Dear Dad,
It feels weird to write a suicide letter. Writing requires patience and suicides depend on the lack of it. But would you be surprised if I tell you that this was a well thought out plan of action? Or would you not believe? Like always.
You are not a typically strict bollywood father though. I will give you that. You were not clipping my wings or caging my passions or anything of that sort. And probably that’s why I didn’t plan on doing an emotional outburst to confess my inner feelings in front of the family. Because it was not just the family. One single confrontation wasn’t going to cut it. You are not the main culprit, or the only culprit. The roots of disappointment, humiliation, nothingness go deeper than just our family. The neighborhood, the relatives, the social circle, the colleagues, the teachers, me. All of us are guilty.
In the eyes of society, you and mom were probably the perfect parents. I was oozing with ’sanskaars’ throughout my childhood. But did you ever take a moment to reflect on the process you opted to inculcate those ′sanskaars’? I mean, until I appeared for the SSC board exams, I bet you didn’t even know which class I was studying in. You were just a regular ignorant father. And Ma too was a regular over-caring, over-indulgent mother. So what went wrong, you would be thinking. Three paragraphs through the suicide letter and not a single major revelation on why I did this. Such a bore. Well, that’s what I was called for the last 10 years, so no big deal. Now, settle down.
I grew up as an introvert. I had this restless mind which tried to find logic in everything. In everyone. I found my friends stupid. I found the teachers repetitive. I had so much to say but I couldn’t. I couldn’t be rude, I couldn’t be over-confident. That’s what I was taught. That’s how I could be a ‘Good Boy’. So, I abided by the rules. And kept everything in. I kept mum. Gradually, I started enjoying just observing things. Or reading books. Or watching plays, movies. Most things where conversation was not a requirement. I couldn’t ever discover the line between foolishness and rudeness while speaking. So, I chose to stay away from the line.
Making books as your best friend in your childhood has many advantages. You start your academic career with a bang.“A round of applause for Harsh on securing the first rank!”. Everyone claps. Yay! The neighbors scold their kids giving your example. The xerox shop owner bribes you to print your notes only at his shop. Your parents let you watch Ben-10 for the entire summer. Yes, there are a few disadvantages too. Committing suicide at 17 years of age comes to my mind instantly.
Soon enough in school, I had classmates who belonged to my species. And I thought I was the last living Geek God. Those students were similarly cornered to mug their hearts out. My class ranks slipped to 2nd-3rd. I was not the special one now. The neighbor’s examples had changed. The claps weren’t as loud for the runner ups. And the insecurity knocked for the very first time.
Nothing wipes your fantasy universe quite like the puberty. Your Batmans and Potters absolutely do not prepare you for that girl walking towards you; in her sparkling yellow dress; giving you an extra chocolate for your help in her homework. The moment you fumble saying a two word greeting called ‘Happy Birthday’ you start regretting your decade with the textbooks. Of course, later you find that the real criminals are your 2-inches thick eye-glasses when you struggle to watch her ball-dance with the last-bencher at the annual function. From the last row in the audience, ironically.
After several self-created self-destroyed Happily-Ever-Afters I was back to my slogging best by the time SSC arrived. The results were as expected. I was back as the ′Sharmaji-Ka-Beta’. 1st Rank in my district. 3rd in the State. The local newspaper deemed me as the next Vishwanathan Anand. Of course the writer didn’t bother that 10th class results and chess comparison is worse than the apple-oranges one. Could be ‘Apple and Kryptonite’. Oh yes, the thick eye-glasses made us similar. Stupid me. There I go again, being rude.
You being the responsible father made the decision for me and opted for Biology in HSC. Whether I liked Maths more was just an optional question you ignored like those ‘Solve any two out of three’ ones. You enrolled me in the best college of the city. And there were few other classes as well. Physics, Chemistry, Botany, Zoology tuition classes. PMT classes. Aptitude classes. Test series on weekends. Of course, no more Ben-10 now. You have to fill the option’s circle perfectly for these entrance test MCQs. The darkness of the circle I filled was directly proportional to the darkness inside me. Both grew with time in those two years. I would sometimes just break my pen’s nib filling the last MCQ circle and mutter in my breath “And so I sentence you to 5 years in a Medical College, where people wear white as if they have come to a funeral of the guy they probably might have killed while operating.”
You obviously had no idea I got headaches on seeing blood. Or I vomited on coming across dead rats. You did not care about these minor details. And Mom thought it would get better with time. She was probably speaking from experience of living with you. She had a point. But sadly with me, it just got worse with time.
Best-Friend is the only person who can bring a teenager out of depression. So parents have to make sure that their child’s best friend is not a non-living thing. Not even books.
You remember the first mock-test result day? Of course you do. The results weren’t good. I panicked during the tests and made some pretty straight-forward mistakes. A meager 180 out of 200. Just enough to get through a local government medical college. Not enough for you. You had just started shouting when I calmly said. “I don’t like this. I think I am better in Maths or Computers. I should be doing Engineering.” It was not a confrontational challenge. It was a plain remark.
“Have you just gone mental?”‘Yes I had’
“You chose this. You opted for Biology!”‘No I did not’
“Do you want to waste 2 years and go back to 11th now?”‘Yes I do’
Of course, I said all those replies to myself and not out loud. The line between Rudeness and Foolishness remember? Could never discover it after all.
So 5 more years then. I will complete my MBBS. Become a doctor. Settle somewhere in a metro city. Then it’s all me. I can apply for engineering then. Maths, Computers, Writing, Teaching whatever I want. I have gone through 3 torturous years. What harm could 5 more years do! Somehow, I had convinced myself.
The HSC board exams went well. I was pretty confident on the Entrance Test day as well. I thought I knew everything. I just had no idea that my replica from a parallel universe was going to set the paper. The questions almost seemed to be printed in Mandarin. And I can bet I would have learnt Mandarin by heart, if given a year. Here I had had two years. I should have cracked it. And today as you know, I didn’t. The results which came out today, must have been a shocker for you. But I knew I wouldn’t crack right on that same exam day. I just kept mum. Like always.
These last two months I had analyzed all the permutations possible on how things will go from this day. The original 5 years of slavery I had imagined was out of question now. Be it reappearing for the Entrance exam (95% probability) or be it getting enrolled here in the local medical college and live in the same house as you (5%). None of the scenario ended up 5 or less years of jail-term. And that’s when I started to google “How to commit a painless suicide”.
You might not have understood half of this letter.“Seedhe seedhe bolo”you always said. So to keep it simple Dad. I couldn’t bear this life anymore. I gave up. Yes, only cowards commit suicides, and I was one. But the question after a mishap shouldn’t be ‘why?’, it should be ‘how?’. How did I become a depressed loner? Did I have no support system in Friends or Family? Was I ever taught that it was ok to say ‘No’? I might give biased answers to these questions. So I leave them here for you to ask yourself.
Finally, I am sorry that the last newspaper headline featuring my name won’t be the one you wished for.
*The next morning, as Harsh’s father’s shaking hand stumbled its way on top of the study table, the suicide letter was kept above the newspaper headline which read, ‘Nagpur’s prodigy Harsh tops the HSC Board Exams’.*
