Love Story of a Fighter
1.0
My
Last Valentine-Eve:
Night has a beauty. Beauty and stealth of
silence. A sense of dark coziness. Night do have an ugly side also. But high up
here at 36th floor posh apartment, you feel detached from that
ugliness down-below. You feel cozy and secure in the lap of a warm nest until,
of course, a sudden, sharp, undulating shriek of siren pierces the silent night
apart.
It comes and goes at a regular interval – it’s
a “city of sirens”. Seems every quarter of a minute, someone gets stabbed,
mugged, raped or killed here. It’s also a city of opulence; hope floats in air,
so as money, sex, color, gamble; a city of glittering, dazzling indulgence, yet
filled with all the evils of rampant development.
It’s also a place of gross inequality, where
lies a deep dark crime-infested underbelly full of slime, grime, blood and gore.
Here the streets comes alive every night with wild beats of rap, gun-shots and
the regular bouts of siren-shrieks. Every time I hear the shriek, it pierces my
already-sickened mind and pushes me from my cozy comfortable apartment back to
those mean, slimy streets, from where I rose to this 36th floor
today. That was a past, from which I could never escape in this life.
For the time being, I got up from my PC,
staggered across to the room where Carla and Amelie are fast asleep. Carla, my
sweetheart is now blissfully lost…may be in her nightmares. Sweet Amelie..my
luvly daughter is almost lost inside her mother’s arms. She sleeps nowdays hugging
Carla. This is a regular phenomenon since last 3 years, when Carla and Amelie
started sleeping in a separate bedroom. I sleep separately. My bedroom is
separate. The isolation between is is complete by now.
Unlike last Valentine, I didn’t switch on our
once-favorite pre-valentine Glen Medeiros number “Nothing gonna’ change”. The
bouquet, the chocolates, the card and the gift are all lying scattered in the living
room table with no takers. I feel no urge to kiss Carla gently on her lips at
the stroke of midnight and say “Love u lovie, my dear valentine”. Instead as
the clock struck twelve, I silently left and retreated in my own bedroom and
shut the door back. My writing in PC complete now, I opened the locked drawer
of the table, took out my loaded mouser and tiptoed into the balcony.
The astounding vista of the glittering city down-below
unfolded along with a cool gentle breeze flowing from the bay in an otherwise
warm night. It’s a romantic, starry night. A soft tune wafted from somewhere
distant. I settled down in the couch.
And suddenly again that piercing siren…!!! It
acted as a catalyst; like the visions in front of a drowning man, it
facilitated replay of my sweet-sour past one last time before I weighed my last
options.
2.0
Love
in the Mean-Street:
I had a beautiful childhood in a sweet, lovely
locale. It was purely surreal, ethereal. To start with, I had 17 brothers and
sisters, I was the 16th one. I knew only around half of my siblings.
The other halves I have never seen; leave alone knowing. I heard around 90% of
them either died of disease, or got killed, or detained, or addicted or
arrested. I didn’t care much. In my place, in my blood, it was written from my
birth – if you care much – you’ll be stoned. So, we hardly cared.
I had a perfect pair of parents. My mother was
a whore, that too a married whore, with an insatiable carnal appetite and
unthinkable capacity to absorb carnal assault. That explains how she can carry
on her luscious business even while bearing
17 children. My father was a butcher by profession and a butcher at home with
his children, butcher in bed with my mom and butcher in hand with broken beer
bottle in locale.
The ironies of this whole episode are: yet
both my parents earned enough; earned handsomely so that at least half of their
ugly, stinking 17 pigs (as they called us) went to school. And not one of us
cared about what they do or what we ourselves do. We were even not sure who
exactly was our father or fathers. We were somewhat sure about our mother. We
drifted along in a dark tide and accepted our fate.
Out there in the street, it was equally
pleasant and cozy. Gangs, knives, drugs, sex, rape, sodomy, gambling ruled the
roost. Rap was the anthem. Chainsaw was your basic protection. Power was the
last word. Blood and slime mixed in the sewage that overflows the street. It’s
a world of bullies, no place for dollies. Area-domination and power-play was
the routine.
I met my Carla here in this mean street. And
with her, I also discovered myself.
