Kishore Singh: Out of sight, out of mind

PEOPLE LIKE US

Because August 15 was a holiday, there were rather more people at home than usual, the guests being friends of our children who were around, or so I was informed, to go out and fly kites.

"And what might your name be?" I asked a teenage girl who seemed identically dressed to all the others in the room. "Don't be funny, Papa," she snapped, "you know jolly well I'm your daughter."

Closer examination proved this to be true, but because I hadn't seen her in anything other than her school uniform for a while, I'd forgotten how kids of a certain age tend to clone each other.

"Where have you been hiding yourself?" I asked her, "I feel I haven't seen you in months." "That's because," said the apparition who claimed to be my daughter, "mostly you're asleep when I leave for school." "That's true," I agreed. "And when I'm back," she continued, "you're at work."

"But what about when I get back from office?" I asked. "That's when I'm away for tuition," she said, "and by the time I return," she looked up accusingly, "you're out for dinner."

"A professional hazard," I hastened to scotch any hint of enjoyment from my evenings out, "but where do you disappear over weekends?"

"Well, if it isn't extra classes," she sighed, "it's working on practical projects at some classmate's, or the odd get-together at a friend's though, if you'd just care to look, I'm to be found in my room surrounded by books."

"You aren't the only one studying," jeered a strange looking youth with studs in his ears and jeans refusing to stay hitched around his waist, who, on further scrutiny, I was able to identify as my son.

"Nice to meet you," I said to him, because it seemed that for weeks our only communication had been over the phone. And then, it was mostly one sided. "I need the car," he'd ring to say.

Or, "I'm off to play pool with my friends." Or usually, "I'm taking some more money from that secret place where you store emergency cash."

Any suggestion that the money was there for a rainy day would meet with the riposte: "But this is an emergency "" I don't have any money."

Now here he was, the person whose voice was more familiar to my ears than his sight. "Home," he shrugged sadly, "is a bore, so if you'll give me some money now, I could scam and spend the day with my friends at the mall."

Normally, I would have appealed to my wife to discipline our son, but thinking about it now, I couldn't remember what my wife looked like. It must have been at least a few days since we'd met each other.

"Er, hello," I said with a flash of recognition to the woman who was rushing about the room while talking on the phone. "Not now," my wife waved her hand at me, "I have to rush to the bank, but if you'll wait around a bit, I'm sure my husband, whatshisname, will be by to talk to you."

"Enough," I clapped my hands to draw the attention of my family "" or at least those I thought were my family. "It's a sorry pass that everyone's so engrossed in their lives that we don't know each other any more, and starting now I intend to do something about it."

Three faces looked up at me strangely. "Like what?" asked my daughter. "Like spend more time with each other," I suggested. "You're joking," sniggered my wife.

"Well, okay," I said, "seeing how that's impossible, maybe we should go to a studio and pose for a family picture so that," I sighed, "at least we'll be able to recognise each other."