Spiteful Spirit
- Writers Pouch
- Oct 21, 2022
- 12 min read
Disclaimer: For ages above 18 only.
Vishwanadh was forty-two years old. He had a wife, a teenage kid, and enough money to live well. He was a lonely guy with few acquaintances, and his wife was as strange to him as his next-door neighbour. When he returned from coaching camp last month, he took his family to a beautiful restaurant, spoke precisely three sentences to his wife, nodded three times to his kid, and then they both started chatting. He didn’t feel alienated or alone since, according to him, this is how all family outings operate. He activated his Bluetooth and began listening to the match broadcast.
Vishwanadh thought he was correct, and his way of life shaped him into the man he is today. Unfortunately, there was no question that the guy had no social life, no one to confide in, and that his marriage was more of a necessity than something one would do when they loved so much. He used to retreat at the first sign of affection from anyone, including his parents, and he assumed that this was how everyone lived.
The more he became successful in what he had done, the more he believed everything was all right. What he never foresaw was that one cannot go on doing what they’re good at till they die. Careers end, and one would be forced to live with some sort of family and if that family doesn’t mean anything to you, you’re in trouble.
Vishwanadh’s father used to play Cricket, and when he represented the state, he became eligible for a government job. As soon as he got the job, he moved away from the game because the purpose was served, and he accomplished what he intended to. The only thing he didn’t foresee was his son liking the game. Like all boys of his age, Vishwanadh loved playing Cricket, it offered him so much, and the time he spent on the ground with his friends made him happy. He resented going to school and even home sometimes, and it was the ground where he found his friends and like-minded people. Unlike in school, there wasn’t much to master here. His coach said he was a natural at hitting the ball, and his fielding was okay, so everything came easily to him. His friends always wanted to understand how he played and why he was so good. His father had other ideas, but Vishwanadh never thought his father would stand in between him and his goals.
The boy’s passion was contagious, and Vishwanadh’s father couldn’t help discussing the game with him, a game he used as a ladder to get a job, a game that is so volatile and doesn’t offer any stability to people who want certainties in life. But that was his problem, and he never realized that. Vishwanadh never wanted anything to be certain, he just wanted to play as much as he could and he thought this would make him happy and it was only his happiness that mattered.
“I don’t believe he’s very interested in what you want to accomplish with your life,” his mother added. She could feel the disappointment on his face as she stood next to him on the balcony. There was nothing this boy hadn’t attempted to do to satisfy his father and get his devotion and love. But, whatever the son had done, his father was unconcerned. This compassion and love, the father felt, should be reserved for oneself and should be used sparingly on others.
Pavan was well aware of his father’s unwillingness to be open, as well as his seeming indifference to everyone in his life. The old man had always been an absent parent to him, and despite the fact that they shared a house, they never had a moment to call it theirs.
“I am sure he will like me when he sees me playing Cricket. He loves Cricket more than anything and if I try my luck at it and become successful..” said the fifteen-year-old.
