Summary

A son grapples with an ominous feeling and the fear of losing his father as he bids him farewell at a train station, a sentiment that tragically foreshadows his own accidental death.

Abstract

The narrative unfolds the tense and strained relationship between a father and son, marked by frequent arguments followed by silent treatment. On the day of the father's departure for a business trip, the son is overwhelmed by a sense of impending doom, which he has learned to associate with bad events. Despite attempts to shake off the feeling, he is unable to dismiss it. After a brief and somewhat strained exchange, the father boards the train, and the son, unable to resist his intuition, worries about his father's safety. As he rides his bike home in the cold night, he pleads with a higher power to keep his father safe, vowing to never fight again. In a cruel twist of fate, the son is involved in a fatal traffic accident, his last thought ironically reflecting on the cold and his choice not to wear a sweater.

Opinions

The author conveys a sense of fatalism through the son's intuition about impending tragedy.
The relationship between the father and son is complex, characterized by both conflict and deep affection.
The son's promise to the "Guy upstairs" reflects a belief in a higher power and the possibility of divine intervention.
The story ends with a poignant touch of irony, as the son's last thought is about the cold and his sweater, juxtaposing the trivial with the profound.
The narrative suggests that life is unpredictable and that our connections with loved ones can be fragile and precious.

Bye, dad…

What’s the platform number? My father asks.

Three, I say.

He knows it already, but he asks just to make conversation. We have not been on the best of terms for the last three days. This is a regular feature in our relationship. We argue about some small, inconsequential matter; and before we know it, a major fight breaks out. We slam doors and make grand exits. A few days later, we start speaking again. We become amicable and wait for the next big fight to happen.

This time it is different. Something bad is going to happen. I can feel it in the pit of my stomach.

We reach platform three. The train has already arrived at the station. I step into the compartment after my father, carrying his suitcase. He has a window seat but it doesn’t matter. It is an overnight journey. There will be nothing to see except dark shadows and more dark shadows. There is a young college student sitting in my father’s seat. I show him our ticket and he leaves.

I get out of the train and stand outside his window.

Thank you for dropping me, he says.

No problem, I reply. I shuffle my feet and look around. It is quite cold.

You should have worn your sweater, he says.

It is not too cold. I tell him, digging my hands deep into my pockets. I look around. There’s an all-night coffee kiosk nearby.

Do you want a coffee?

No.

How about a bottle of water?

Alright.

I’ll be back in a minute, I tell him.

As I walk past the numerous faces and bodies around me, I cannot shake this uneasy feeling that I will not see my father again. He’ll be back in two days, I remind myself.

I give him the water bottle and he thanks me. The feeling in the pit of my stomach is really strong. It is almost physical. I start to get scared because ‘the pit’ has never been wrong until now. Every time I get this sinking feeling in my stomach, bad things happen.

Do you have to go today? I ask him.

Yes. The meeting is tomorrow. I already told you.

Yeah, you did.

He looks closely at me. Is everything alright?

Yeah. I am good. Don’t worry.

He doesn’t seem worried but he continues looking at me.

We’ll talk when I come back, he says.

The train begins to move. I put my hand through the window. He shakes my hand, brings it close to his mouth, and kisses it lightly.

Goodbye, my dear son. He says as if he is writing an old-fashioned letter.

Goodbye, dad. I tell him. Message me when you reach the hotel.

He waves and the train leaves the station.

I sigh.

I fight the urge to take out my phone and google the stats for train accidents in India. Instead, I pull out my bike keys and walk towards the parking lot.

Boy, it is really cold tonight. I shiver involuntarily as I ride back home. The roads are empty but I cannot go beyond 40 kilometers per hour. It is that cold. Please, please, please, don’t take my dad away tonight. I promise you I’ll never fight with him again. I send out these messages to the Guy upstairs but I wonder if he is listening.

I take the next left and as if on cue, I see a bright ball of white light. It blinds me completely. What the hell-

I hear the horn blaring and my brain puts two and two together but it is too late.

CRRRAAASH!!!

The truck slams right into me. I am lifted fifteen feet into the air before I fall down splat onto the hard concrete. Blood pools all around me. I taste the metallic tang of iron in my mouth.

I cannot feel my legs but I don’t want to move them anyway. I just want to rest for a little while. I look up at the sky and see the stars twinkling silently. It is quite beautiful. A great winter night.

Damn, if only I had worn my sweater, I think as I close my eyes and go to sleep.