Thursday, June 9, 2011

Muse Abuse

My son got assaulted by thugs days ago. It seems he published in his blog a pillow talk he had with one of those girls. She is alleged to have sent her friends after him. My daughter came and told us he was found barely alive. The doctor said he’s convalescing alright. She’s been saying this since day two. It’s been a week now he still goes back into coma minutes after he gains consciousness. It’s not just about girls he writes, you see, in his blog. He writes also about us, daughter told us. He writes in a WordPress domain named My Truth with Experiment. My brother said that’s an insult to Father of the Nation. He has referred to his godfather as twerp. I don’t know what that means. She said it’s a bad word. When I asked him about it, he said ‘Telling it like it is, mom, the truth. One day your son will be known as a radical writer’. He was going to publish his webpage as a scrap...or crapbook.

A son is an asset to the family we tell ourselves. Most families grow old to find out that is not the case. Do not do unto others as you’ve had others do unto you. What’s his name…Shaw, yeah, he said it. Their tastes may not be the same. He was an intelligent man. Parents aren’t perfect people. Children tend to think we are or we ought to be but we really are not. We but always do what we think is good and wish the best for you. We sometimes are pushed to rear a child with a cane. If we did it, it is because you were, you see, too much of a brat. ‘If India were US of A, mom, you with dad would’ve been jailed many a times’ he expressed recently. That explains why kids there carry guns to school. Those kids when they grow up are sent to shoot civilians around the world: it further explains. Why shoot inside, you see, go shoot outside instead. Maybe my son thinks we are keeping the country from becoming a superpower. At least kids there become independent no sooner than they are teens so that parents can save up for old age. He was twenty-two and wanted pocket money.

You may think I’m rambling. You should listen once to my in-laws to know what rambling really is. We divided our children’s property equally so that she wouldn’t be asked, you see, for dowry. She wants to be independent and treated like a person and not a woman. He seemed to agree to the idea but it stands to reason he agreed halfheartedly. He began treating her with contempt and us with her over time. He says he doesn’t write and would never write for money. I somehow doubt he means what he says. His dad of late gave him too much freedom, not by any measure more than we gave his sister. Look where it got him when she’s fine as the bright morning. She will look after us for sure but nothing would be more pleasing than him joining her, reconciling and feeling loved. We may be too much of a burden on her otherwise. Sometimes I wish we had another daughter instead. She’s spending all that she’s saved up on her reckless brother.

If he writes a lot, she reads a lot. I tell her women shouldn’t read this much, she says ‘we’ve come a long way, mom, from dark ages.’ What he did with his one-night stand is a case, she says, of muse abuse. It is when you write about people you’ve known, to single-mindedly attain your artistic goals, with nary a care for their well-being. He spends the little -- ‘it’s just 30K!’ he’d say -- he earns on the girls that each stand one night with him. We spent sleepless nights every time he fell ill since his childhood. He cares not for us. There are worse cases where children treat their aged parents ill-manneredly. Ours is a case where things are about to get worse. They bring you into this world, feed you, buy you things, teach you, and give you courage. They are, in so many words, your inspiration. If you don’t take care of them when they’re old you’re, you see, abusing your muse.

Not a single one of those hundreds of admirers he called friends visits him as he struggles for his life. The one person who cares enough to pay him visits is his harshest critic whom he called his ‘enemy’. They were close since their boyhood until recently when they fell out. The poor man, his father, keeps vigil all night regardless of his weak heart. My man never took bribes and got told by his son ‘if only you took some we could’ve been well-off.’ I go there in the daytime and I’m just about to. It breaks my heart to know my adult son is bedridden and needs his fragile-boned mom by his side. I wish once and for all he wakes up strong, clearheaded, and new.


At IndiVine



  1. Pramod Thank you. Yes, what you say is true. It's also likely he's complicated and naive at the same time. There's a Tao that goes: 'The softest things in the world overcome the hardest things in the world.' It may not happen in every single case and not that rapidly but here's a mother wishing. Thank you for reading.

  2. very well said, ahimaaz. but the strength in his conscience of not being just like others would go with him. that's one great thing no one sees. 

  3. That sounds rather real. Nice to know it had you entertained. Thank you for reading.

  4. Sounds familiar; have a 17 year old. Entertaining, too, to read!

  5. Padmanabha Vyasamoorthy Sir, it may read a bit strange but the story is very much set in our land. Thank you very much for your reading and appreciation.

  6. Touching story set in foreign land. Things are same everywhere as human beings are same. Sensitization towards care for the elderly takes long time. Efforts are worth it. Nice story.


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