I was attracted by her pathetic cry one
afternoon while returning from my theater academy where I landed up a
free-schol. Was almost close to my dungeon when I heard “Help…Jesus…Rape..!!!”
and looked back. I found a small second-hand VX parked near the slimy park; Rex
and Willey has already lifted up a teenaged frail-looking girl and about to
haul her inside the car.
Throwing my books away, forgetting that the boys
are mean biggies of the street, I sprinted and reached the VX seconds before
Willey could haul the girl inside.
I realized a burning rage surging inside me, a
rage that always surged when my whore of a mom called me a stinking pig or my
butcher dad tried to savage one of our siblings; but could never vent it out on
them. With full might of my pent-up rage, I unleashed a crushing punch on Rex’s
face, who was trying to straddle the girl. I could just hear a thud, a sort of
dull cracking sound and a moan; even my own arm reverberated with pain.
The next moment I felt breathless in pain as I
received a powerful kick in my abdomen. Even before I got flung mid-air and
landed flat on the ground, I could see the girl has escaped the clutch of
hooligans and running towards a burly figure in distance.
“C’mon mate…lets have it one on one…or we’ll
have u in place of that bitch for our tonight…” and I could see a boot coming
down on my chest.
It did not reach the chest. I grasped it with
full might; spikes hurt my palm and left them bleeding, but its not Willey that
I am fighting with..its my butcher pa and whore mom…I kicked hard on his knee,
rolled over fast before he fell on top of me and got up somehow. I knew I won’t
get much of a second for my life, hence pounced on the grounded goon like a
tiger. And then unleashed my punches in a flurry which surprises even myself
today in recall. The portion above his face resembled a bloody pulp before a
bullet wheezed past my ear. A female voice yelled “Nooo..!!” and someone flung
me down from top of Willey on the ground with a body resting right on top of
me.
I could only make out from the smell…it’s a
feminine smell. I am down under a woman, a lady..or is it a girl..!!! Somone
lying on top me yelled again….”Ya pigs if wanna’ shoot him..shoot me
first..c’on….wanna’ rape me..f***k me up…!!!
Won’t let u f***ing pigs tuch him…!!!”
I heard another gun-shot and some heavy boot
sounds hovered around us. My eyes were covered, sheltered under the warm
feminine cover of the girl, her dress has almost unfurled and covered my face.
I heard some fleeing footsteps. I heard the heavy boots stopped near us. “Lady
he’s safe now, as we’re here…so if you please…err..have some pity on him…and
plz get up.”
“Officer, am not ‘njoying over him, was just protecting him..there was no other way…they
could have killed him today…he saved my honor…where were you all then..!!!”
The girl already got off me and blared at the
officer standing next to us. Beside the officer stands the burly figure to whom
the girl ran first. He’s Father Dawson, priest of our local church. The smoking
revolver is surprisingly in the Father’s hand, the officer did not have time to
take his gun out.
“Dawson…you take care of this now…I leave it
here….my group is already rushing after the bastards…need to join them…you
leave these brave kids back home..anyway, I salute you two…especially you
Ma’am…”
After the officer left, we silently, almost
hypnotically followed Father some distance away to his car. I could hardly
walk, every part of my battered body writhing in pain. I could look at the girl
only once when we were inside the car.
She was dark. Even darkness has a sensuality
and a beauty of her own. Not for nothing the dogs were after her. And she had a
pair of engaging, piercing, evocative eyes. Mirror-eyes. Eyes that resembles
her deep emotions. Currently it’s a mirror of deep melancholy and frail
insecurity. But her lips reflects a steely resolve. She’s a strong girl, I
realized.
“Carla, I’ve never seen a pair of damn gutsy
fellows like you two…of course guts for good causes like yours are rare here…the
whole locality shut their windows when you were attacked…at least you could
have ran away but pulled myself in the scene instead….Jesus always sides with
the brave..”
“Father…he, not Jesus, saved me today…kindly
see to it that the bastards don’t rough him up to’rrow…”
“Shall I drop him in your place…?? He’ll have
to cross that area again if he opts to go back-home tonight…anyone sharing with
u..??”
