The fireman & the fishbowl

"Don’t tire yourself out” called out Meena chuckling to herself, partly out of habit and partly out of humour, as she closed the old door behind her with a bang. She hadn’t seen her father tire himself out for quite some years now. Back in her school days though, he often complained of being exhausted when she would demand being taken to the park. Her friend Neelima would often tell stories of how her father had raced with her or been on the see-saws and swings. It all sounded like a lot of fun. So, Meena could not help but feel disgusted at staid image of her father sitting passively and having his breakfast, head down, his briefcase next to his feet and always ignorant of her presence on the table. Yes it was either that or him fighting with mother over some things they thought best to send her to her room for. She hated him absolutely. She wanted him to die, for making mother cry so much… for not taking her to the park. One day, she thought, she would get back at him and she would lock him up in a room and not let him anywhere. “Don’t tire yourself out”, she would chuckle to herself as she would imagine the scene. It made her feel a little happy. But that was a long time ago and a lot of fish had died between then and now.

One thousand, five hundred and sixty seven to be more precise.

The goldfish lived longer of course, and the longest survivor to exist in that crammed, dirty and smelly bowl lasted about two whole years. Twenty two months and seventeen days to be more precise. It had even been named or something, but he couldn’t recollect it. So, Mr Somnath sat on his chair and stared out of the window all morning trying to remember what it’s name was.

He wasn’t really trying to think though. But if his brain were to be suddenly jolted back to the realm of spontaneous, real-time existence, as it had been now with the noisy bang of the door closing, and then confused if it would look to seek an explanation from his senses as to why they had been in suspended animation for so long… this would perhaps be his alibi.

‘Ah, now I remember… I was trying to remember the name of that god damn fish’

Assured by his brain and senses that all was fine, that he did indeed have a purpose for sitting on that chair and waste away the entire morning, he smiled a momentary satisfied smile. Then resumed ‘thinking’ again. In the background the television was droning on and on about some natural disaster here or a political crisis there. Meena had a habit of leaving it on for her father fully aware of the fact he did not take a liking to it. Perhaps that was one of the reasons she did it anyhow. The television, it seemed, was forever ready with some calamity or the other either happening or waiting to happen around the world. It depressed the hell out of old Mr Somnath, so he preferred not to watch it at all. The fish were far more comfortable and peaceful. Nothing ever seemed to happen to them. They just kept swimming around till they died. It was as simple as that.

‘Ah, what was the name again…’ he wondered out aloud at sporadic intervals.

Outside, it was a beautiful sky… beautiful only through its ordinariness. Brightly blue and draped in sunlight, held together by a few irregular clouds… it seemed a day, like any other day. It was in fact, any other day. Inside the fish bowl, it never seemed to be too different outside but Mr Somnath tried not to think about irrelevant things such as death and darkness. Light was always sporadic. It was intermittent. But it did not prevent birds from singing or trees from growing. Everything seemed to be in a state of continuous flux. Everything except the fish and Mr Somnath that is.

“…In a separate incident of violence in the capital today, a sixty-five year old woman was stabbed to death by two petty thieves. She had been living alone at the time. This new incident has shocked a lot of people because of the brazen and casual manner in which the entire crime was committed. The police have ordered an enquiry and now more questions are being raised on the security of…”

The television was utterly depressing.

He must have had a job at some point of time, reasoned Mr Somnath. Only he couldn’t remember what it was. He could have been anything. ‘Maybe I was a fire-fighter’. He chuckled for a moment and then pondered deeply on the thought. ‘Of course I was fire-fighter. Either that or a sales manager’.

He looked over at the bowl again. Two fishes, a red one and a blue one were swimming about merrily. They didn’t seem to think of themselves as anything else apart from a red fish or a blue fish. Maybe they didn’t even know what red and blue was. ‘Then how the hell do they recognise each other?’ They must have names or something. All the men and fish have some sort of a name. ‘What was the name of that goldfish again…’

He had a wife once too. He remembered her of course. She had long hair and brown skin. She was an ordinary soul, the kind of woman who wouldn’t register on your head when you looked around the room. But she had a clear and sparkling laughter. It was simple, heartfelt, innocent and radiated joy and warmth. She didn’t often laugh like that, but when she did… it seemed special. He didn’t remember much of his wife of course, except apart from her laughter. She had a name too. Of course she had he remembered it. It was Jaysree.

Maybe it was easier to remember the fish if they had something special about them. The goldfish was pretty special too. It had lived a long while. But then again, so had Mr Somnath. And he couldn’t entirely remember a lot of things about himself.

‘Drat! What was the damn name of the fish?’

*

Meena returned a few hours later to the familiar sound of the television left on its own in the background. She would not bang the door when she came back like she did everyday while leaving, for he was usually sleeping by this time and she didn’t quite fancy waking him up. Quietly she tiptoed across the room to her father, her mobile phone still pressed to her ear (it was Raja of course), to check if he was still breathing or not. She did that everyday.

“Well?” asked Raja.

“No. He’s still here, sleeping.”

“You are kind of weird you know that” he chuckled.

“Really?” Meena was a little irritated. “Well, I get it from him. He’s such a stupid old man… lousy father. I never once saw him make Ma smile. I bet he was lousy in bed too”

“Now, now…”

“No really check this out. He’s been scribbling in the telephone diary… ‘I am the fire-fighter’. Yes right! You wish!” she mumbled slightly miffed and slightly amused, before flipping the pages over. “God, he’s just doodled over five pages of my telephone diary! Jaysree… Jaysree, five pages of this! God what do I do with him” she almost shrieked.

“Jaysree isn’t she the same…”

“Yes” she interrupted his sentence curtly.

“Oh”

“He’s ruined my telephone diary as well” she exclaimed excitedly and then immediately checked if her voice had not woken him up. Assured, she sobered down a bit. “I know he’s ill and all but…”

“No buts. Just relax. Get him a writing pad or something. I’ll buy you a new diary. There! Happy?”

“I love you so much” she gushed.

“…The European Union has expressed concern over the deteriorating condition of human rights in the middle-east and has…” Meena moved across the room and turned the television off.

In the other corner of the room, the blue fish had died. The red one continued swimming around merrily, oblivious of the other’s existence, waiting to be fed.