me - 'Why did you do this, Papa? Why?' And I have no answer. Your tears and anguish are hurting me. And all I wish to do is to make them disappear - by whatever means possible. Then you take out a gun, and shoot me. Then I got up, all sweating and shivering. What a weird dream. I know you would never hurt me, beta. But if you ever feel like taking my life, I would gladly give it up for you. But I hope you never do this, beta. Not for my sake. I am already a dead man. It is better to die at your hands, than at the dirty hands of my cohorts. But taking a life, even if it's mine, will shatter you. You are pure, innocent, and unlike me, untouched by the dirtiness of the world. I do not want you to ever lose your innocence and purity of heart. That is the greatest treasure of all.
I hope you will forgive me. And I am okay if you don't. I wish I could say all of this to you - face to face. But I am no good with words.
I will place this letter in your room where you can find it easily.
If, after reading this, you feel like talking to me, I am always there for you.
And if you don't, I will understand.
I love you, beta. Always will love you...
God bless you, beta.
Your loving father,
Rajnath Singhania
22nd January 2006
This unopened letter was found in the room of Karan Singhania, who, after killing his own father, was shot down by the commandos in the All India Radio station. He, along with his friends, was accused of killing the Defence Minister.
Note to the Reader: The above story, and it's characters are based on the movie Rang De Basanti (2006). I would recommend you please watch the movie in order to better understand the story.
Let me start this letter by saying something I have been meaning to say for the longest time, but have been unable to. (Hence this letter - I have decided to write down everything I ever wished to say to you in here...) I love you beta. I love you more than anything in this world. I do not know why I find it so difficult to express myself, to proclaim my love for you. Is it just me? Or does it happen to everyone? Why is it so difficult to say sorry, or thank you, or I love you, to your own flesh and blood? How many times have I planned to say this to you... But nowadays, every time we meet, we either exchange pleasantries, like strangers, or angry arguments, like sworn enemies...
When did this happen? This rift between us? I understand that you are now a grown man. And now you are busy with your own world of studies and friends... And I have been busy too... Too busy to spend some time with you. Which brings me to say another thing that I may not be able to speak aloud. I have not been a good father... It was one of the most difficult realizations of my life...
I have been thinking a lot recently. Have spent many a sleepless nights, worrying about you, and thinking about us... Retrospecting, and trying to figure out what went wrong... How did we drift apart so much? Where did I go wrong?
So busy was I in my own devices, I never even noticed when you grew up to be a man that you are now. Now you have your studies, your friends, your own world that's so different from mine. Had it not been for some recent developments, I would have continued going about my daily tasks, completely oblivious that my child has now grown his glorious wings and is fearlessly soaring the open skies.
There is a confession I wish to make, beta. I know what I am about to tell you may enrage you. May make you hate me. I have been sheltering you from my work life and my past for all these years. I did not want either of them to cast their dark shadow on the only person I have and love in this world. But I have decided to be as candid with you as possible. You now fit into my shoes and I fell I need to talk to you man-to-man.
The recent developments I referred to before pertain to the enemies I made in my profession as an industrialist. I would be lying if I said that the wealth I have amassed all came from legal sources. No one who has managed the transition from rags to riches in their single lifetime did it without getting their hands dirty. I have my fair share of skeletons in the closet. I know you may lose your respect for me once you read this. But I hope that when you hear my story, you may at least be able to understand that I had no choice and I did this all for you. My road to damnation was paved, not by the ugly, smooth marble tiles of desire and ambition, but by rough uncut stones of necessity. I did what I did because I had to. And I am not at all sorry for that. Even if you hate me for what I have become, I will forgive you and accept your recrimination with no misgivings. I do not mind becoming Ratnakara - the robber who later became Valmiki, because everything I have done - whether good, bad or ugly, I did it for you.
A few days back, my enemies - powerful and wealthy businessmen and politicos - threatened me with your life. I do not mind if they come for me. I have made sure that you will have enough to live a comfortable life - a life neither me nor your mother could have. So I do not fear for my life. But I cannot bear if anything happens to you. So I had a special team of investigators following you day and night. I hope you will forgive me, beta. For now I realize that doing so without letting you know was gross invasion of your privacy. But at that time, I was too concerned for your life to think things through.
What the investigators reported back to me was partly revelatory, partly very concerning. You have always been my little boy. How did I fail to notice that you are now a grown-up man? There is so much a father does not know about his boy once the boy has flown the nest... There are facets of your life I would never have known, had it not been for this unhappy coincidence that necessitated me to have my men keep an eye on you. I never intended to impinge upon your privacy. All I wanted was for you to be safe. And I hope you will forgive me for that.