“He won’t make it back tonight anyhow…plz drop
him with me….”
As I limped towards her dungeon supported by
the Father, he muttered in my ear….”kid, you have a bright future…will talk
more about it later….but have never seen someone punch like a tornado like u
did today…even I have boxed before priesthood…why don’t you train and make it a
profession…?? That way you can earn and save your loved ones as well…??? Give
it a thought..!!!”
I didn’t even remember my slumping in the
nearest cot inside and almost passing out or when did the Father leave the
place. Piercing pain of hot-press gently pressing against my abdomen brought me
back to reality. For the first time in my life, I felt myself snuggled in close
shelter of a feminine reality. The silken touch of her soft body, the feminine
odor hitherto unknown to my motherless life, the gentle, caring touch of
affection brought out a flood of feelings within my injured body, which instantly
masked the pain. So far I knew the adolescent arousal for satisfying my
bio-need. But here, under her fragrant young shadow, it creates an arousal that
has many, many shades. And looking at her evocative eyes, I can feel the
passion burning within hers as well.
“Sleep tonight here..!!! U can stay here as
long as u wish..don’t think u’ll ever b comfy back there in ur pigeonhole…or
they will spare u on the way either….”
“U stay alone..??” “Why…??”…The shade of her
eyes instantly changed towards grey. I lamented asking it. Then looking down
upon me with a blazing gaze she whispered “Am alone here..everywhere…only know
Father Dawson..and now u…Boom…my hero..!!! Now…sleep.”
That’s the first time I felt the lovely,
sensual touch of a gentle, feminine fingers lovingly caressing my hair, my
forehead, my face…gradually pain and fire united in the depth of nite…..
3.0
From Boom to Boom Boom:
Carla nicknamed me Boom, as she was the first witness of my
booming punch. I’ll now cut-short my transition from Boom of mean-street to
Boom-Boom as the later one is fairly televised.
Carla inspired me, egged me on to leave theater-classes and
join the boxing gym. I still remember once when she looked at the faraway
skyscrapers dotting the glitzy downtown and asked me pressing my hand…”Boom, people
enjoy there…they have a nice life out there…do we also not have a right to get
a slice of that comfort…do you never feel a desire to escape this filth and
make a life out there….? Do ya have no ambition??”
I never gave it a thought, but she is all over my soul
then…so an emphatic “yes” from me took a second…she took my hands in hers,
clasped them, then pulled me closer and locked her eyes on mine….”Boom…take a
plunge, write your own destiny…your destiny is in your fists…there were so many
who made it big from our ghettos based on these….I’m sure you’ll be the next
one on the deck….”
“Carla….you never
feel scared ‘bout what’ll happen to your Boom…if your Boom gets hurt…??? And
will u always be beside me…even if I get hurt…??”
For the first time, I
found a different shade in her eyes, which at that time I couldn’t identify.
Today, I am familiar with that shade. “Boom..I wanna talk with a hero, not a sucker…and
rest assured u’ll get Carla besides u if u r a hero or a zero…but never go down
without a fight…and plz never forget me when u make it big out there…”
Deal….!!!! Was it a
Deal…!!! Or was it a commitment…!!!
My transition from a rookie in the boxing gym to a
university sports free-schol with the help of Dawson (by now he was my
father-figure) and winning gold in Nationals and World Universiad took
precisely two years. In my weight category, which was the lightest one, I was
the youngest ever to qualify for Olympics and win gold medal for my country in
debut. Within a span of four years, from a nowhere lad, I became the next
pin-up star in boxing world. My whirlwind punching style, landing up a flurry
of punches like a tornado on my opponents made me a fearsome figure in my
weight category and earned my modified nickname “Boom Boom”. My feathery-speed
movement inside the ring brought comparisons with a legendary figure who was
also nicknamed “Butterfly” for the same virtue but at a heavier weight-class.
However, the punishing training schedule, the excruciating
pain, the bone-crushing mock-fights, the breathless sprints that I had to had
with my training partners…the immense pain, blood, sweat and tears behind all these worth no narration
here. None except one who underwent these will realize the pain.
