The Kul Deepak

There are some flames in this world much brighter than others, meant for higher things than plain survival. But seldom do these flames last enough to make a change.

“Ghar ka beta hai tu, Munne. Hamara naam roshan karega.”
(You are the son of the family, child. Make us proud.)

As the son in a family with two daughters, he had grown up listening to these words. At first, they felt good. He would get the extra toffee, the ice cream with more topping, the riper mango. He would smile and bask in the glory of being the son of the family, being the Kul Deepak. ^{(The lamp of the clan.)}

But as his smile started to show teeth instead of blank gaps, for the first time, a doubt rose in his mind. Is the definition of success the same for him and his family? The more his father pushed protractors and compasses in his hands, his fingers automatically sought for paint brushes and canvas.

Engineer banna hai tumhe, his dad would say.
(You have to become an engineer when you grow up, okay?)

He would smile and nod his head, but the moment the old man turned, the page meant for figures would turn into a scenery. His fingers always worked on their own accord; he couldn’t help it.

As the time passed, the words no longer felt bright. They felt like a burden he constantly had to carry and couldn’t get rid of. His father always frowned at his report card, commenting sharply at the Bs and Cs in Maths and Science, but not once noticing the straight As in Art. 

He’ll see when I get admission in a good art college, he would console himself. And so, the days turned into months, months into years.

He remembered the day when his letter of acceptance finally arrived. He could feel the grin that spread on his face at the words full scholarship.

He had shown he was a Kul Deepak.

He would make them all proud.

The memories were all too clear in his mind as he swung himself absently in the cold morning breeze. He could hear himself shouting for his dad, waving the letter. The smile, the laughter which lit up his heart as his dad read the letter.

And that was where the dream broke.

His father’s words were firm and precise, emotionless.

Art? Was he out of his mind? Why, just day before yesterday Sharma Ji’s son got his engineer’s degree! That’s what he was supposes to do as well; no wonder the grades were always B and C. But he still has time even now. Study hard, and of course he’ll get an admission! Why waste time on things as useless as Art? It doesn't get you money, fame; the things that matter in life. Now stop fooling around and get to work. 

The world had come crashing down around him. But then deep in his heart, he had perhaps always known that the Kul Deepak’s flame was too bright to last long.

He stood up on the swing, looping his mother’s stole around the pole. Smiling, he pulled out a piece of paper and sent it on the ground before he closed his eyes, never to open them again.

They found him next morning, hanging limp with a sketch at his feet.

A sketch of an extinguished lamp.