When the investigators reported how you bunked your classes with your special group of friends, how you guys got drunk and dived recklessly in the pond at the Old Fort, how you guys sped your car, in an inebriated state, on the empty roads at night - I was first thunderstruck. I got you admitted into the best college so that you would have a better chance at an education than I did. I was never ready to face the fact that my son whiles away his free time in company of good-for-naughts. For a while I was so angry at you. I wanted to confront you and tell you to concentrate on your studies and your career. And to let go of your hooligan friends. I know how a rotten apple can spoil all the other good apples in the basket. I have seen it happen to my brother. Which is also the reason why I have no friends. Because I don't make any. I am always wary of people. I cannot bring myself to trust them. Not after what friendship did to your uncle.
I tried to tell you, without revealing that my people were spying on you. But you would simply not listen to me. I guess every father has to go through that painful phase when he sees his adolescent child treading the wrong path. And he tries to warn them. But the hot blood simply rejects the words of experience and wisdom. The more we fathers try to tell you the more you kids choose to defy our love and wisdom. And we are left helplessly watching our own flesh-and-blood crash and burn.
I agonized and spent many a sleepless nights worrying about you. Waiting for you to return home safe. What if, in your drunken state, you misjudged you step and got injured at the pond? What if you hit someone with your speeding car, after getting drunk at some dhaba with your friends? What if that someone died? I would pay any price to rescue you from the clutches of the law - I have quite a few police officers in my pocket. But how will I save you from your own guilt? Having dirtied my hands in the ugly world out there, I know that for a kid who has always lived a sheltered and straight life, it would be a shattering blow to realize that your carelessness cost someone their life. It would crush you. That was what I was worried about you most. You are right now at that delicate stage in life where, your actions and decisions will shape the man you will become. And I wish that you become a much better man than I am.
While I lay awake thus, worrying about you, waiting for you to come home, I realized how I have been so busy, that I neglected you. I never gave you my time. Had I taken the pains to be a friend to you, maybe you would not have rejected my advice and my admonitions.
But friendship is a concept that does not bore well with me. I am unable to make friends. I have given it all a lot of thought lately It is sad, now that I think about it - the fact that I cannot trust people enough to make friends. But I feel even more sad because I have realized that maybe I distrust friendship because I was unlucky enough to never get any good friends. I do not know if your friends are any good. I hope that I have misjudged them. And if they are really good, hold onto them, beta. Don't become a bitter friendless lonely fool like your father.
I agree, I have not been a good father. They say that once your child fits into your shoes, a father is supposed to become his friend. As you made that transition into adulthood, I was too engrossed in my work to spend time with you. And I am so sorry for that...
Unlike me, your Grandpa was a good father. You know that he died when I was just a teenager. So he never got the opportunity to be my friend. But while he was alive, he did spend quality time with me. I have some of the most nostalgic memories of him - riding on his back as a child, learning to ride a cycle with him holding the seat. I have been so busy pursuing inconsequential things that I had almost forgotten all those sweet moments. But I remember them nowadays, while I lay awake thinking about fathers and sons - you and me, me and your grandpa... Wish he was alive now. We would not have been so rich, but we would have been a much happier family.
Nowadays, while I lay awake contemplating, I cannot help but think - did I maybe trade our happiness for the riches? That is one question whose answer I do not wish to find out. I am not sure I may be able to live with that knowledge. But I had no choice. Becoming rich was never my dream. Circumstances forced me to pursue affluence...
Some years down, when you too will be a father, and you have the responsibility of your family on your shoulders, you will realize that growing up is a painful business. It chips away at you, extinguishing the spark that has defined you as a child... But its a necessary transition that everybody has to go through. Either you grow up on your own, or life will teach you the hard way. When your Grandpa died, I had to grow up. Too quickly. I was the eldest. The weight of the entire family was now upon my growing shoulders. My mother, your Granny, was crushed by his death. She tried to swallow her grief and take care of us for a few months. But we were not so affluent then. Not that we were poor. But a police officer's salary is not really very exotic. We were well-to-do while he was earning. Now that he was no more, our meager savings began to slowly dwindle. In those days, women weren't known to land the best of jobs. Mother tried her best to make ends meet - doing whatever work came her way. But that was not enough. Both my siblings, your uncle and your aunt, were too young to help.
