Man-To-Man

Rohan, 35year old and a school teacher, was a man burdened by unspoken emotions. He lived with his wife, daughter, and aging father, Gauresh Sharma (70, a retired clerk) in their modest home. What was once a vibrant joint family now hummed with an unspoken quietude. Rohan’s mother had passed years ago, leaving a void that felt strangely amplified in the hushed evenings and quiet weekends. What Rohan was unprepared of, was what exactly happened one evening.

His father summoned him, and his voice sounded unusually serious.

Mr. Sharma: ‘Hi Rohan, if you have a moment, can we go out to talk?’

The request to talk felt jarring, as their conversations were always confined to brief exchanges.

‘Son, I am ageing now, and with this failing strength of mine, you will have to now shoulder the family’s responsibilities.’

This sounded strange to Rohan because his father had not been working for the last five year and he was the one who was the sole earning member in the family. Wanting to finish the awkward conversation, Rohan just wanted to put a full-stop and hence acknowledged with a ‘yes’. Deep in his hearth, though, he sensed a gravity, a hidden weight, in his father’s words, but the conversation remained veiled in subtle hints and unspoken anxieties.

Rohan woke up the next morning and Mr. Sharma was gone. A frantic search yielded nothing. People in his neighborhood, the police and anyone whom he knew were on the lookout for Rohan’s father, but in vain.

Months later, a stranger, a man with kind eyes and a gentle smile, appeared at their doorstep. He asked for Mr. Sharma, speaking of him with a familiarity that both unnerved and intrigued Rohan. The stranger, who introduced himself as Dr. Desai, mentioned a shared history with his father, a bond that felt mysterious. Rohan’s suspicion took over as he shadowed the doctor to the train station, only to lose him as the train pulled out for Nashik.

Driven by an unsettling hunch, Rohan embarked on a journey to Nashik, the next month. Days turned into a relentless search, punctuated by uncertainty and a gnawing feeling of dread. Finally, he found Dr. Desai, a physician who revealed the truth: Mr. Sharma had been battling an aggressive cancer. His deliberate silence stemmed from a desperate effort to shield his son from the crushing weight of medical expenses and emotional turmoil.

Rohan found his father in a Nashik hospital, frail and weak, his life ebbing away. The reunion was a torrent of tears, regrets, and unspoken words. Mr. Sharma’s confession about his illness, coupled with the years of strained communication, shattered the father-son barrier. Rohan pleaded for his father to return home, but Mr. Sharma’s time was short. The weight of unspoken words hung in the air, a silence more profound than before. They sat together, father and son, in that sterile hospital room, the unspoken finally spoken, the chasm bridged only by the poignant realization of what could have been. In their tear-filled embrace, Rohan understood the deep-seated sorrow of a father protecting his son, and the profound sadness of a son who never quite knew his father’s heart.

The essence:

How often have you spoken to your father or son? Isn’t it strange that it comes quite natural to you to speak well with the other members of your family, but your son or father?

The silent tragedy underscored the critical importance of

1. transparent communication,
2. the need to dismantle the barriers that frequently divide family members, and
3. the lasting harm inflicted by a family’s unvoiced anxieties.