I decided then and there that I would rescue my dad from the vice of alcohol that gripped him. I’d stop being the callous and angry person, and be a daughter. He needed me. I was going to be like this noble fisherman. I was going to have a large heart. I was going to be my dad’s safety net for a change. He’d been my knight in shining armor; I was going to be his guardian angel. I was going to stop judging him, get my act in order, and get him to return to being my dad.
Back in Ranchi, I started to do some research. I found that the Central Institute of Psychiatry (CIP) in Ranchi had recently started a de-addiction program. I thought getting dad admitted would be a start in the right direction. Trouble was – how could we convince him? He had fallen back into the sway of alcohol – he was barely managing. His liver was in bad shape; he was falling sick often.
He’d promise he’d change his ways, and then fall back into the Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde pattern again. Then one night, he stopped at a local roadside alcohol shop to buy himself a bottle. Suddenly, there were policemen all around, and they rounded up all the men in the vicinity, and put them behind bars. My dad was one of these men. He somehow sent word that he was in the lock-up. In the morning, we approached an elderly neighbor, and he went and bailed my father out. The neighbor stayed back home that afternoon, and counseled my dad. Dad was shaken, after having spent the night with petty criminals. I went up to him, hugged him, and told him about the program at CIP. He listened silently. I looked to my neighbor for support, and he pitched in, as well. Finally, dad agreed.
So, dad admitted himself into this program. We lived in a small town – everybody knew everybody. People sniggered behind our backs again, calling my father mad. After all, he was admitted to an institution known more for housing the so-called lunatics, and the crazies. But we persisted. My dad persisted. The program required him to stay at the institution’s premises for a period of several months. Family and friends could visit every day. We visited. We brought food, and small gifts. We regaled him with stories from school. Several months later, he walked out a free man, free from the clutches of alcohol addiction.
It’s been more than a decade, and my father has not had a sip of alcohol. There are nights when I have nightmares about him falling back to his drinking ways again. But I trust him not to do so. I am reminded now of all those days that I was angry with him – when I went to bed at night without seeing his face, when I refused to acknowledge him, when I saw right through him. His bloodshot eyes carried a plea for help, and I ignored him. I thought I was better than him. I am glad that fisherman found me that day. It was because of him that I found my dad.
My relationship with alcohol is somewhat strained – I am always walking on eggshells around it. I will not drink more than a couple of glasses of wine, and I will not even touch whiskey, or rum. Alcohol on a man’s breath scares me to death, and I am repulsed by it. I have a long way to go before I overcome my fear of alcohol. But I have my dad back. Although now, I can somehow not find it in my heart to ask him – “Daddy, how much do you love me?” Alcohol somehow damaged our relationship irrevocably. Let’s see. Who knows? May be, I will go back to Puri again, and find that fisherman. Or, may be, he will find me. May be he will tell me a story again, about a father and a daughter. One of these days, I will find my courage, and I’ll launch myself into my dad’s arms, look up at his dear face, and ask him – “Daddy, how much do you love me?” And, he’ll smile down at me, and say – “To the moon and the stars, and back, a million times over, and forever.”
To the Moon and Back
17
"I am glad that fisherman found me that day. It was because of him that I found my dad."