“Dad, mom! Where are you guys?” Dinesh barged in one day excited and eager to share something.

“What is it Dinesh? Take a deep breath. Tell me calmly,” said Mr.Sharma, while putting his arms around his son.

“I got through Boston University. My dream has finally come true. I am so happy,” Dinesh said animatedly. But his father also noticed a few worry lines forming on Dinesh’s forehead.

“What the matter son? You seem happy, but not entirely.”

“Dad, I did get through, but I have not been offered a scholarship that I was hoping for, which means we would have to fund the tuition fees ourselves. It is really expensive.”

“Son, why am I here for. I am not a nobody. After all I was an engineer with the biggest aluminium company in the world. You don’t worry about a thing. I will manage.”

Mr. Sharma withdrew money from his insurance policy and his provident fund he had and managed to arrange for sufficient funds.

“I love you dad. Thank you so much. I am going to study really hard, get a great job and then you guys can come and stay with me.”  

“I don’t want to come to that culture less country. I am happy here. Take your dad if you want to,” commented his mom, known in the family to be the most frank and practical person.

Dinesh finished his studies and got a well paying job. Now the next big activity was to look for a bride for Dinesh. His parents were quite clear that he should get married only to an Indian girl. Dinesh flew down, met a few prospective brides and finally chose Sneha, the daughter of a doctor.

Both flew off to US a month after their marriage. Mr. Sharma dug a little more into his savings and ensured a lavish wedding, apart from funding their honeymoon trip to Paris.

A day after the couple had gone back to US, Mrs.Sharma sat Mr.Sharma down and said, “What are you doing? Why are you spending so much? You just have six months of service remaining with the company. Save some for us, for the bad times.”

Mr. Sharma flared up. “What nonsense?” What do you mean? It is our son you are talking about, not some stranger. Who else will we spend on? Let him enjoy. He will take care of us when we get old.”

“I don’t know. Do whatever you want to.”
After a year, Dinesh became a father. When Mr.Sharma asked Dinesh to come to India so that he could see his grandson, he cited tight deadlines at work as reasons to not come. He did the same thing when he became a father again.

“We want to come there son. I am dying to see my grandson. Can’t you arrange for visas and plane tickets for us?”

“I can’t dad. I just spend a lot on my in-law’s tickets.”
 
“What? You invited them, but not us”?

“Dad, Sneha insisted. Ok, bye. I gotta go.”

Mr.Sharma replaced the receiver dejectedly and slumped in the cane chair.

Mrs. Sharma, who was quietly observing him, reacted sharply. “I knew it. I told you to be careful. Now he doesn’t even bother to call us there. I told you to save some money for us. But you never listened to me.”

Mr.Sharma immediately came to his son’s defense. “Darling, he is our son. It’s ok. He will call us there in some other time. Money doesn’t grow on trees.”

A year later, Mr.Sharma’s wife and Dinesh’s mom passed.

“Son, please come at least now. All she wanted to do was see you and her daughter-in-law. Please come,” Mr.Sharma tried to control his emotions, but couldn’t and ended up weeping inconsolably on the phone.

“No I can’t dad. I am really sorry. I have just got a promotion. My workload has increased. I will try to come later. You proceed with the formalities.”

“Ok son. No problem. I would have liked you to be here more than anything. Anyway, you take care. I love you.”  
   
Couple of years passed and communication between Mr.Sharma and his son only kept getting infrequent. During one such rare call…
    
“Son I can’t hear you. Could you be a little louder? What did you say? Ohh, my visa interview is scheduled for next week? Great, great. I can’t wait to see you guys. Let this interview get over quickly and I will be there with you and bahu (daughter-in-law) and my grandsons. This loneliness is driving me nuts. ”

Mr. Sharma was beaming after the phone call. He looked at the bag kept over the cupboard in the hall, the bag that he had kept ready for the past three years. Each time for some or the other reason his visa interview kept getting postponed or so he thought.  Once Dinesh had said that the consul was shut and wouldn’t open for a month, so the officials had cancelled all interviews. The other time he had said that he was short on finances, so his dad would have to wait for a while. It had been five years since Mrs. Sharma passed away. It was obvious to the neighbors that Mr. Sharma’s son didn’t want his father to come over and was making excuses to avoid him. But Mr. Sharma was oblivious to this. He loved his son too much. He believed that his son genuinely wanted him there, but due to some unavoidable reasons it wasn’t happening.

Mr. Sharma had almost nothing. He just had his flat and some humble savings. Dinesh sent him money from US for Mr.Sharma’s needs. Over a period of time, the amount of money from Dinesh kept getting lesser. Then it stopped coming altogether. The telephone was disconnected first; electricity went next, after which water stopped coming too. The stock of food started depleting with every passing day. Initially Mr.Sharma thought the money would come and waited patiently, but still didn’t doubt his son’s intentions. His neighbors were kind enough for a day or two, but when they realized that they might have to cook for him every day, they retreated.

