The main reason I agreed to check out this career option in this city was the temptation to see my son on a daily basis – a rollicking three-year old. Yes, that’s correct, his world has been torn asunder at a tender age, for little fault of his. And living 1000 miles away, with no access to him made me wonder at times if he would even remember me when he grew up.
And so when the city beckoned, despite my reservations of survival in this city, I decided to go with the current.
I remember the first time I saw him after his birth in the hospital, it was with a lot of curiosity – curiosity to see what and how he looked like. The regular ultra-sounds – or do they call them sonographs – showed, what I considered, the image of a wise old man with a kind face, the ones we normally associate our grandfathers with. But he was like all newborns – there was nothing of that old man I imagined I used to see in those medical images.
But it’s not been as simple as I had imagined it would be, of meeting him daily after finishing off my work. Work can stretch till the prime time TV serials start, by which time he’s ready to knock off for the day. Alternatively, getting from point A to point B in this city can sap the will and determination of the toughest of dads, and my horizontal expansion ensures that toughness and I are mutually agreed fence-sitters.
Sometimes then, the city wins, when I am unable to go or reach in time, like today. The feeling of guilt, already there for not being with him under the same roof, gets exacerbated on days such as these, when work pressures and fatigue get the better of a father’s resolve. And the worst part is the promise that has been broken, for the sake of self-convenience.
At other times though, I win too, mostly through sheer stubborn-ness and refusing to pay heed to what the body tries to convey to the mind.
Well, so long then, tomorrow is another day – hopefully, my little skirmish with the city shall be favourably resolved, once and for all.