I had to give up studies. I do not know whether that's a good or a bad thing. For, over the years, as a businessman, I have seen a lot of the World, and I have come to realize that studies and degrees tend to bind you down. An educated person will hardly ever think beyond the boundaries of his comfortable pond. But an uneducated person has no qualms taking risks, leaving his puddle to go searching for an ocean; for, what has he got to lose? But here is the thing. Sometimes boundaries are good for you. It is better to be in a comfortable little pond, than to live surviving the daily storms in the ocean. In order to survive, the ocean makes you do things that will keep you awake, trying in vain to quell the angry voice of your conscience. That is why I tried my best to impart to you the best education I could afford. Because I want you to have the best possible pond. A pond that I could never have.
When I left schooling, I left behind my opportunity to have a safe pond. I was in a mere puddle. I had to rise up, go conquer the ocean. But that would come later. At that moment I was just trying to survive. Having lost one parent, I was struggling not to lose another. I took up whatever menial jobs that came my way. That was the time I learnt what they mean by the term "back breaking work". And that was the time I decided I would never allow my children to ever have to go though the ordeal... By the time I came home I was so tired all I wanted to do was fall asleep. But the days were long and the nights were so short. When the early morning alarm clock went off it felt like I had closed my eyes just a second ago... And on some nights, there was no sleep to be had. For your grandma would sometimes suffer severe bouts of coughing and I had to stay awake the whole night tending to her.
Grief, like growing up, eats away at you, taking away a little piece of you everyday. But unlike growing up, grief also eats away at your will to survive. Mother could never overcome her grief at the loss of her husband. It kept eating away at her, killing her bit by tiny bit. I was too busy to notice it then... A few years later, she succumbed to her illness. But I know that it was the grief that killed her. Her body may have died that day of TB, but her spirit had died, years back, of grief. Grief of losing her husband. And grief of being betrayed by her own flesh and blood, by her own son.
I knew she was dying, and not just of her illness. Yet I so wanted to save her that day. I had lost my father, I didn't wish to lose my mother. But I had no money. The little money that both me and mother had managed to save over the past few years was stolen from us. You know who the thief was. I told you once, right?
That swine. My younger brother, who would have been your uncle now - that's who stole our hard-earned money. He and his friends wanted to pursue their dreams in the movie world. So they stole our money and eloped. That was the last nail in poor Mother's coffin. She died with her head on my lap, pining for her husband, and cursing her child...
I never heard of him again. May be he died. And good riddance too. While I did love him, I could never bring myself to forgive him. To me, he died the very same day he listened to his friends and stole from his own home; made a hole in the very same plate that served him his daily bread... And from that day on, I could never bring myself to trust anyone. I was wary of making friends, still am, even to this day. The few I did have just faded out of my life, treading their own paths... And a good thing too. When your Grandma was in the hospital, I went from door to door begging for help. No one came forward. A fat lot of good all the friends and relatives were. Your grandpa was a public servant. He served his country and the society. He died a martyr's death, while on duty. But where was the government, the society and the countrymen when his family needed help?
That was the day I realized that each man is on his own. Even though we consider ourselves civilized, it is a ruthless hungry jungle out there. They say that we are all equal - utter bullshit. The system is made and run by people who possess power and money. I realized it then. And I can vouch for it now, after having seen the ways of the world from both dark as well as clear glasses. The rich and the powerful make the world turn. They ensure that the rest of the junta remains economic slaves, serving them, helping them earn and grow more powerful and affluent. The rich become richer by exploiting the common man, selling him his dreams, making him believe that the system is fair. But it is not... I decided that I would rather be a master than be an economic slave. I would rather prey than be preyed upon.
When mother died, the old innocent, straight as an arrow, hard working Rajnath died with her. Innocence and moral high ground were a luxury I could no longer afford. I had three more precious lives to take care of. Your aunt was studying. I wanted her to complete her education, get married, and have a better life of her own. My recently wedded better-half, your mother, was pregnant, with a new life - you - growing inside her. And we had lost all our meager savings. As you can see I had no choice. I embraced the dark side with arms wide open and eyes wide shut.
Anyone who tells you that they earned their wealth by hard-work and clear conscience is lying. If the world would have worked the way our benevolent Creator intended it to (assuming there is a God, which I really doubt), then each man would have been happy earning his daily bread, and asking for nothing more. Man would have helped his fellow man in need, and there would never have been a need for amassing wealth and pursuing power. And those little green pieces of paper that are a root cause of all evil in the world, would never have existed. But the system of the world, unfortunately does not move that way. Hard work had earned me nothing but body ache and a prematurely ageing body. I was desperate, poor, hungry, and had my own to look after. Survival is an animal instinct. It has nothing human about it. I stopped being human then.
