MISSING
“Sometimes, people can go missing right before
our very eyes. Sometimes, we lose sight
of ourselves when we're not paying enough attention.”
― Cecelia Ahern
― Cecelia Ahern
“Would
you like the new Asterix?”
When
I received no reply, I turned to my side, and my daughter was not there!
Controlling
the momentary panic, swelling inside me, like a mushroom cloud, choking my
windpipe, I surveyed the shop quickly, cursing how the simple bookshop of
yesteryears had transformed into a vast
toys-gadgets-headphones-i-pods-smartphones-perfume-birthday
decorations-cds-power banks-and books
all under one roof spreading over three floors.
What
was she wearing? It was a simple floral design frock of a shade of color
somewhere between purple and blue. I am certain my daughter knows the exact
name of that color.
She
is a bookworm, having taken after me, and it is not possible that she would have
wandered to any other corner of this vast shop.
But,
wasn’t she talking about the forthcoming birthday party that she needs to
attend?
I
briskly walked to the birthday decorations and gifts section. I say “I walked
briskly”, but the fact was I was almost running.
The
section was populated with kids half her age and the parents were making more
noises than the children.
The
degree of discomfort was slowly raising. I thought of calling my wife. But what
would I tell her?
I
went around the shop looking all over and at the same time not registering
anything. The current trend of keeping the shops interactive meant that I had
more kiosks and help-desks with a monitor and a keyboard to punch in my queries
and not a human being around other than the ones at the cash till.
So,
it was to the cash till that I went. The attendant was trained to spot that I
was approaching the counter carrying no purchases. Her countenance, trained to
conceal irritation, still faltered a little.
I
did not know how to phrase my question.
“Have
you seen my daughter?” would sound stupid.
“My
daughter is apparently lost, could you help me?” sounded bordering on the
insane.
As
short sentences were certain to create more confusion than clarity, I had no
options but to explain elaborately.
“I
came here with my daughter to buy a few books. But she appears to have wandered
off, something not usual. I do not know how to start looking for her. Is it
possible for you to have an announcement over your PA system? Can you request
Alexia to approach the billing counter?”
Contrary
to my fears, the attendant was helpful and immediately went about making the
announcement. I started to look around waiting to spot my daughter running from
some corner of the shop towards the cash counter, with relief and joy etched on
her face.
Nobody
turned up.
The
attendant repeated the announcement a few more times, and each passing minute
slowly shifted my discomfort to fear to panic.
The
attendant, to my complete surprise, offered to quickly the scan the close
circuit camera recordings to see if we could spot the moment that my daughter
drifted away from me.
The
management of the shop even sent a woman from their ranks to visit and search
the toilets. Maybe my daughter needed to use the loo and fell unconscious
there!
We
went to the manager’s office and started going through the recordings of the
past 30 minutes, on various cameras located in the shop. In none of the frames
I could be seen in an uncrowded place, and there were always people around me,
eliminating any clear view of me and my daughter together.
The
last frame had me walking towards the billing counter alone. The other cameras
on the other floors did not show any sign of my daughter.
It must have been the
only time where the unclothed parted legs of my wife did not send me
deliriously rapturous. She was bathed in sweat, straining with the last ounce
of her strength to follow the simple instruction that the nurse and the doctor
kept repeating to her
“Push”
The non-appearance of the
crown had nothing to do with lack of efforts from my wife and should have been
attributed to my daughter who seemed to have perfected the art of keeping
people waiting, from the womb itself. When the medical staff were ready to give
up and were on the verge of concluding that my wife was seconds away from
exhaustion and unconsciousness my daughter relented.
The hairy, wet crown
started to emerge bringing me close to fainting. Years ago I had gaped in
wonder at the screen of a film called wonderful people, where a snake had
swallowed an egg three times the size of its head. This was exactly the
reverse. The flexibility of human body held me in awe and wonder and mere
scientific amazement took a back seat when the tender, unbelievably soft and
small human form was handed over to me minutes later.
The baby was slimy,
slippery and did not appear even remotely resembling a human form.
She was the most
beautiful person I had seen in my life till that moment.
I silently pledged my
life to her promising her the best in her life. She would never feel the
absence of anything in her life.
Never.
And that girl is missing
now, in just less than 7 years.
Some promise!
The
small reverie did nothing to subdue my discomfort. If any, it aggravated it.
She is not yet conditioned by this world to be cynical or suspicious and, as is
expected from most 7-year olds, genuinely naïve. Unspeakable thoughts occupied
my mind. The depravity of a human, when a human decides to plumb its depth, is
bottomless. News articles, scenes from films (Gone Baby Gone) and child abuse
stories all flashed across my mind and I had no control over them. The more I
tried to suppress those vile thoughts, convincing myself that those things only
happened to other people, the stronger they took possession of my mind.
I
left the book shop, after giving my telephone number to the shop manager, in
case my daughter appeared from wherever she was spending her time.
The
mall was spread across three floors with all the usual shops. Clothes, gadgets,
electronics, home needs, farm products and a food court on the third floor.
Entering
and searching each shop was lunacy, but I did it nevertheless and landed in the
food court hoping to find her there. I first hit the ice cream shop followed by
the pizza counter, the two eternal favorites among any children.
Nope!
The
Chinese food joint was the next logical choice.
Zilch!
