The boy who wanted to be a “magic-tian” – remembering my father

There was a little boy – the youngest in the family – growing up in a huge house, with a busy doctor father, and a proud and somewhat indifferent mother.

His mother had kind of handed him over to her widowed sister, who had taken shelter in her house after her rich and debauch husband passed away, leaving her in the lurch, childless and desolate.

The widow embraced this little boy as a gift against all her lost children.  Her husband’s waywardness and debauchery had ensured that she carried full term and gave birth to stillborn children.

The little boy lapped up the attention and affection that his aunt showered on him.  His mother had scant time for him or any other children; she was busy managing a large household, and playing nurse and companion to her much respected doctor husband.

The boy wanted to be a magician, and he would always tell others “I want to be a magic-tian”.  He would thus pronounce the word with emphasis, perhaps believing that it gave him an air of importance, which otherwise was not granted to him easily.

His siblings generally left him to his own devices, he would play and experiment with cards and coins and practice for his future profession with a certain air of  seriousness as though his life depended on it.

The only time, he would become important to the family was when they wanted something from their distant and aloof father.  The father apparently only listened to his youngest son with an air of indulgence and mock seriousness.

The drama would usually unfold like this … after the whole days work, the father would retire to his studies, reading a book or playing patience with a pack of cards by himself.  The little boy would be sent off to the study, often coaxed and cajoled by the women in the family to get permission to go out shopping or to watch the latest bioscope, or even to visit a relative’s home.

The father knew this game and complimented it by playing his part well.  Hence the usual routine would be that the boy would enter the room, wait by the side of the huge writing desk where the father would be seated, fidget a little and wait for him to be noticed.  A while later, the father would look up and asked in a lazy tone “what do you want?”  The boy would scratch his head, play with his toenails and submit the request.  The father would just about show a hint of a smile and say, “alright alright – do you need any money”? And the boy would repeat the same drama –  and would finally come out triumphant with permission and the money.   For this short while, he would be the little hero of the household!

One day, all these stopped. The father passed away after a sudden illness.  The entire household was orphaned … the boy’s elder brothers had not really learnt to look after the family under the father’s towering personality. The mother was never really a mother to the children, but an ardent follower of the father.  She crumbled after he was gone.

The boy felt dazed and orphaned in more ways than one.  His father was the only one who was interested in the boy’s antics, his magic tricks and in his little wishes and desires.  With him gone, the boy had only the aunt to go back to.  The aunt was affectionate but also a refugee in that household, dependent on her sister’s largess.  Besides, apart from offering love and affection to the boy, she could not give him the anchorage he so desperately needed.

Flash forward to 15 years to the future.

The boy was in his youth now.  He now lives with his elder brother and his family.  His studies have not been completed. He wanted to become a doctor but his elder brother had other designs for him. There was a film production and distribution company that his elder brother started, which sank without any trace.

to be continued………