~Nightmares and Pancakes~
कहने को साथ अपने एक दुनिया चलती है
पर छुपके इस दिल में तन्हाई पलती है
बस याद साथ है
तेरी याद साथ है
तेरी याद साथ है
तेरी याद साथ है
"Divorce papers? Have you lost your mind?" I hear my father's voice thundering through the house, the walls almost trembling from the weight of his anger.
"I have an offer from Hollywood! Do you want me to decline it? Why can't you understand that this is my dream?" My mother's voice rings with desperation, cutting through the air like a blade. The tension is palpable, thick enough to suffocate. I hate it when they fight.
"And why can't you understand that we have kids? Our daughter is seven years old, and you want to leave them here and jet off to another country?" My father's voice is laced with anger, but beneath it, I can hear the disbelief and fear trembling through.
"I don't want to leave them, but I can't stay here any longer. I know you don't love me, you never did. And I'm not going to stop following my dream just because of your kids."
"My kids? They're not yours anymore? Maybe we don't have love, but we have two beautiful, innocent souls. Why are you so willing to shatter them?"
"Because I can't do this anymore. Sign the papers. I'm leaving in two weeks."
I wake up with a jolt, drenched in sweat, my breath coming in shallow gasps. My heart is pounding as if I've just run a marathon. I haven't had these kinds of nightmares in years, suffocating memories of my parents' fights that rip me out of sleep and send me spiralling back to those old wounds.
I check the time on my phone. It's 5:30 AM. I already know there's no way I'll be able to fall back asleep. The remnants of the nightmare cling to me like a shadow that refuses to fade. I get out of bed and decide to go for a swim. Maybe the cold water will drown the echoes of the past.
As I step outside into the early morning air, the silence feels almost too loud. The stillness of my empty apartment presses in on me. Beige walls and minimal furniture surround me like a reminder of what my life has become bare, impersonal, and devoid of warmth. I walk towards the pool, the slight chill in the air doing little to ease the turmoil brewing inside me.
Diving into the pool, the cold shock of the water jolts me back into the present, momentarily wiping the memories away. I swim lap after lap, each stroke a small victory against the ghosts of my past. The water washes over me like a salve, cool and soothing, and for a brief moment, I feel a semblance of peace.
After a while, I stop, leaning against the edge of the pool, my breath heavy and ragged. The sun is just beginning to rise, casting a soft glow across the surface of the water. It's beautiful in its quiet simplicity, a stark contrast to the storm raging inside me.
I need to get my act together. My father invited me to breakfast this morning, and I can't show up like this a mess, haunted by nightmares from years ago. This man, who raised me with such care, tried to give me and my sister as normal a childhood as possible despite everything. He doesn't deserve to see the cracks that still haven't healed.
I head back into the house and dry off, my mind wandering again as I step through the familiar yet empty halls of my apartment. It's ironic, really. This place my so-called home feels more like a shell than anything else. The walls are bare, no pictures hang from them, no trinkets or flowers decorate the shelves. It's all just beige. Lifeless.
The only people who have ever stepped foot in here are my sister, my cousins, and Vedang. Anyone else? I haven't allowed them to get close enough. This place is new but still, I gave people housewarming party in a club.
Maybe because this place is a reflection of me, a man who is trying so hard to hide behind practicality and logic, keeping the world out because it's safer that way.
As I drive toward my childhood home, I feel the familiar knot tightening in my chest. The house where so many memories reside both good and bad. I pull up in the driveway and sit in my car for a few minutes, letting the past wash over me in waves. Memories of joy and laughter followed closely by memories I'd rather not revisit.
Taking a deep breath, I finally gather the courage to step inside. The sweet scent of pancakes wafts toward me, mixing with the sound of laughter echoing from the kitchen.
"Dad, it's not a funny face; it's a scary face!" Alia's voice is laced with laughter, trying and failing to hold back her giggles.
"It's not scary, it's smiling! Look carefully," Dad protests, defensively protecting his culinary creation, a playful tone in his voice.
Alia bursts into laughter, and Dad mock-glares at her. "Well, fine then. I'm not feeding you breakfast today," he grumbles, but his eyes twinkle with mischief. Then, his gaze falls on me. "Your brother will eat this masterpiece."
As he mentions me, I step into the kitchen, unable to suppress the smile tugging at the corners of my lips. I walk over and engulf Alia in a hug. She's still staring at Dad as if he's committed some great betrayal by making such a monstrosity for breakfast.
"Morning, everyone," I greet, a warmth I haven't felt in a long time seeping into my bones.
"Morning, Bhai!" Alia chirps, hugging me back tightly, her playful spirit infectious.
Dad thrusts a plate of pancakes toward me, if you can call it that. The pancakes are arranged in what's supposed to be a smiling face but look more like something out of a nightmare.
