Taboo

(Typed in angst of a writer's plight)

Swami paused for a moment to observe his son. The argument they were having flew out of his mind and he slowly examined his son.

His son looked just like him. The eyes that strained for a purpose, the pointed nose that flamed with anger, the ears that curved towards the end – every single detail. His heart brimmed with joy at his creation while the creation’s cry of ‘Dad!’ brought him back to their argument.

“Sorry!” Swami said meekly and continued, “I still stand by my opinion. Engineering is your best option.”

His son’s eyebrows raised in anger. “Why should not a son follow his father’s footsteps? When you are happy with your work and have such a good reputation as the chief editor of a daily, why do you force me to study something I am not interested in?” he asked.

“Journalism is not as easy as you think it is..” Swami started when his son interrupted. 

“Writer! I said I want to become a writer. There is a significant difference."

Swami smiled feebly and said, “That is an even more difficult profession. Just because you write occasionally does not make you..”. He was again interrupted.

“Have you read any of my writings?” his son asked, indifferently. Swami did not answer. He remained silent for a few seconds before continuing to finish the sentence he had started, “.. an expert with writing. It has a lot more to it than you realize.”

Swami’s son’s face showed clear signs of frustration. He turned around to leave when Swami called out. “Fine! I will give you a topic. Show me how good your writing is.”

His son looked at him, a bleak smile visible on his face. Swami grabbed a sheet of paper from a table that lay at the corner of the room and uncapping his fountain pen, he started to write a few lines on it. A minute later, he handed the sheet to his son. Accepting it eagerly, his son looked at what Swami had written. As he finished reading Swami’s statements, he let out an irritated sigh. Crushing the paper as firmly as he could, he threw the paper forcefully on the ground and walked away, banging his fist on the room’s door as he exited.

Swami’s wife who was standing at the doorway tried to console their son but he did not mind her. She turned towards Swami and entered the room.

“You should give a glance at his writings.” she said, a tone filled with sympathy for their son.

Swami let out a chuckle. “Do you really think that I live in this house without being interested in my son’s activities?” he asked her. His wife looked at him questioningly and Swami slowly nodded.

Before she opened her mouth again, Swami raised his hand to stop her and said, “Do not worry. I have seen enough of this world to know that it is futile to force him into something he does not like, especially if the ‘something’ is his education. Let him study literature. I just wanted to see how badly he wants it.” Swami finished.

His wife smiled and landed an affectionate pat on his shoulder. She then bent to the ground and picked up the crumpled paper. She opened it holding the paper’s edges and flattened it out with her palm. As she read what was written it, she gave Swami a playful cum angry look.

“I expected him to strike off those warnings and write down a piece. But I guess he needs some training with respect to facing the real world.” Swami explained.

“Still, don’t you feel this is extreme?” asked his wife.

“Trust me!” Swami said. “I know what it takes to be a writer in today’s world.”

She nodded and placed the paper on the table, seating a paper-weight on it.

On the paper was written,

“Write up to two pages on ‘India – From Mughal Empire to Modi government’

Warnings:

Avoid statements on God and religion.

Avoid statements about caste. 

Avoid statements about political parties. 

Avoid truth if offensive. ”