He started living off whatever was left at home. One banana for breakfast, one toast for lunch and a glass of milk for dinner. His stomach begged for food, screamed from within, burned him from inside, but he couldn’t help it. Mr. Sharma was growing weaker by the day, but his hope to meet his son one day kept him going. When the water stopped, the toilet was a mess. He didn’t have the strength to go down and get himself a bucket of water from the common tap, so he begun controlling his urge to defecate or pee for as long as he could, and relieved himself only when it got unbearable. Drinking water was becoming a problem too. He would gulp his saliva to wet his throat. After a point of time the neighbors refused to give him water. The toilet was caked with dry rotting faeces and smelled of urine. Initially he used tissues to wipe himself, but once he ran out of them, he had to resort to wiping himself with whatever piece of clothing he could lay his eyes on. He smelled due to lack of proper bath, now almost for two weeks. His hair was disheveled and thick bushy beard covered his once handsome face. But his eyes were still the same. The hope to see his son was flickering even during these dark times.  

It was impossible to see a thing after 6 in the evening. The electricity had gone off long back. Mr.Sharma would bump into the couch, or the table or the cupboard at every step. The candles were over. It was getting difficult for him to walk around without hitting something. His entire body carried bruises, especially his knees.

Once while he was in the loo, he heard the phone ring. He came running half naked with his private parts exposed. He eagerly picked up the phone and blurted, “I knew you would call. I was just thinking about you. So my visa interview is fixed? Tell Sonu and Monu that I would soon see them. Ask Bahu to prepare all my favorite dishes. Your mom’s birthday is coming up. Are you going to get her something? I am gifting her a red saree. She has been troubling me for one since ages. Don’t tell her, ok? It is a surprise. She doesn’t want to come to US, but I told her I am going. I have to meet my grandsons and my bahu and you son. It’s been such a long time since I hugged you. What? Yeah I am all packed. My bag is on the cupboard in the hall. I am not lying. Hello? Hello? Hello?” 

“These telephone people also. I tell you, each and every one of them is incompetent. They cut the line right when I was talking to my son. And these electricity folks are no good either. I can’t see a thing around here. Darling, look at these idiots, pigs” Mr. Sharma walked back into the loo mumbling something to himself. “My son! I am so proud of him. I will soon go to US. It will be so nice there. Darling I am telling you, you are going to miss out on something really beautiful. There is no other country better than US.”

Ting tong. Ting tong.

“Honey did you hear that. The doorbell? It must be our son. He is here to take me. Why don’t you come along?” He ran towards the door and opened it with urgency.

“Oh my god. Son! You are here? I am so happy. I am so happy. You got my visa? How? Oh, so you bribed them. Great! This is how things work in India, in fact everywhere these days. Show them some money and they will bend all the rules for you. Ok then. Let’s not waste anymore time now. I can’t wait to travel by plane. It will be my first time. I am so excited. I will get my bags. Ok sweetheart I will see you in a month. Don’t worry; take your medicines on time. I will be back in no time. Bye.”

On the road every one gave Mr.Sharma a dirty look and he didn’t understand why.

“What are you looking at? I am going to US. Meet my son, Dinesh. He stays in US. Ever heard about America? How could you? If only you would think beyond this dingy hole of a place.”

“You idiot. Watch where you are going,” howled a passing car driver.

“Shut up. Can’t you see I am old? I will take some time to cross the road. No respect for any one. What is this world turning into? Son, lets take a rickshaw, I can’t walk that much.”

Mr. Sharma walked quite a distance with his blue and white bag hung across his shoulders before he realized that he had lost his son. He started looking for him with panic stricken eyes. Few people on the road took pity on Mr. Sharma when they saw him sitting in the middle of the road and weeping. It doesn’t happen everyday that people come forward to help an overgrown man sitting stark naked on the road in broad daylight. On being asked he told them about his missing son. They searched for his son for a while, before they lost interest and went their way. Someone made Mr.Sharma sit near a garbage bin, on the pavement near a bunch of homeless vagabonds. The air started getting chillier as it got darker. A loaf of bread and a rotten mango at the edge of the bin caught Mr.Sharma’s eyes, but just as he was reaching for it a dog barked ferociously and bit him. It grabbed the food and walked away victorious. Mr. Sharma sat caressing his wound. He didn’t dare to peek into the bin after that and fell asleep, cold and hungry. The beggars jeered at him. 

Early morning, he spotted his son standing at the tea stall across the street. His eyes lit up, he picked up his bag and sprinted across the road calling his son’s name. In his madness, he didn’t hear the incessant honks of an approaching truck, which first hit him side on at full speed and then dragged his naked body for about 30 odd meters before completely crushing his body beyond recognition. A brownish red pulp was oozing out of the body. Only one side of his body had some semblance of skin still hanging on. People came rushing from all directions to see the commotion and immediately covered their mouth to control the urge to puke. A gentleman suggested searching his bag, which had somehow hung on to him, for a phone number or an address.
All it had was a fungus-ridden bag of sweets and dry fruits, four pair of trousers, innerwear, four neatly ironed shirts, a letter from his wife to his son and daughter-in-law, which she had written during her last days in the hospital, and a photograph of his son with, “I love you dad” written across it.