And yes…I never went back to my 17 siblings dungeon. Neither
they missed me. As I already said, I never saw and knew a half of my siblings. Carla’s
nest was my nest from that fateful night onwards. And she was beside me in my
every battle, my every training session, my every mockfights, my every session
of mock-punching…she was in fact a part of my side of the ring. She displayed
nerves of steel in witnessing a blood-soaked ruthless sport. She never lost her
composure even on occasions when I was knocked down inside the ring. She was
always there in the front row. When down in points, I looked at her evocative
eyes and recalled what she said once in a steamy night…”Hate…Boom you need to HATE them when they come
punching you…imagine your filthy parents in them….imagine them as your Rex and
Willey..recall the afternoon when they tried to savage me up…fight with your
HATE and fight for your FATE…Hate Them for the sake of Our Love…and you will
never be conquered…”
She was prophetic. Till winning Olympic gold, I was unbeaten
in 25 odd bouts, most of them won on KOs.
4.0
We got married:
It was a dream come true. Olympic – in world fashion capital
– won gold – emotional podium-stand with anthem playing back – accolades, glitz
and glamor.
After the game-finale, we enjoyed the beautiful cruise over
river Sean…Carla looking gorgeous in proud and joy at the backdrop of golden
setting sun…I proposed her at Trocadro Square…we enjoyed the surreal downtown
city lights from Eiffel Tower…celebrated victory over a private champaigne in
our suite…then got drowned in our own sensual lust all night long and sowed
seed of our sweet Amellie.
Back home, we got married in a private ceremony at the
church of Father Dawson, somehow avoiding the prying eyes of media followed by
a Caribbean honeymoon. This was my
dreamiest period, my life-beautiful, the happiest phase.
5.0
Turned Proffessional:
Eight months back from honeymoon I turned professional.
Of course it required persuasion from Carla, Dawson and my
one-time training-partner Vince. Carla was pregnant then. “If not for anyone,
do it for your next gen..the child unborn…Olympic is all amateur..a boxer also
have a shelf-life as long his fist carries him…make money for a gen and come
out..turn pro…the buck heaps there…so as the glam…”
I was always laid-back and somewhat grounded to my roots,
and always waited for a much-needed break, a retirement to enjoy. But after
Amellie was born, looking at the tender little angel from heaven, I decided to
have it a go..not for our sake…but for my little angels’ future. I shivered to
think of that filthy backyard and figure my little kid out there. “Just earn
enough so that Amellie need never slug it out like we did in our youth…and then
come back..we’ll rest for life…” assured Carla.
Deep inside, after Amellie is borne, I felt a strange change
in me. I am more of a father than a lover now. The overflow of affection in me
looking at Amellie more than compensates the lack of passion as I look at Carla
now. Somewhere deep down my soul asks..why did for once she never said “I worry
for you…plz never get hurt….lets finish all these fights and start a safe
business we’ll run together…”; at times I wondered whether I am a horse of all
the desires and ambitions of hers?? And how come she has such awareness of this
sport?? However, life moved too fast and thoughts got lost in the waves of
time.
In due course, I turned out to be the youngest and till
today, the only pro-champion on debut in my weight. After my pro-victories,
some easy and some tough, songs were composed on me. With a heady feeling of
victory, I planned a press-conf to announce my retirement, only to be shown by
my managers a copy of my pro-contract, which clearly spelt out that unless I
win a challenge-match, I wouldn’t be an undisputed champ. And if I decide not
to fight this one, would have not only Iost my pro-title, but also 75% of the
match-money I won…!!!!
6.0
Rematch & Destiny:
A video preview of my challenger’s last fight and his background
unsettled me a bit.
A frog-juice eating Asian mongoloid named Park, he was as
lean, thin, fast and possessed a hidden lethal punch as I did as a young lad in
the ring. A backstreet-boy in his own nation, he uncannily resembled my past.
Dangerously enough for a pro-fighter, I started losing that
essential sense of hatred towards my prospective opponent; rather a sense of
empathy started engulfing me.
