While still in my teens, I often heard my dad recite his favorite lines from Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina , “Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way”. For years the true meaning behind these lines eluded me, and no matter how deeply I dug into the words, somehow I couldn’t touch what the author really wanted us to understand. My dad, who would always return a mildly challenging smile when asked what those lines meant, would never satisfy our questions fully, but rather leave us in a grumpy, confused, self-defeating state of mind. And then one day, I finally got it. That occasion was of no particular significance, barring the fact that it had been an extremely tiresome day. I had picked up Sid from his childcare center after my evening MBA classes. It was already ten. Sid, being tenderly fussy on the days he was forced to be away from me till late at night, refused food and went straight to bed. Another night of non-stop studying was about to begin ...
Articles, Poetry and Short Stories by Proma Ray.