Anger is a gift

Emotions, as a man, I am not suppose to have them…or so says my culture. While I never really, completely, prescribed to that notion, my father did. Actually, scratch that. Men can have one emotion; anger, they can display it as frequently and as intensely as they want. In fact, the more, the better and that’s what my father is use to. Growing up in India, a boy is suppose to grasp the concept of being a man rather quickly. Talking about our feelings or discussing what bothers is a laughable concept reserved only for women…come to think of it, this view of emotions is not only prevalent in India but in every society, even in the fairly androgynous and ever egalitarian U.S. My old man never really learned to share his feelings, he only expressed everything through his anger…I doubt that will ever change.

Actually I give the man far less credit than he deserves. He does express emotions besides anger…or probably used to. My father has always been a mystery to me. The man has gone through a lot more than what most average men do yet he never proclaims his battle over life because, sadly, enough I don’t think he has ever won. He has every right to be proud of what he has turned out to be but he has always been so busy and focused on looking after his falling sky that he I doubt he has ever cared to look back at his life and see what he has become from what he came from….he will never either, why? Because he is a man, man who doesn’t focus on such trivial things…or so says my culture.

My father’s family was never kind to him. What could he do when his enemies were his loved ones, but he strived, always for their cause, never uttering a single word of disappointment or complaints because a “man” doesn’t do that. Despite the resounding failure his own family turned out to be the man successfully raised a family of his own under dire circumstances. He worked off a hundred men’s load and he never uttered a single grunt of despair. Why?....because he is a man, a man doesn’t do that…or so says my culture.

Now it has gotten to a point where I don’t even know whether he ever looks back at his life and wonders what went wrong and just feel the melancholy even the hardest of men would feel. I wonder if he just sits by himself sometimes and let him self be proud of what has done. I wonder if he knows that his son would be completely content if he turned to be half the man he is. I would never really know because he never talks about himself in that way, though he sure will tell you which politician or a moron on the road pisses him off. Anger is a gift for him…I find that anger is a gift for every man who can’t be dared labeled a “sissy” for expressing how he really feels. Anger is one emotion, through which, my father, like the millions of men before him, can express his frustrations, passion and opinions…all without compromising his masculinity and machismo. He will probably feel the same things a woman feel but unlike my mother he will never open his mouth…why? Because he is a man…or so says my culture.