Father and Son
One of the more overlooked aspect of “Three Idiots” was Farhan finally opening to his father about what he really wanted for himself. His dad, who’d previously been a rigid, conservative and orthodox man who was solely focused on social security for his son and societal validation, eventually came around to understand his son after mutual show of vulnerability between two men.
Having been a cinephile all my life, I’ve had the pleasure of absorbing a ton of cinematic experience, both popular ones and the obscure ones. Despite the closeted secretive nature of our society, one great insight that has held itself to me, is the mutual love between a father and his son. The knowledge at the back of my head that despite life’s complexity, it’s traffic and it’s mundaneness, the father understands his son in the most intimate and genuine manner, having gone through the same cycle of struggle, glory, abuse and torment. I’ve always had this picture of radical empathy that forms the basis of the relationship between a father and his son.
The historic examples of father son relationship, though varied, offer one silver lining: a deep rooted commonality of emotions encapsulated into an unsaid package of loyalty and confidentiality. While Oedipus killed his father, yet the elemental entity he shared with his father was a life of tragedy and a soul of intent.
While Dashrath was forced to evict Shri Rama into exile, yet the sense of love and empathy were so strong that he ended up succumbing to his own emotions. Dashrath symbolizes the extremity of a father’s affection: when your actions are cruel so that your son earns glory, but you’re so empathetic to his pain that you manifest his agony through your ill health.
As much as I force myself to believe that life is more than what it is, existence eventually is the reflection of a pessimist’s median dream. It’s beautiful, but the forces of human emotions can be so indifferent that they make life difficult for a sensitive man.
Many individual forces have broken my sense of romanticism through my life. I’ve had a moral code that’s ridden on twin horses of surrealism and intellectualism. But as Karna had to fall off his chariot to face the consequences of his past, so has my destiny shaped up, plotting to kill my heart over and over again, until it’s turned into a mummified version of it’s former self.
However, what has hurt the most is my bond with my father. Having been delusional and disillusioned that a romantic gesture of knightly valour will accomplish breaking through the threshold of awkwardness that clouds our relationship. I’d always believed that one day we’ll sit together in our balcony and I’d timidly start a conversation about the importance of father in a man’s life. We’d discuss the in and outs of life’s struggle, reminisce my mother’s role in both our lives, admit defeats, drop truth bombs, shed some tears and get empowered through the bond that we share.
On the positive side, I’ve had those conversations. I’ve said words. I’ve poured out feelings. I’ve tried being your son. But my father has been immune to my emotional ramblings. He’s been the Aurelius to my Commodus. If only he’d been proud of me or our bond, I’d have burned the entire world for him. But I think that’s his genetic design. That’s his social prerogative. The realisation that we’ll never have a good relationship, has dawned on me. One does tend to hope against hope in the matters of the heart. However, truth must be embraced with honour. As much as I’ve tried in my life to earn his validation, he’s been apathetic and detached, which are great qualities suited to the post modern aspect of our social milieu. We’ve been toxins in each other’s lives.
I’d been my mother’s eyes’ apple all my life. But I was not there for her when she left. I reflect on how karmic justice works and I’ve come to the conclusion that my father’s apathy is just universe’s response to my cockiness. While I can theorize my bond with him into a million hypotheses, the subtext is always the naked ugly truth that we’ll both die without having an authentic truthful relationship, and I hate him for it.
Maslow’s pyramid takes into account the hierarchical system of needs, where the aspects of consciousness come after those of physical survival. My father’s social conditioning has taught him to attribute the greatest importance to the lower rungs of the pyramid. I now view the pyramid as an integrated whole, and not mutually independent as Maslow claims. I’ve decided to embrace the truth of people, events and ideas in an intellectually honest manner, while reserving the realm of surrealism for expanding my abilities and my life. I’m tired, but I refuse to attach cosmic optimism to zombie relationships.
