I could not tolerate it anymore. I quietly went and sat beside my dad. He had not been speaking to me since I had come out. The eyes constantly staring, coming to terms with the grief of having a son who was different.
“Appa, I am terribly sorry. But I cannot live this lie anymore. I was tired of running away. I felt suffocated. I felt I had to tell you..” I gazed at him, hoping for forgiveness.
Staring at the floor, he struggled to talk “Son, I am proud of you for the courage you have. I wish I had the same thirty years back..to live the life of truth..I am..I am also” and the tears spoke more than the words.
I froze. My dad was gay. I had got this from him. I felt a deep anger surge within me..how could he. Why was he..he had spoilt my mother’s life…oh my god.. This was the answer for so many things.. the aloofness, the need to stay away, the silence, the.., the..
Feeling squeamish, controlling my rage, I looked at him. I saw a broken man, battling his own demons, living a false existence, whose silence had made us family, had given me a home. I felt my pain release as I put my hands on his.