I take the plate, my eyebrows raised in mock horror. "I'm with Alia on this one. It definitely doesn't look like a smiling face."
Dad narrows his eyes at me, but before he can snatch the plate away, I pull it closer to myself. "I don't think presentation matters. I know it'll taste amazing."
With a grin, I take a bite and say, "Oh my God, Dad! It tastes incredible."
Dad beams with pride, and I nudge Alia, silently telling her to dig in. She rolls her eyes but eventually picks up her fork. The three of us sit down and enjoy breakfast together, the conversation light and full of laughter, as Alia entertains us with stories from college.
"Bhai, I'm going to get ready," Alia says after a while, getting up from the table. "Wait for me so you can drop me off at college."
"Yes, ma'am," I reply with a mock salute, earning an eye roll from her before she disappears upstairs.
Once she's gone, I notice Dad glancing at me nervously. His hands fidget on the table, and I can tell he has something on his mind.
"What is it, Dad?" I ask, continuing to eat.
He hesitates for a moment before speaking. "There's something important I need to talk to you about."
I pause, looking up from my plate but saying nothing. Instead, I give him a nod, waving my fork at him to encourage him to continue.
"I've been thinking... You're only a year younger than Ayush, and now that he's getting married, I think it's time for you to start thinking about settling down too. You should also find someone to marry."
I choke on my food. Did he just say marriage? Is he serious right now?
"Marriage? Seriously, Dad?" I manage to sputter between coughs, wiping my mouth.
Dad meets my eyes, his expression sincere. "Yes, seriously. It's time, son. You've been focusing so much on work, but life isn't just about work. It's about love, family... companionship."
I take a deep breath, trying to compose myself. "Dad, you know my track record with relationships is about as good as your track record with... well, these pancake faces," I joke, trying to lighten the mood.
He chuckles, shaking his head. "Which means there's room for improvement in both areas."
I laugh softly, but the weight of his words lingers. "Touché, Dad. But finding someone to marry isn't exactly like whipping up a new recipe."
"No, maybe not," he concedes, his voice softening. "But I want you to be happy, Rudra. And I think having someone to share your life with is a part of that happiness."
His words hit me harder than I expected. I can see the concern etched in his face, and for a moment, I soften. "I appreciate that, Dad. I really do. But you know it's not that simple."
Every time I've tried to open up to someone, I can't help but think that one day they'll just leave, and I'll be left standing in the ruins. I can't live in the present when I'm haunted by the possibility of abandonment. It's not fair to someone who is with me, and it's not fair to me.
Dad's eyes fill with understanding, his tone gentle but firm. "Is this still about your mother? How she left us?"
"I don't want to talk about her," I retort quickly, the familiar tension creeping back into my voice.
He sighs but doesn't push. "Okay. But let me tell you something, Rudra, not everyone is like your mother."
I scoff, shaking my head. "You don't know that. I've met plenty of women who only care about my last name, about what I can offer them. How are they any different?"
"Yes, I'm sure you have. But not everyone is like that. Take your Maasi for example, She's nothing like your mother, is she?"
I nod reluctantly, acknowledging his point.
"If two sisters can be so different, I promise you, Rudra, there are people out there who are different. You just have to keep an open mind."
For a moment, I'm quiet, letting his words sink in. The truth is, I've spent so much of my life guarding myself, building walls to protect myself from the same pain I saw my father go through. But maybe, just maybe, he's right. Maybe I've been holding on to fear for too long.
Finally, I nod. "I promise I'll keep an open mind."
Dad smiles, the tension between us lifting as we finish breakfast. We talk about lighter things, but the conversation lingers in the back of my mind.
After I drop Alia off at college, I find myself lost in thought, replaying the conversation with Dad over and over again. Is it really time for me to think about marriage? To consider the possibility that not everyone will leave?
Alia's voice snaps me out of my thoughts. "Bhai, can you go to the hotel today and check on the preparations for the ball?"
I blink at her, still distracted. "What ball?"
She facepalms with an exaggerated sigh. "The ball we're organising for tomorrow, the one we decided to throw without involving the elders, just to have some fun?"
Oh, right. That ball. Alia, Sara, and Sahil had cooked up this grand idea of a ball, something elegant and fun, an event where the younger generation could enjoy themselves without the usual formalities.
Out of all the things they could've done, a pool party, a weekend getaway they decided on a "Ball". It's just like them to go for the most dramatic option.
"Fine," I say with a smirk. "I'll go check on the preparations."
Alia grins, looking satisfied as she hops out of the car. As I drive away, my thoughts drift back to Dad's words. Maybe, just maybe, he's right. Maybe it's time I stop living in the shadow of my mother's choices and start making my own.
But for now, I'll focus on surviving this Ball.
I am trying really hard to stay motivated,but it gets difficult. Please vote guys.
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