I will tell you no more. Not out of fear that you might come to hate me. Something tells me you are already on that path. But because I wish to shelter you from all the bad things out there in the real world. That is also the reason why I have never been so candid with you. I always wanted to shelter you from the trials and tribulations of my past. But now I can hold on no more. You are now a grown man and I feel, or rather hope, that you may be able to understand me better now.
The first few years were the hardest. Not just because it is hard to survive economically when you are proverbially broke. But more so, because it is not an easy task for a straight man to go crooked. It requires a particularly pachydermatous hide to be able to go around doing wrong without feeling guilty about it. Without losing sleep over it. Without having to bear the discontent of the little voice of conscience growing inside you like a cancer. I was originally not equipped with that kind of shameless skin. I think no human is. But I guess life makes us grow that skin. Its a necessary mutation for surviving the death of innocence in the harsh real world out there.
I know you may not agree with this home-grown ideology of mine. And I won't blame you. Most people don't. But here is the thing. It was painful, every time I trod over someone's head, or snatched away the morsel from someone's mouth, to earn my living. The voice of my conscience would keep nagging at me like a thorn in my side. Would keep haunting my nights. And you know what kept me going? It was you.
You were the best thing that happened to us during those trying times - a ray of bright sunshine during a perpetually raging storm. The pattering of your tiny feet brought happiness into a family that had been unhappy and beset with bad times for quite a long time. Every day, when I returned home, tired in the body and in the soul, your mother's comforting embrace and your happy childish antics were my anesthetic. I would hold you in my arms and all the pain and guilt would simply vanish. Your giggles, your meaningless and yet so very expressive gibberish, the way you played on my body, the way your little hand held onto my finger as you stood on your own feet and took your first tentative steps... These were the moments that made those strife-filled years bearable. That was what kept me going... That, and the promise I made your mother on her death bed.
Those first few years after my mother's death were dog years for both of us. You were our first priority, above everything else. I would later come to amass a lot of wealth. But unfortunately your mother would not be with me to see it. To celebrate my success. To be able to enjoy a contented four-course meal twice a day. Forget about a four-course meal, there were nights that we both would spend tossing and turning sleeplessly, fighting the grumbling stomach, the infernal ache that they call hunger pangs. Her medical reports would say that your mother died of Malaria. But I know deep inside that she died of hunger.
Today I have so much. But I don't have her. If only I had just a single drop out of all this ocean of wealth that I possess now, I could have saved her then. But time and death are the two irreversible absolutes in man's life. She loved you so much son. While I was away the whole day trying to earn a living, she would ensure that you got the best. She would ensure that you had sufficient to eat, even if she had to go hungry. She never told this to me. It was only later when she succumbed to her illness that I realized the sacrifice she had done for your sake. She had grown so weak, her body just couldn't fight the disease. As I held her in my arms, in that unholy public hospital, she asked me to promise her that I would take good care of you. That I would ensure that you got the best possible things in life. And then she breathed her last.
She need not have asked for the promise. I love you as much as she did. And I have tried my best to give you a good life. A kind of life I unfortunately couldn't give to your mother or mine. At least I hope so.
After your mother's death, I began pursuing wealth and power with a relentless single-minded tenacity... I never married again. I missed your mother, still do. I know you missed her too. As a toddler, you needed a mother more than you needed me. I understood that. But I was not sure how well a step-mother would have taken care of you. So I stayed unmarried. Your aunt took care of you until she got married. After that it was just you and me.
I agree I have not been a good father. I could give you everything money could buy. But I couldn't give you my time. And I think that is what has driven us apart so much. I am so sorry, son. I wish I had as much wisdom then as I have now. Hope you will forgive me some day. And I hope you will be a better father than I was.
I think I have been rambling too much about my past. I always wanted to share all this with you, but I held on, for I wanted to shelter you from my rough and unhappy past. How fast you kids grow up. One moment you were this sweet toddler. And now suddenly you are a grown man. And while it is true that, for the parents, their child never ever grows up, I feel that it is now time I shared my story with you. Not to justify myself. But in the hope that it may help you understand the circumstances that made your father the man that he is today.
Maybe you will still resent me for what I have become. Maybe you will start hating me. This is one thought that has been troubling me for a long time now. The one worry that has been eating away at me most on all these recent sleepless nights.
Getting you hands dirty, while painful to the soul, is not really difficult. In fact, it is the easier of the two paths. But once dirty, they stay dirty forever. When I realized the danger to your life, I tried to pull myself away from my corrupt cohorts. But life of corruption and crime is like quicksand. They would not have it. They were afraid I would squawk on them. I was after all their partner in crime. So now they threatened me with your life if I withdrew. Talk about being caught between a rock and a hard place.
