He lay beside his father, while his mother sat on the same bed. Their arrangement was a pattern - a square with the last side being the wall against which the bed was drawn. His mother always complained how distant he had become from his parents. Every week and every month and every year, the complaints decreased but never died. Today, yet again, his mother had requested an audience. He agreed wholeheartedly which was rare yet genuine, and decided to lie down and not sit. Anything that required immediate disposition of mental faculties required sitting. For everything else, lying down was good. It was the best.
The conversation started. It had to. It went from a reiteration of his father’s malfunctioned phone (which obviously he was required to get fixed) to what he had chosen to do with his life. He was comfortable if not glad to answer the question. The reason he avoided confronting his parents was because he believed (in his heart) that he had failed them as a son. Their aspirations were never met. He was the messiah of every hope pinned against the family pride. At first, he did everything to satisfy things without realizing what he was doing. Everyone was happy and so was he. Only in the later part of his life, he rebelled and that too unwittingly. It was a mad rebellion and had a cause. He always thought he was different… he was so fuckin' wrong.
Things had been different lately. Finally, he was doing something he was expected to do. He wasn't happy but passive and as a matter of pure consequence, he was objective. He had molded his experiences to fit in with his theories. He felt that every pain, happiness or discomfort of any sort or of sorts or emotions discounted of emotions that he might or might not have been aware of, had an immense belief of psychology behind that could be easily justified with rationality. What one chose to believe or exercise was a big reflection of the dogma one had been subjected to during the course of one’s lives. Once the mind was treated, so was the emotion. If the psyche were to be aligned with rationality, a major portion of it (the psyche) would be left redundant; in fact it would be killed to give birth to a new one freed from the emotions desirous of what was forced upon the mind. The dogma of life commanded the existence or life of a mind (consciously or unconsciously and freely or forcefully) as long as it lived. Everything could be done or undone with practice and will. One could learn to laugh in all conditions; even in moments of trauma tears of joy could come out. It was possible. It existed. It was his theory perfected through practice. Of course, he was the proof of it. He loved to chew on his own thoughts and witness the world while he laughed or scorned on the inside, but always with a smile on his face.
The conversation had taken a different route. What started with a minuscule idea of spending time together had turned into conversation of the world and things that were of no consequence to him. It was fine as long as he didn't have to be a part of it. Among all the things he had learned in life, one lesson was important (as important as others): No one wanted to talk, but everyone wanted to be heard. He had learned to deal with his own complexity and simplicity without sharing. if he shared, it was only with the objective of chatting about it. He did not know what he had to do, but knew what he wanted to. He was no different than others. He just wanted to be heard and that realisation was pitiful for him. But he was fine with it now for he had learned to smile and forget. So, he played along with them today again.
The only thing he hated and the only thing he did to get through quanta of moments... Smile and play along. And so he did. Smiled and played along as long as he could for everyone wanted a silent audience..
And so he was..the best of the best..a silent audience..
Always was and always would be.