A
sudden thought occurred to me; maybe she lost me and not knowing what to do and
not finding me, did the most logical thing; she must have gone back to the car
in the parking area. She was always fond of remembering our parking slot, “Dad,
now we go to G-7 or UG-12”. Children do this as they have the thrill of being
able to identify the alphabets and numbers, and most importantly at their
capability to store in memory the combination of alphabets and letters.
I
took the elevator and the darn elevator stopped at all levels before reaching
UG, the basement parking level, where I had parked my car barely an hour ago. Walking
briskly out of the elevator, the first thing I saw when I started to approach
my parking space, was a small girl standing next to my car, and my heart
swelled with relief and the emotions welled my eyes with tears. I broke into a
small run when I realized that the girl was not wearing a skirt, but a pair of
jeans and loose cotton blouse. The girl and her parents were just getting into
their car, and the mother was reversing her car as I reached my car, bereft of
any humans around it.
It
is absolutely hopeless to think rationally. It is also next to impossible to
squint your eyes and hope to spot your daughter among the milling multitude. I
had to decide between whether to approach the police first or reach home and
approach the police along with my wife. I decided to go home first.
As
I was getting ready to enter my car, my phone vibrated in my trouser pocket and
rang. It had to be the book shop manager! I fumbled and nearly dropped the phone
as I extracted it out of my trousers. The number on the screen was a new
number, none of my regular contacts. I answered and hollered an expectant
“Hello”.
“Good
morning Sir! We are calling from HSBC bank, and we would like to offer you ….”
I looked at the phone with incredulity and needlessly shouted at the call
center employee, who is just paid to do this customer pitch, and hung up.
“Does your daughter
converse freely?” asked the principal when we were seated in front of her, for
the “interview” of my daughter’s admission to the prestigious school in town.
Nothing but the best for my daughter!
The first “interview”
that I had given was when I was in my final year of graduation when firms
visited our campus scouting talents. And here was my daughter doing the same to
start schooling!
Before either my wife or
I would phrase a respectable answer, my daughter jumped in with a “Of course I
do. Please ask me what you would like to know madam”
The principal was as
unprepared as we were, but she hid it well. She wore a patronizing look, the
ones that we all wear when we address children, and started to have a
conversation with our daughter.
We were surprised that my
daughter could understand questions, string together full sentences, that she
knew it was an alligator on being presented a toy to identify, that she knew
the capital of few countries, and a few nursery rhymes.
The principal could not
have refused her a seat. “My daughter is a prodigy” I thought with pride
beaming, unaware that most children of my daughter’s age were this proficient.
Why my mind, a master of
its own by now, drifted to this particular episode was not clear to me. Maybe,
subconsciously I must have been wondering, how she was communicating with
anyone who managed to find her. Could she tell the address clearly? Did she know
the official name of her father? Would she remember the telephone number by
heart?
The
phone rang again!
This
time it was my wife. I did not want to talk to her over phone. I wanted to
explore the options available to us in person. Disconnecting would not help, as
persistence was her hallmark. I answered, keeping the panic out of my voice.
She wanted me to pick up a loaf of bread on the way home and few eggs and few
cartons of milk.
Naturally
I did not stop on the way to pick up those grocery items. I do not even
remember the drive on the way home. I must have driven almost at a subconscious
level and on reflex as the conscious mind was occupied with just my daughter
and what horrible fate waited her.
After
parking my car and as I was walking home, few of the kids who were playing
football in the garden paused the game and one of them approached me and
requested me to send Alexia down as they were one player short. I mumbled
something and shuffled along.
I
stood outside my door, took a deep breath, composed myself, going over in my
mind on how to open, and then continue the discussion with my wife. I did not
have a coherent version to rely on as every possibility and combination I had
rehearsed appeared inadequate.
Further
procrastination was not possible and with a sigh that visibly deflated me, I
opened the door and entered my home.
“Where
are the bread, eggs and milk?” asked my wife when she noticed that I was not
carrying anything, raising her voice a little to be heard over and above the
din of the TV playing The Good Dinosaur
“Do
you have my new Asterix?” shrieked my daughter as she jumped up from her
position and ran towards me.
The
surge of emotions was difficult to organize and arrange.
Relief
was foremost, followed by joy, and more relief, and then came the confusion and
finally anger.
“How
did you come home? Who brought you here? What happened? Why did not you or
mother call me once you reached home?” all this to my daughter and “Could not
you have phoned me? You can call me for those blasted eggs and milk and you did
not think it relevant to inform me that Alexia is back? Do you know what a
wreck I was for the past 2 hours?” was directed at my wife.
Both
wife and daughter looked at me as if I had just escaped from an asylum.
“What
is wrong with you? Alexia’s been home the whole morning. She was sleeping when
you had left and she’s been in front of the TV ever since she woke up, this Good Dinosaur is driving me nuts”
What
happened then? Was I hallucinating the whole (non)incident? How do I explain
this situation? Who would believe me if I narrated the whole story. In the
middle of all this an overwhelming sense of relief washed over me and I
gathered Alexia in my arms and showered her with kisses and held her away at
arm’s length and looked at her. Grand relief gave way to minor confusion and
sheer terror when I looked at what she was wearing.
It was a
simple floral design frock of a shade of color somewhere between purple and
blue. I am certain my daughter knows the exact name of that color.
