What could have been?—- a short story

He gets in the car. Wondering how he got late. He hates to leave his office later than the usual time. For him even 15 minutes beyond the usual departure time is LATE. He meets the damning, snarling traffic at its peak. That delays him further.

He gets in the car. Puts on his music. Wolfmother! Ah! The ride might just be not so bad today. He likes this song. Something about rainbows tinted with gold. About a girl being like an eagle. A nice eagle.

He passes the junction where he had met with his first accident when he had arrived to the city. In search of a job and some peace. That was a long time ago. How long has it been? About 5 years. Not a very long time. But somehow, it is quite a figure. This number- 5. half of the popular 10. He has never understood why the number ten is such a hit with everyone? Ten things about you; ten minutes and i’ll be ready; ten years down the line; tens of thousands. It is like the rest of humanity forgot that other numbers existed. The other hogger of limelight is 2.

That accident was quite funny. He was crossing the road & a speeding cyclist had banged into him. The cyclist had toppled over and got injured badly. He had suffered a minor concussion, thanks to his having hurt his head on the pavement. He wonders what would have happened if it would have been a heavier vehicle. Would his father have forgiven him, finally then?

Perhaps not. That was the thing with fathers. They could be so unforgiving. Once they had thought of a thing in a certain way, it was unchangeable. Mothers were easier to deal with. Even if they cried at the drop of the hat. Or wriggled the most unfair of promises out of you. Yes. Mothers were easier to deal with.

What is this new song playing? How come he has never heard it before? He tries to read the name of the song, but the incessant honking of horns and precariously positioned cars around him stopped him halfway. This is one thing he never understood about the mentality of other drivers. Each positioned himself not exactly behind the other car, but a bit towards the side. If you were stuck in a jam the cars formed a staircase kind of figure. It seemed like the staircase for a mini-giant.

This brought a smile on his lips. The concept of mini-giants. Probably they would be like Hagrid. His son loved Harry Potter. Like the rest of the other kids. He had told his wife that one day his son will come home and announce not that he is in love or that he drinks or smokes or is dropping out of college but that he is changing his name to Dumbledore. His wife had rolled her eyes in that particularly talented way that he could never fathom. One eyebrow raised, the other curving at 2 places all the while the eyes mocking someone.

He tries very often to figure out who the eyes are mocking. He knows it is not him. Because he understands the look she gives him when she is mocking him. There is a hint of mischief in them. And challenge. He loves the challenge part. So many times he makes a fool of himself before her so she can give him that look.

The pretty song got over? That was a tiny song! He is about 15 minutes from home. He likes the continuity; the routine this job has accustomed him to. But. He wishes he was leading a more interesting life. Something that involved physical challenges. Like…..like…….Perhaps like a lion tamer.

He chuckles at the thought. What was he thinking? A lion tamer? Even he would scoff at himself. Nothing wrong with taming lions; just that he would shit in his pants twice over if he ever faced a real lion.

This song Yellow brings wonderful memories. He had sung it for his wife when he was wooing her. It had failed miserably, the effort. He had squeaked, actually squeaked at the ‘for you i bleed myself dry‘ part. She had ruffled his hair and then laughed hard. For almost an hour. He had blushed for that part and this had made her laugh harder. Then he had joined in.

He had always been bad at singing. He could not sing even in the bathroom. But he had sung before his wife. She was wicked in harmless ways. She had agreed to go out with him, if he would sing any song for her. She had always known he was pathetic at singing.

Perhaps that is why, he had known she would love him forever. She had almost seen the worst of him. If in spite of that she dated him, sang with him by the river side, at karaoke nights, she would stand by him. It was a stupid conviction. Even he knew that. By any standards. But he liked to believe in that. It made him feel good.

He stops over to buy himself some cigarettes. The cancer sticks. He loves smoking. It eases a bit of pressure in some inexplicable way. His wife uses that vulgar term- addiction. He begs to differ.

He crosses over to the other side. He is wondering what would be there for dinner. He buys a packet of milds. He lights one. He turns to go back to his car. He is crossing the road. He hears a loud, blaring horn. He looks up at the oncoming traffic. No he is not about to meet with an accident. The blaring horn car passes on the other side. Someone seems to be in a hurry, he thinks.

He opens the door of his car. And suddenly……he feels a plop. He doesn’t look up at branches of the tree he is standing under. He would not want to look at the backside of the culprit. He wants to wipe it clean with the floral smelling tissue his wife always keeps in the car. He hates the smell. He doesn’t do anything. Anyway home is just 2 minutes away. Why is it that tissues never come in ‘manly’ fragrances? He would bring this up next time his wife talks about life being unfair to women when she is PMSing.

He revs up the engine. He is almost there. He drives a bit faster than the rest of the trip. There was a certain thrill in coming back home after a hard-day’s work and finding your family- safe, happy, energetic.

He parks outside. Maybe if the wifey and son are in the mood he’ll take them out for an ice-cream and a ride. He enters the house. His wife is looking at him n that mocking way. Why? She is looking over his shoulder. He follows her gaze. Still nothing.

The son, a missile of a human, rushes towards him, jumping over the sofas and then he stops. He asks, “ Pa. What is that blood on your shoulder?”