“Uncle, Numair has hit me unnecessarily. He is a very bad boy”. The complainant was a 6 year old child – about the same age as my son Numair. It had been a tough day at the office for me. I had been intercepted by this gang of children as I was walking back home after parking the car. Numair stood in the background, sulking. I could not help but feel a sense of déjà vu as I surveyed the scene before me. I was transported back 40 years to a time when I had been in a similar situation.
As a child, we used to play in a small ground behind our home in a small city. One of those evenings, all 6 years of me got into an argument with a neighbourhood kid. 40 years down the line, I cannot recall the actual reason, but the passage of time has not diminished the righteous feeling in me that my premise was more correct! Well, we tried to resolve our arguments like any other sane and rational 6 year olds – we whacked each other. Whilst our whacking bout was on, my dad came back from his municipal school where he was a teacher. My opponent ran up to my dad and vented his anger whilst I sulked in the background. Dad surveyed the scenario, slapped me twice in front of everyone and walked away without uttering a single word. A dumbfounded and very hurt self tried to hold back my tears, my cheeks red and stinging. Apart from the physical pain, what really hurt was the feeling of being punished unjustly and in front of everyone by my own dad. I can still hear the jeers of everyone as I walked back home – hurt, angry and alone.
At home, dad explained that he had hit me to keep the outward impression of impartiality intact and dismissed the issue. Impression at your son’s expense? – the child in me cried silently. That night, all alone in bed, I was quick to absorb the lesson of this twisted middle class morality. The impression of others was more important than that of your near and dear ones. Cursed with this sick logic, I grew up making the interests of my family and near and dear ones subservient to the ‘impressions of others’. Imagine living you life with this kind of morality – sacrificing your own interests for the sake of others at all times. Pleasing others became more important than the happiness and comfort of self, family and my dear ones.
Did my father ever realize what he did that day? No, I don’t think so. In his defence, I must hasten to add that he was probably too busy keeping the wolves away from our doors, to make sufficient money to pay for our education. Life was a struggle, dependent on the goodwill of others to survive. The only people willing to stand by you and suffer for you were your near and dear ones…………
I jerked back to the present and called out to my son. As Numair came close, I put my hands protectively around him and told the other boys “All of you are old enough to sort this out amongst yourselves. Don’t be sissies and complain”. I believe I finally corrected a 40 year old wrong.