Vince and Dawson shadowed my all fights and sensed this
danger in advance. “Ya know…that bloody frog-juicer pens before every fight
“Victory or Death”..that’s his aim…win or get killed…then why you look pulpy at
him?? This one bout you must win…not for yourself….but for Amellie and Carla’s
future..lest you can rest peacefully for rest of your life…”
“Imagine him as Willey kicking your groin…Rex attempting to
savage Carla..Imagine your butcher father..Imagine”…I propped up myself in run
up to the fight and practiced harder, trying to shrug off this strange sense of
empathy.
It was a top-of-the-draw match on a dry, sultry afternoon.
Those days match started early on as there used to be 15 long rounds.
“Victory…or Death”..I looked at him. For a moment, image of
a tender young lad flashed at his corner like a mirage; I shrugged off and
started the slugfest.
Halfway through, match referee Rogers separated us and took
down a count on him. This was his 4th count in the match. And
everytime he sprang back right after seven or eight counts. Bruised all over,
bloodied over his eyebrow, already received a thorough punching, he surprised
everyone with his stamina, without slowing down a bit even after 7 rounds,
dancing around me, getting punched, going back and occasionally punching back
and making me run back as well.
I was feeling no better. For the first time in my career, I
started realizing that I am facing someone as fast as I am and slowly, started
feeling short of breath. I also realized the power of his hidden, lethal upper
cut. My own right eye got puffed up and an ugly gash opened up near my right
eyebrow. I could realize blood trickling down beside the corner of my eye. At 8th
round break, every inch of my body warned me for a much-needed recess and an
impending danger of an upset-loss if this goes on for another couple of rounds.
“You are not Boom Boom tonight…right???…You still feel sorry
for him..WHY?? Bring Hatred..Hate that frog-eating chimp..!!! What will you do
if you loose this match?? Go back in
gutter from where you have come this far, that too along with your wife and kid
…??
For God’s sake…go and get him fast..you’re trembling at
break..!!! Ya can torne him now..its easy..!! Now is the time..”
At start of 9th, I visualized my
mean-street-goons on the opposite side of the ring. As he danced forward, its
Willey coming with his high-boot towards me…as I dropped guard and he came
closer…its Rex..who tried to rape Carla…a blind rage surged in me…as he
unleashed his punch I ducked and could see my whore mother with an ugly
smile..”Pig…Stinking Pig!!” I dropped my guard, momentarily got a slice of his
unguarded face exposed and unleashed a full-blooded hook. It was the hardest
and best-timed punch of my boxing career.
They narrated later-on that a chilling, cracking sound
reverberated over entire arena and also heard over the video-recorded
soundtrack. The whole arena felt eerily silent. I felt the same shooting pain
and numbness in my arms which I felt the day when I punched Rex. My opponent
almost flew back in air and landed bang on the canvas, the back of his head
hitting the canvas hard. He lay very still there, with his otherwise mongoloid
narrow eyes wide open. I could even see some tiny black object fell right in
the mid of the white of his eyes. I could see those black spots on his eyes. He
didn’t even blink, his eyelids didn’t move even after they fell. His eyes are left
frozen, staring hard at me. I froze.
7.0
Aftermath & Tonight:
Looking back, the aftermath seemed pretty much predictable
at today’s context. Media going berserk, making a huge story out of it, going
into the anatomy of the sport itself, proposal for banning the game itself,
dramatic changes in the rules of the games, melodramas etc. but very few knew
the huge personal toll this single incident took on so many individuals.
Rogers, the match referee committed suicide out of remorse
why he did not stop the match earlier. There were heart-rending scenes when
Park’s body was carried and cremated back-home in his country. Park’s mother
committed suicide a week after his cremation. Park’s fiancée, who was pregnant,
pledged marriage to him in a tearful public ceremony with his corpse before
cremation. Vince severed all ties from Boxing. My own license was sent for
review. And all these went in full media-view at prime time. Along with the
whole nation, Carla also saw it, faced it. She did not miss a moment of the
media. And Father Dawson witnessed it all first hand.
