I Don't have to, I Get to.

The sky's overcast, daylight slowly giving way to dusk.

Moving at 50 km/h, from Rishikesh to Narendra Nagar.

Me and my father.

Swaying from right to left, as the seatbelt hugs me tight.

I feel the rubber moving against the asphalt.

I hear the wind blowing past, the slow Nepali songs playing in the car.

A car bearing the presence of two silent but different humans.

I don't know him, but I have witnessed him.

Him talking to my cousins, counselling them.

Him enjoying movies frantically with my mother.

Him insisting on doing everything alone, even as he comes out of an operation and scolds the staff there.

I have seen him act childish with my mother, and grow angry at his juniors at work.

I have seen him talk about finance and his regrets.

But,

I don't know him.

It's okay, I guess.

I don't have to know him.

I get to know him.

My eyes are fixed outside as the whole city of Rishikesh passes by.

We came here to shop.

Stopped at a CNG station instead of a petrol pump by mistake.

Took some medicine and went on.

Some vegetables I don't eat.

Some chips I am trying to leave.

My eyes are filled with sloth.

Hair clean from the shampoo.

Clothes in red and black.

I look outside. Sometimes people doing the Kanwar Yatra pass by, walking with kanwars slung across their shoulders, damrus, and bags.

Police stand nearby to keep the peace.

My mind recalls a moment.

Travelling to college after taking a drop year.

Moving in a silent Volvo, I had written Moving Out of Stagnation back then.

It was the festival of Kanwar as well.

I remember the feeling of finally moving on.

But now, I am filled with more questions than time to find answers for them.

Father tells me, how they walk for days to offer their idols water after their mannat had been fulfilled.

I nod, eyes drifting back outside, hand light beneath my chin. I wonder, what gives the strength to endure, does faith really have that power. Then what about blind faith?

The, day was nice.

The quiet, was nice.

The slowness was, nice.

I don't feel uncomfortable.

I just avoid meeting eye to eye,

talking out of line, being me.

Sometimes.

The sky's overcast, slowly giving way to dusk.

Moving at 50 km/h, from Rishikesh to Narendra Nagar.

Me and my father.

Rain falls slowly.

Darkness rises.

The roads are broad, with Crofton weed and Congress grass slowly encroaching above.

Walls of stone held by rusted wire.

Walls of cement or concrete painted with different motifs.

It's okay, right?

'Cause I don't have to.

I get to.

A.V