For the first time in life I was afraid, desperate, like a cornered animal. I decided to end my life then. That day I came to within a second of pulling the trigger. Sitting in my bedroom late at night, with the cold nozzle of my personal revolver held into my mouth, my only thought was for your safety. I did not wish for you to find that your father died a coward's death. But if I died, both my enemies and my cursed cohorts would no longer have any reason to come after you. And your safety was paramount to me. Even if it meant falling from your eyes. But as I was about to pull the trigger, I suddenly realized that I had no way of guaranteeing that they would still not come after you, if not out of necessity, then out of vengeance. So I reluctantly pulled the gun out of my mouth and sat there and cried. I had not cried even once after your mother's death. But that day I cried until my eyes went dry.
The next day I approached my partners and told them that if they ensured your safety, I would not turn on them. They agreed to extend their full support. Yet I could still not be hundred percent sure of your safety. So then I secretly approached my enemies. And in return for your safety, as a favor, I secretly negotiated a Defence spare parts deal for them. Little did I know then, how this action of mine, meant to keep you out of harms way, would end up hurting you instead. But for the time being I could rest assured that you would be safe.
I have been walking on slippery ground here. Sooner or later, my double cross will get exposed. And then they will come for me. But your life had been spared. And that was all that mattered.
For a while, my investigators kept following you, just to double check. Then I pulled them off of your back. It felt like a voyeur, spying into the personal life of my own son. But just before they discontinued their surveillance, they reported back to me a disturbing news.
One of your friends who was an AirForce pilot died in a fighter plane crash. And you all appeared to be very upset about his demise. While a friendless man like me is unable to understand the loss of a friend, I could clearly see the pain etched on your face in the days that followed. No parent can ever see their child in pain. I wish I could drive away that pain. But I cannot. I tried to talk to you, but you would shut me out. You had withdrawn even further into your own world.
Being a parent I can empathize with the loss and pain your friend's parents must feel. Sometimes I contemplate - was it I who was indirectly responsible for your friend's demise? The Defence deal I had helped negotiate, in order to ensure your safety, was for faulty spare parts of fighter planes.
I know you will be very enraged when you read this. If you feel hateful towards me I will understand. By the time you are reading this, I will have already lost all respect in your eyes. And though this is the most painful thing for any father, I will accept it. You may be unhappy now, but I will have left you a sizable fortune. And, though money cannot buy happiness, it certainly makes it easier to bear sadness. And it ensures that you do not have to stoop as low as I had to, in order to earn a living. You need not dirty your hands trying to survive a harsh life. As long as you are safe and well-off I am ready to live with your hate and your disrespect, in a Father's Hell.
But if you ask me whether I regret negotiating that deal? Then my honest answer would be - No. I do not mind being responsible for someone's death, if it means saving yours.
I had a promise to keep. The promise I made to your mother. And the one I made to myself. That I will try to give you everything that I could never have. That I will always take care of you. That I will never let anything bad happen to you. And I have kept that promise.
You know, a few days back, I had a dream. You are very upset about something. I take you in my arms. I get an impression that you are angry at me. You are asking me - 'Why did you do this, Papa? Why?' And I have no answer. Your tears and anguish are hurting me. And all I wish to do is to make them disappear - by whatever means possible. Then you take out a gun, and shoot me. Then I got up, all sweating and shivering. What a weird dream. I know you would never hurt me, beta. But if you ever feel like taking my life, I would gladly give it up for you. But I hope you never do this, beta. Not for my sake. I am already a dead man. It is better to die at your hands, than at the dirty hands of my cohorts. But taking a life, even if it's mine, will shatter you. You are pure, innocent, and unlike me, untouched by the dirtiness of the world. I do not want you to ever lose your innocence and purity of heart. That is the greatest treasure of all.
I hope you will forgive me. And I am okay if you don't. I wish I could say all of this to you - face to face. But I am no good with words.
I will place this letter in your room where you can find it easily.
If, after reading this, you feel like talking to me, I am always there for you.
And if you don't, I will understand.
I love you, beta. Always will love you...
God bless you, beta.
Your loving father,
Rajnath Singhania
22nd January 2006
This unopened letter was found in the room of Karan Singhania, who, after killing his own father, was shot down by the commandos in the All India Radio station. He, along with his friends, was accused of killing the Defence Minister.
Note to the Reader: The above story, and it's characters are based on the movie Rang De Basanti (2006). I would recommend you please watch the movie in order to better understand the story.