However, the one fellow who got devastated most in this
episode was myself. Ironically everybody realized it, but even a word of
sympathy seemed like a torture on me. I was inconsolable immediately after the
bout; didn’t even realize when Rogers lifted up my hand declaring me the winner;
there was no jubilation in the stunned arena; Dawson realized my condition and
sent Vince to the hospital where they sent Park. Inside my hotel suite, I
completely broke down in the arms of Father and repeatedly asked him one simple
question…”Why me…?? Why out of all it had to happen with me…?? Why out of all
it had to happen on this guy?? Why not Willey, Rex, my nasty father, my dirty
mother..why on him?? What have I done…?? What has he done??” Like a child I repeatedly
queried..”I think he will be Okay..what do u think Father..?” He sat silent,
quietly embracing me.
Vince came back early in the morning from the hospital with
the very obvious news.
I went into a prolonged bout of deep melancholy and
depression, guilt, self-pity, pathos and lamentation. Everyone knew me as a
nice, affable guy. A huge majority of my followers could not come to terms with
the episode. A few times when I went out after this, they asked “are you really
the one who killed Park..??” “did u kill him…?” “did u really want to kill
him…??”
I couldn’t stay alone in a dark room. I started having
phobia towards loneliness and solitude; always thinking a pair of hard, empty,
stony gaze staring at me…nothing but a gaze..as if asking “Why me..??” I could
imagine someone painted on the wall of my room in blood “Victory or Death”. I
went paranoid, almost schizophrenic.
The relentless media-exposure of this issue brought over a
subtle, yet perceptible change in Carla. Yet, as usual, she was bravely beside
me in this latest battle of life.
“You must treat this as an accident and move ahead in life,
this was not your fault at all, this could happened to anyone…so why suffer
from guilt? You are the champion!!!” She used to emphasize…but somewhere inside
the words lack strength in itself.
“Look at me..when I go out, people ask me often..’your
husband..did he kill that guy?’..have I stopped going out due to that..? You
have to come to terms with it and start all over again..!!” Her over-emphasization
somehow betrayed her own lack of belief in what I actually did.
Starting all over was not easy. My license was renewed only after
2 years. By this time I joined the gym where I started my training to go back
in shape and also to keep myself busy. But I was already a pale shadow of
myself. Even my acceptance in my own old gym was half-hearted. It was a grim
situation. Back home, it was an unusal quietness for me. Out there, I used to
camouflage myself. That same nagging question comes back again and again. Why
me??
The only bright spot in this darkness was Amellie. She
reflected the past of Carla; bright, vivacious, bubbly. In the uneasy calm
inside our home, she used to bring a natural, spontaneous life. When I used to
sit a loner in a dark corner, it’s not Carla anymore, but its Amellie who used
to jump on me “Pa…c’on let’s go out..”; I used to go out with her, but deep
down somewhere, my own vivaciousness and ability to feel jovial and joyfulness
had diminished. Still inside, I felt I am now a father more and felt less of a
husband and lover.
Carla had joined back her theological profession. She cited
boredom and monotony back home as the reason. I didn’t object. Amellie joined
pre-school; I wished she never joined. The last nail in the coffin was dug a
week after she joined school.
It was mid-noon and I heard Carla crying at the top of her
voice…”Ted (she forgot Boom long back and used to call by my name nowadays),
rush here…for Gods sake..”.
I rushed down and horrified to see a profusely weeping
Amellie is clinging to her mother, there are marks of scratches and bashing on
her face. “WHO THE HELL…!!” I thundered…after a long long time. “SHUT
UP..Ye..!!!” roared back my dear wife in a voice I’ve never heard.
“This is your sin, your work, the result of which we all are
suffering today...what this little poor soul had done to endure this…!!! Her
sin is YOU are her father…a killer..A KILLER..U R!!! They called her daughter
of a killer, your father is a killer, bullied her…and then bashed her up…my
poor li’tl soul..!!”
“Now please go and give me the first aid box and for
heaven’s sake plz don’t rush out to bash and kill someone else…we’ll all land
up in jail thanks to you..!!” she started sobbing, clinging to my daughter….who
stopped crying and stared at me in a terrifying gaze…
That night, in dinner table, I overhead Amellie whispering
to her mother…”whom did Pa kill?? Is he a killer?? Why did he kill??”
