'Honey,' Avish whispered to his daughter - his beautiful, winsome daughter - stroking her curly long hair and clearing all thatches he found in there. She was sitting on his lap, even though she said she was too much of a "big girl" for that.

'Daddy,' Radha said. In her sweet, saccharine voice.

'Do you think I'm a bad person?' Avish asked her.

She frowned at him, a frown as innocent as her hands and her eyes - oh, she had her mother's eyes, brown, brown and true as wet, fertile soil - and everything else about her. She leaned in closer towards him and sniffed adorably. 'Daddy, you smell.'

Avish backed off his mouth against the rock-chair.

'You're drunk again, aren't you, Daddy?'

Avish stared at her. 'You didn't answer my question.'

And I'm not going to answer yours.

Radha's face lit up. 'Mommy says you're not a Bad Person. She says you just sometimes do Bad Things, but you don't mean them.'

Avish sighed. 'Mommy says a lot of things, honey . . .'

'Was that the right answer, Daddy?'

'Yes, honey.' He kissed her forehead and realized she was shrinking away from him, but was too polite to say anything; just because he was used to the stink of booze, doesn't mean everyone was. 'That's the right answer, honey.'

Ah, Preeti. You always know what to do, don't you? And I have been such a git, haven't I? You know how to deal with children, I don't. You know when to stop a quarrel, I don't. You know what's good for you, me, Radha, everyone. You know what we should do. What we mustn't. I don't. Although I know that you know what to say every time, you still don't say anything when I lose it and raise my hand at you. How can you be so peerless and I be so -

'Daddy?'

'Yes, honey?'

'You just bumped your head against mine. What happened?'

'Oh, did I? I'm sorry, honey. Daddy was thinking. Does it hurt?'

Radha cutely rubbed her temples and said with a sly smirk: 'Little.'

Avish sighed and cleared his throat. Then in his best, deep-throat voice, while bringing up a jittering hand, he growled: 'Well, not to fear, for the giggling hand is here!'

Radha loved her tickles. She absolutely, madly loved the giggling hand. And he loved to see her laugh.

'But you didn't really answer the question, honey,' he then said.

'Huh?'

'I asked you if you thought I was a bad person, not Mommy.'

'Oh.' She fiddled nervously with her braids.

'Just say it, honey. I promise I won't say anything.'

'Okay, I guess. Well, sometimes, when you and Mommy fight, I get scared. You say Bad Things to her. And then I think you are Bad. But otherwise I think you're a really good Dad.'

'Really?' His voiced cracked. Tears brewed up behind his sockets. Suddenly he was this little kid again. Or at least, he wanted to be.

Adults can't cry, not the way kids can.

'Daddy, are you crying?'

What would Preeti do in a situation like this? Think, godammit, don't scar your child! What would Preeti do? What would your wife do - ?!

'No,' he sobbed. 'No.'

'It's okay, Daddy.' Radha leaned over and planted a firm kiss on his cheek, even though she swiftly receded because of the rank. 'You can cry in front of me. I don't mind.'

Avish did. She really didn't mind. Radha was too much like her mother. A good thing, too. If she was like her father, she'd probably grow to become a coke-addict or something. But she was mature, serene, composed.

And then he entered a rasping spate of coughs - extremely aggressive coughs. His face grew red and hot and he coughed and coughed until he was on fire and his brain was being squeezed into nothingness and his ears fought to fall off his face and his chest was quaking like an egg that's about to hatch and his eyes popped and his joints groaned and his armpits itched and none of that even bothered him; what bothered him was the sweat and the tears and the pain. The pain, worst of all. In his stomach, in his ribs, in his every body part, in fact, each muscle, each tissue -

Radha brought him a glass of water. Standing in front of him, short and pretty, playing with her braids.

Avish smiled. For her, he had to. He accepted the water and controlled the coughs best as he could.

'Are you fine, Daddy?'

'Yeah.'

'You look sick. You should see a doctor.'

'Daddy has already seen a doctor, hon.'

'So you'll be fine soon?'

It hurt to lie to your child. It hurt more than any physical injury could ever concoct, more than any betrayal or loss or disease ever could. But how could he tell her that he probably won't be there for her upcoming birthdays and PTMs and whatnot, no matter what verve the doctors put to it?

'Yes,' he managed. 'Don't worry about Daddy.'

'Can I sit in your lap, Daddy?'

A lump blocked his throat. Avish nodded.

Radha crouched on his lap, clearly looking uncomfortable but wanting to be with her sick father.

'I thought you were a little too old to be sitting on my lap.'

She shrugged in a "who cares" manner. It pleased Avish. To no end.

'Honey, can I ask you something?'

'Yes, Daddy?'

'Could you . . .'

Don't do this to your own child.

'. . . could you live without me?'

Radha looked at him like it was the most notorious thing she'd ever heard. 'Will I have Mommy?'

'Yes, sure.'

'Then I probably could. I don't know. But I would miss you. A lot.'

Avish needed to cry, desperately. He faked some coughs and told her he needed to rest in order to recover. Once locked in his room, he cried his eyes out.

______________________________________

Mirror Avish stared at him. Dead, by appearance. Dying, by anatomy.

Real Avish couldn't meet his eyes.
A parade was masquerading the bazaar of bad dreams in his head. Deafeningly loud foghorns blaring in unison.

So real Avish instead stared at the blade - the one he used to shave, at times, his unkempt beard - lying beside the sink. What a petty little object. And to think that it could kill you.

