THE BUFFALO'S BACK

'Bewda Louis', the whole village called him. At six in the morning, when the villagers just completed their daily routine of milking their buffaloes, our Louis completed his: he just returned from 'aunty's desi' joint. Unless Louis serviced himself with his early-morning quota, his pump wouldn't start; the tremor in his body would stop only after his pre-dawn trip to 'aunty's joint.

"Louis, why do you drink like this?" many would ask him, concerned about his health.

"Drink? Who drinks?" This was a typical reaction from Louis.

"Okay baba, you don't drink; we do," they would give up, at the end of the day.

Yesterday morning, I yelled at my teenager son, once again:

"Tuck your shirt inside properly; you are going to the school, and not to a cinema hall."

It was the typical morning 'hot' temperature. And, it was the typical dominating father.

"What tuck? This is perfect," yelled back my son.

"They will throw you out of the assembly, if you go like this. I have warned you many times," I reinforced my authority.

"Never. I am considered as one of the properly dressed students in my entire school ... And, this is for your kind information, okay?" the body language of my son brought the Satan out of my system.

"Put your hand down; don't forget you are talking to your father, and not your enemy," I blasted.

"And, you too don't forget, dad, that you are talking to your son," he countered.

"Who is a teenager," my wife, the great 'protective shield' of my son joined.

I knew I was in for trouble. So, I retreated, but never before grumbling and cursing in my mind, till there was nothing left to grumble.

At night, I was told by my wife that my son and five other boys were sent out of the class, for not wearing a vest inside their shirts. The teacher had refused to take them inside, unless they wore it. "Call your parents; ask them to bring your vests here; your wear them and I will take you in."

My son called his mother.

"Very good; I am not coming," she told him, bluntly.

"Please mom," he pleaded from the other end.

"I have other work, I can not come."

"Please mom."

"It will take half-an-hour."

My wife made a mistake by telling me about this episode. My morning confrontation with my son had left me bruised and hurt. I, instinctively, began to grill him:

"So, finally, you learnt a lesson; Didn't you?"

"What lesson?"

"Why did ma'am threw you out?"

"Because we had not worn our vests."

"Why didn't you argue with her?"

"Did we have to?"

"Of course, you had to. When I told you the same, you had to argue with me ..."

"Correction. The two situations were different ... for your kind information."

"Yes, there you were afraid, here you weren't."

"Sorry. Ma'am gave us a logical reason why we had to wear vest in this October scorching heat ... When she saw us drenched with sweat, our shirts stuck to our skins, she was concerned about us ..."

"And, I was not ..."

"Dad, what you want to tell; come to the point."

"The point, my son, is that there is an authority - some one you are accountable to - both at home and at school, and why? Every where else, too. You can't get away arguing, all the time."

"I only argue, when I see no logic in what the other person is saying ... Our teachers always give us a lot of 'space', we can present our views freely."

"Which your father doesn't give; he is unreasonably demanding, dominating; isn't he? My son, you very well know that I ,too, deal with youngsters like you, from dawn to dusk, and I have been doing it for the past three decades. You mean to say, I don't give them 'space', I intimidate them. Right?"

"Wrong," screamed my wife. "For three decades, you may have dealt with thousands of youngsters. But, he is your son, a teenager ... Have you dealt with any of your teenager son before?"

I hadn't. Nobody had taught me how to raise a teenager son. I had to learn it in the same manner my son had to learn to deal with his 'untrained' father. Both needed help, guidance and, above all, a great deal of wisdom. And, both did not know this.

All wisdom goes for a toss, when the mind is clouded by ego.

Louis's wisdom was clouded by 'aunty's' raw fanny. He never accepted the fact that he was a 'drunkard'.

I wouldn't accept the fact that, I, too, was insecure, fallible, ignorant, vulnerable... that I, too, needed help including from my own teenage son ... My ego-soaked mind wouldn't allow me to accept it. Acceptance, always, has come to me when I have stepped out of the 'ring'. Yes, when I have 'seen' the 'battle' away from the battle field.

It is a great relief to me, when I realise that, like Louis, I too am 'drunk'!

My illiterate mother would show us the buffaloes in the village and tell:

"A Buffalo can not see his own back. So, he gets a strange pleasure by laughing at the Buffalo in front ...'You shameless, your back is so ugly; why don't cover it?"

Thank you mom, thank you son ... and, thank you my darling - I am able to see my back, now.

And, you Louis, who never 'licked a single drop', ever!


GERALD D'CUNHA