Mr. Gupta looked solemn. It seemed like he had a hard day at work. He usually had. His ragged tweed suit and worn-out leather shoes spoke of his misery over the past few months.
"I'll walk you to the studio." He spoke in a grim tone. "The bus stop's just a few steps away from it."
The night was silent, save the clicking of our footsteps against the cobblestone. The moon offered little light, though it was enough to light up Mr.Gupta's old, wrinkled face. It had suffering written all over it. I wondered if he had been drinking again.
We spoke nothing, not even when we reached the gate of my studio complex.
"Ah Gupta Sir!" a voice came from the darkness. It was the watchman. "Come in, come in."
He opened the small gate and looked at me. "Anshuman Sir just went in."
"Just in time, I say!" Anshuman walked out from behind, patting the watchman on his back, much to his surprise. He had probably retraced his steps after seeing me arrive.
Anshuman 'Andy' Sharma, was my partner at work. It hadn't been long since we met, but we were as good as fast friends would have been. Dressed in comfortable jeans and a t-shirt, he seemed ready for the night's work at the studio.
Andy glanced at Mr. Gupta.
"Oh yes, this is my father." I responded to his inquisitive look. "The 'other' Mr. Gupta!"
"Hello Sir!" Andy held out his hand.
"Hello there! You must be Anshuman." They shook hands, "I have heard a lot about you from Aditya."
Andy grinned.
"Anyway Aditya, I'll move on." Mr. Gupta spoke. "I have a bus to catch home." He waved.
I nodded.
Andy leaned over my shoulder and whispered, "If that man is your father, who was the guy you brought in the other day?"
I looked at him, shook my head and turned around. He followed, in the silence I wanted him too.
My parents had a divorce eight months ago. My father was a simple man. He worked as a clerk at the District Collector's office. He took to drinking though. After which he'd pick up many a squabble with my mother. There were times when I saw tears streaming down her face. I'd go to my room and cry too. I hated my father.
Finally, my mother made the decision; she wanted a divorce. The paperwork was done soon enough. My father had to shift to a small,two-room apartment in the suburbs, as that was what his meagre income would provide him with. The bungalow's ownership was my mother's. Yeah, my mother's side was the rich one. I, ofcourse, having been given the choice, chose to live with my mother. For once, I thought we would live together as a happy family; or whatever was left of it, just the two of us.
Two months into the marital independence, my mother announced her marriage with Mr. Agarwal. It came as a shock ofcourse, but there was nothing much I could do. I tried to reason it out; 'Perhaps she just wanted company.' She tried to convince me it was for my good as well; it would bring some stability to the household. That was in vain, ofcourse.
I took a disliking for this new 'father', as one would usually expect. He was a bit too friendly. He would try to make me feel that we were a family, though it was quite clear we were not.
I didn't spend much time at home after he moved in. I would go to the studio right after breakfast, and return not until after dinner. As for the meals, I'd have them with Andy at a place close to my studio. More than work, it was the thought of home that made me stay in there.
Sometimes I would do an overnight just to avoid Mr. Agarwal's usual dialogue, "Adi's home, dear. I'll go make him some coffee." Then looking at me, he'd ask, "You would like some coffee now, won't you, Adi?" I would just nod and frown to myself.
Things did not turn better when one night I saw him seated upon the couch, sipping away at a glass of expensive rum. I sighed, atleast there wouldn't be any bitter coffee that night. Perhaps every father in the world was bound to end up like that. I just hoped history wouldn't repeat. My mother would be sad, her heart would be destroyed.
It was then that I decided to meet my father, my actual father. I remember, in between the two marriages, she had tried to console me. That whatever had happened, it had happened between the two of them. I would get the same love and affection from him as I did before their divorce. I hadn't given it much of a thought back then, but now that I think of it - it hurt her. It hurt her because she knew it hurt me. And I think that it will keep hurting her till it keeps hurting me. So I decided then; I would try to make amends with both my fathers. I began seeing Mr. Gupta at his office which was close to the studio, and I spent more time at the breakfast table with Mr. Agarwal. All this for my mother, for I knew that if she saw me happy, she would be happy. Perhaps, she would get the feeling that the decisions in her life were not as wrong as my behaviour had proven them to be.
If I were to stop hurting myself, it was I who would have to compensate. Besides, I would get more time to spare once this project was over. That night we would be adding the final touches to our creation.
"We'll grab a bite before we start. I hope you are not very hungry." Andy said, removing a tiffin box from his canvas bag.
I nodded, meaning that I was not.
"Well then, I have got two blackcurrant cupcakes in here, your 'favourite'," he said with a grin as I grunted (I hated blackcurrant), and then shrugged, "Though no tea to have them with."
My cellphone's ringtone interrupted our quiet little tea-time. A familiar voice spoke, "Hello?"
"Oh hello Aunty!"
It was Aunt Reena, my mom's sister. She lived in our neighbourhood.
"Adi dear, don't panic okay..."
"What happened, Aunty?"
A trembling voice trickled out through the earpiece. "We are at the hospital... your mother... she had a heart attack in the evening."
She paused.
"She's no more."