Chapter 10

As we sat in the car, Papa looked at me again with a very guarded expression as if I would explode with something weird again. I tried a small smile and got a reluctant nod as we started off to school. I sat in the front and let bro have the whole back-seat to himself this time. He happily bounced about on the springy sofa like interior.

Halfway, at an intersection, while we awaited the change of traffic lights, I lightly started,

“It would be helpful to have a fly-over here, wouldn’t it”

Pa turned suspiciously at me – usually, I could be relied upon not to be concerned with traffic, people or anything. I preferred to inhabit my private dreamscapes and day-dream as much as I could. Leaving home for lawschool was the first time; I had felt awoken in this life.

“What do you know of fly-overs? Don’t give me a definition from a book...” Pa challenged.

Ah, progress…

“Well, to start with, it’s a means of removing obstructions or bottle-necks. Essentially, as an engineer, you would consider as a short-cut or even a detour which reduces effort or possible delays. However, I am not an engineer so according to me, a fly-over is exactly that - A way to fly over the rest!!”

I got a grin finally….. this was going someplace.

Pa tried to explain what fly-overs were in infrastructural terms and I actually listened and asked questions. By the time we got to school, we were conversing normally – like I remembered.

As he stopped for the drop off, I looked at him and said, “We really need to speak and I think you can excuse me attending school for a day. Is that possible?”

Pa was and still would be, a stickler for discipline and routine. But somehow he relented – I believe even he was curious as to what was going on. So, he nodded and we drove to his office in companionable silence. I doubt if he really planned on doing this but I was not unhappy at the ways things were turning out.

Pa’s office was this huge industrial complex where they made carbon brushes for all kinds of machines. He was pretty high up in the hierarchy when he quit – so nice a/c office, which in those days, they were called managers cabins. It was December and so the air-con was switched off, but the office was pristine. Typical large space with a big steel & wood desk with a glass cover. A tall executive chair was behind the desk and telephones on the desk. Everything was neat and tidy – almost as if each line was marked on a ruler and squared off accordingly.

I quietly sat down at a corner of his desk and started making a list of points that would required for development of the Silpukhuri property. Soon, I was creating a structured flow-chart including a side-bar for a chronological time-line including cut-outs and contingencies. Pa was busy on the phone initially and I soon lost track of what was happening around me till I heard the clink of a cup placed near me.

Initially not interested, the aroma of coffee stole my focus and I realized that I had been given a cup of coffee by the office peon and Pa was looking at me. So, I took the cup and pushed the rough foolscap papers on which I had been scribbling towards him.

As I savoured weak but normal tasting instant coffee, I watched my father’s face change from curiosity into stupefaction – I had no way of knowing how he would react. At worst, I might get a back-hander that might leave an imprint for a few days but I had no idea what a best case scenario could be. The few foolscap papers kept moving in my father’s large hands as he read over and over what I had scribbled.

“Who taught you all this?” was his first question.

I didn’t say anything. What could I say – 5 years of the country’s best lawschool, 1 year each at Glasgow Univ and LSE not to mention over 14 years of hard core corporate and developmental experience?

Yeah, right… that was the route to afore-mentioned back-hander…

“How did you plot this flow-chart? It’s wrong…. I can’t read it” , this time he wanted a reply.

Risking a quick look at the page he was holding up, I realized that the project cycle structure I had drawn was not yet invented. Being circular, with no specific markings, it was like a small labyrinth for decoding.

“Try reading the structure in a circle, with cut-outs at each stage to allow for contingencies or changes in initial project plan” I suggested.

A few minutes more passed as this was digested.

Finally, I heard the papers put down and the rasp of a match as dad lit his first cigarette of the day. My mouth went dry with mental anticipation for nicotine fulfillment. The mind is a strange creature, it struck me – I was at an age when I was not addicted to nicotine and yet the smoke, the rasp of the cigarette pulled at synapses which stated that they wanted some….

“Right, lets talk. Who are you? Not my son, for sure”

I took a look at Pa’s face which was now a mask out of sheer stupefaction and gone beyond expecting normalcy.

What do I say, now?