A couple of night after this, Carla changed the bedroom
along with Amellie. “Listen Tedd, I have to come to terms with it…I can’t stand
the presence in my bedroom of someone who has taken a life …but I won’t leave
this house without Amellie..neither can I ask for a legal separation knowing
that you’ll plunge back into mental-pit again…somehow I don’t want that…I’ll be
with you till Amellie grows up..then I have to take a hard decision”…
We created our own space that night onwards.
Around a year after this is the valentine’s eve tonight.
I wanted to re-kindle up the long-lost, old passion within
us. I went out myself, trudging to my favorite street-corner mall, got
gift-wrapped some nice chocolates, goodies and cards for both Carla and Amellie,
and returned.
Carla was sitting very quiet in the lounge and saw the package
in my hand. I smiled at her and said “today is our favorite eve, so thought… for
good old time’s sake….”
Leaving me unfinished, she said with a mild sigh and
suppressed sarcasm beneath…”Good that you have not gone out to punch-out or
kill someone…or have knocked down someone and brought these…!! No guarantee,
considering your lineage..”
I felt again that the long-lost unbearable rage and
humiliation bubbling inside me after a long time. The very mention of “your
lineage” reminded me of my wretched childhood. The fallacy and hypocrisy of
love lay bare in front of me. “What made you refer my lineage, Carla?” My fist
clenched automatically.
Looking at my fists, she gave a steely smile, “Now plz don’t
punch me out Sir. Me no match for you. If I die, can you look after Amellie??
So open your fist, dear…lest you’ll kill me too. After all, you came from a
butcher’s family. Butchers remain butcher, they can never be lover”.
“Now let me tell you”….she carried on…”I’ve seen this
earlier also. Have never told you, I was the illegitimate child of a boxer like
you. He was an aspiring fighter, loved my mom, left her pregnant, then
succumbed to black-street-malaises and ruined his career. He later turned a
mobster, stabbed and killed someone, got jailed. My mom had none to look at.
She came to Father Dawson, who promised to rear me. She hande me over to the
Father and never returned. Probably she
got lost somewhere in the dark street.
May be my love for this sport was in my blood. But I also
longed for a loving shelter, a loving partner, who may be tough in the ring,
but with heart of a good man outside. I also longed for good things in life,
like all mortal human beings. Then I found you………”
“Then one fine day you found both…….” I interrupted her….”a
good human being, who is a boxer as well as one who can give you taste of good
life…you loved him…and when he killed someone accidentally…and media got you
labeled as the wife of a killer…you thought your life is a hell…right, dear
Carla..??”
“Sorry Tedd…I could have tolerated that also…but I hate a
self-sucker….you may have power in your punch, your fist....but deep inside
your mind…you are a weakling…you got drifted by an accident…t’morrow how will
you protect me if some mugger from the streets attacks me and you need to kill
him, say…?? Will you go empathetic with him and slip into depression again…??”
8.0
Finally…:
The gifts remain scattered in the living room. I was lost in
my own thought long after she left the room silently. I weighed down my options
of dragging this life. After a while, I came to a firm conclusion.
There’s no use of cheating oneself. There’s no use of
cheating anyone else. Mother’s presence is essential for rearing a child.
Carla’s own life is a proof of that. Amellie will have a good life provided she
is relieved from this suffocating atmosphere.
And there was no love
lost anywhere, between anyone.
Hence, my choice was obvious. In fact, after a long time, a sense of relief
engulfed me when this last realization dawned on me.
I loaded my mouzer in the evening and waited till I finished
the supper alone; then decided to pen down everything and mail it to Father
Dawson. In case of legal complications, he may try to save my wife.
The breeze turned cooler and soothing as end of night
beckoned. A crimson haze just started coloring the horizon down east, I could
clearly see at the backdrop of the haze some long-lost characters waving
happily at me. I needn’t name them, can just figure them out. They’ll give me
company in my long journey back-home.
I felt strangely peaceful. I felt the cold of the metal
caressing the skin beside my temple and my finger on the trigger. It was too
late for me to listen a soft, tiptoed footstep behind my couch.
A frantic, painful cry of a girl “Papa..!!” got drowned in
the dull, muffled thud of a silenced revolver.
Slowly the crimson haze turned brighter. There are no more
any hazy characters lurking in the horizon now. Its daybreak now.
There was no love lost.
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