The kite flier

The sky looked at me and laughed.

The skin on my hands, for the first time tasted the flavor of ground glass while the bright pink string was wavering with pain underneath.

The sky thought I was a kid trying to get the hang of being a man by controlling something on my own. So what if it was just a measly and shaky kite which went the way the wind would take it.

But I was a man, a 54 year old one at that, just trying to win over something very important, something that meant the world to me. My son.

The string fought back and took its revenge on my fingers, using the same ground glass against the skin on my fingers. The fingers were bleeding. The blood red color on the bright pink thread, to me, seemed like the color of victory.

The other part of my body that was outrageously furious with me was my knees. I was sitting on an old wooden stool for the past 3 hours, slaughtering the thread, and the knees obviously didn’t seem to have taken it with the same spirit as mine. They were beginning to give in. now they will fight back the moment I decide to stand up.

The sky was still laughing.

As a kid I never used to fly kites. I knew I would never be able to fight against the winds with a measly, little kite. So I never tried.

“Mom…please teach me how to fly the kite… I can’t do it. Dad won’t do it… I know he can’t.
All my life I did only meaningful practical things. Never took risks as I always had a family to support. I did small jobs on meager monies, everything from a newspaper boy to a 2-in-1 stereo mechanic. I always managed to win over the situation and get enough funds to support my family, even managed to buy a small double room house in a small re-constructed chawl in Matunga.

At 47, I had given up all hope of becoming a father. So we decided to adopt a kid. That’s how he came into our lives. Today he turned seven and means the world to me.

The sky was still laughing.

I knew he had no faith in my faith. He stood behind the water tank on the terrace, catching a glimpse of my effort as and when, thinking I hadn’t noticed him.

I was ready, did the initial effort of throwing the kite as high as I could in the winds and then holding on to the arrogant bright pink thread, all by myself.

It was the first time I was trying to fly a kite. It was the first time I felt that I don’t have to win this one. I had an excuse of the first-timer.

The kite gained momentum and was beginning to fly higher. From the corner of the eye, I caught a glimpse of him. He was watching the kite capture the skies very intently. Meanwhile some other kite had attacked my short-lived victory. Within second it was over. My kite was set free and was no longer attached to the string in m y hand. Before I could celebrate the victory, I saw defeat. The string had taken its final revenge. It was over. I had lost.

He came running to me as I fought back tears. His smile managed to soothe the wound a little but what he said after that was my biggest victory ever.

Papa… please teach me how to fly a kite. I know you can do it.

His happy little eyes made me lose once again. This time against the tears I was fighting back.

For the first time I realized you don’t have to win over situations. For the first time I realized a father’s victory does not always lie in winning. And yes, for the first time I realized when you are flying a kite, you don’t have to fight against the winds. You win when you manage to use the winds in your favor.

I bent down on my complaining knees, looked him in the eye, the sky smiling in the background, and said.. I will.