Then a sharp, brusque cackle tore through the glut of noises. Mirror Avish was cackling, rolling on the spot with a very witch-like laughter.

You don't have what it takes, it cackled. You don't have the fucking guts.

Real Avish picked the blade up, stroking it against his satiny skin.

Who're you fucking with?

Held the blade against his throat. Just one quick slice. And blood would gush out, and he would be free of this disease. Free of this cursed life he had.

Your father was absolutely right, Mirror Avish teased, a steely look in its eyes.

Did it really work as easily as in those R-rated movies? Is that how unchallenging it is to end a man's life?

You're a fucking weasel.

Perhaps God did exist. Perhaps He/She knew of the shallowness of the life He/She had created. And hence gave it so many recesses, so many chances, to terminate.

You couldn't do it then, you can't do it now, Mirror Avish brawled.

There are so many ways a human can die. Slip and snap your neck. Be a tad careless and get hit by a car.

(or ride with your deranged son)

An earthquake could get you. Or a flood, or a tsunami, or a cardiac arrest. Humans should be like flies. They should live a day, and then die. Thunderclap. Everyone would be so nice now, everything would be so perfect then. No hate, no apathy, no love. No masculine, no feminine. Complete indifference.

Real Avish pressed the blade against his throat. It hurt. In a few moments, it wouldn't anymore.

'Old friend . . .'

A whisper.

('You think they care whether you live or die?')

Real Avish looked up.

('They do not . . .')

But Mirror Avish was gone.

('They will always try to weigh you down . . .')

In its place stood a man garbed all in black. A man as filthy as he was immaculate. Smoke concealing his torso.

The mirror surface was gone. There was nothing standing between the two of them.

Real Avish - the only Avish, I am the only Avish - shut his eyes and ears, shut them tight, tighter than tight.

Dropped the blade.

Slapped himself over and over again while the little voice in his head kept calling out to him.

('Old friend . . .')

Opened his eyes.

The man in black was gone.

Mirror Avish was back, and it was nothing but a reflection.

Real Avish slapped himself until his cheeks turned into turnips.

______________________________________

'I'll go put her to sleep,' Preeti said, and started, but her husband bludgeoned her with an understated inkling of his eyes.

'No. I will do it.'
_____________________________________

'Don't let the bed bugs bite,' he said, kissed his daughter on the forehead, turned off the lights, and was about to leave her daughter in utter dark when the latter called out.

'Daddy? Where's Mommy today?'

Thankfully, the dark hid Avish's tears. 'Mommy was tired today, honey. What happened? You need anything?'

She kept silent, but silence has its own voice; this one had the voice of a cat who's heard a bark. Timid, diffident. Avish turned the lights back on and walked over to her. Sat by her side. Her beady eyes spoke fear - childish, almost churlish, fear.

'Tell me, honey.'

Radha shook her head vigorously.

This is unusual for her. She's usually so . . . tranquil.

'Don't be afraid, honey. Say it.'

'There's a man, Daddy.' Avish patiently waited for her to continue, but she didn't resume. She retreated into the blanket.

'What man, honey?'

'It's . . . oh, Daddy, he scares me.' Her chin wavered. 'He says he is your friend, too.'

Avish had once seen a "Say No To Smoking" commercial put out by the government. They'd shown a cigarette flaming inside an upturned bell-jar. A thick black smoke filling it up. Computerized, like as not, but Avish right now felt exactly as that jar must have done. 

A smoke of alien whereabouts clouding his anatomy.

'He says his name is Bhoo,' Radha said. 'Is he really your friend, Daddy?'

His jaw automatically clenched. 'I haven't heard that name in years.' Then he smiled, for his child's sake. He put his hand on her forehead. 'Go to sleep for now, honey. Nothing will hurt you. Bed bugs don't bite unless you let them.'

____________________________________

Avish assumed she must have heard him mumbling the name of the man in black or something in his sleep or when he was high or something. He couldn't worry about that right now. He had much on his platter already.

_____________________________________

He's creepy.

That was the thought which first popped up in her brain when she peeked a look at him. Radha didn't like him, from the looks, at least. Her mother had always taught her not to judge any living entity based on appearances. Like their neighbor's bulldog. It had growled at her every time she would pass him by, and she had heard in his growls a warning - woof! if you ever look me in the eye, I'll make you into a carcass! woof! -
but Mommy had made her befriend him. The dog had stopped its growling subsequently, and she had started seeing nothing but familial love in its eyes.

Maybe the man was like a bulldog, too. Maybe he meant no harm to Radha.

Maybe.

_____________________________________

Preeti typed vigorously. When Avish entered the room, she slammed the device shut. There were tears in her husband's eyes. She supposed she didn't need to ask the reason.
If she had been diagnosed with cancer, she would have totally broken down. Avish was strong. She hoped he could take it.

He didn't say a word to her. Went straight to bed. Preeti went back to work.

_____________________________________

A blood-curdling scream reached her ears. She dashed into Radha's room. Comforted her.

'Bad dreams?' she asked her daughter, and received a shaking nod as a reply. She sang her a rhyme. Preeti slept with her daughter that day. Avish, in the other room, feigned sleep. In actuality, he didn't doze at all.

He could hear Preeti's voice drifting in from the other room. It reminded him of his own mother's voice.

Daffodils, daisies, all flowers sing
There's a monster in the ring . . .

A scared heart, a wounded heart, a heart which cannot beat;
which is worse, O, which is better;
That's a question for those filled with glee.