The tall father is already basking in the sun in the verandah when the short father and his son arrive. The short father joins the tall father, and they soon start an earnest conversation. Fathers always seem to talk about serious things. Waiting and idling come easy to them.

The short father’s son skitters to the broken mirror hanging from a pillar in the verandah and starts sharpening the tip of his hairs, like a bull raking its horn on the earth, getting ready for the charge. He notices a smug look on his cousin’s mother’s face; he needs to tell her that he left home without doing his hair. But she refuses to wipe the smug look off her face.

The tall cousin comes out from his room dressed in the school uniform, a red sweater and a pair of blue trousers. He dismisses his mother and says that grownups never understand anything about hair. He turns to the cousin and signs to him to ignore his mother.

The shorter cousin, now done with gelling his hair, sits down on a cane stool by the cousin’s mother. He fishes out a worn-out notebook from his bag and begins to run his middle finger on the handwritten notebook while making a funny noise.

“Cousin,” calls the tall cousin, “do me a favour by polishing those shoes, will you?”

“You are shameless, he’s reading,” shouts the mother.

“Aunty it’s fine,” says the shorter cousin. “I don’t want to be late because of him.” They laugh.

The fathers seem have run out of topics for conversation. But it’s too early in the morning, and fathers can keep on talking provided they are provided enough tea and food. They are now distracted by the warm gush of laughter. They look over their shoulders. The mirror has passed on to the other cousin.

“You,’ shouts the tall father, “you keep standing there the whole day like a fool while all of us are waiting for you. If you can concentrate on your studies like you do with your hair, you’ll get good grades.”

A sudden paroxysm of laughter sweeps over the two cousins and the mother. Intrigued by the shrill laughs, the tall cousin’s sister pops her head from her room and watches with a confused smile. The men don’t like being laughed at, least of all when their words were supposed to inspire. Nevertheless, the shorter father manages to spend a smile and buys into the fun. But the tall father is now sulking and will probably shun any reconciliatory compliments thrown towards him.

“Laugh! Keep on laughing,” says the tall father. “We never had a proper mirror when we were growing up. We never got distracted by anything. Useless! And who would spend so much money on that silly soap-smelling gel?”

They keep laughing, so the two fathers turn their heads away. When people live long enough around each other, they learn to decipher each other’s minds through their body language and even their silences. Now, the tall cousin’s mother wipes her tears of laughter from her cheeks and signals with a stern look to the cousins to calm down. Women understand men more than boys. She even frowns at the cousins’ thoughtlessness. How can one laugh at grey-haired fathers, gracefully basking in the sun with their Sunday jackets and office khakis; with dignity that only comes to the aged?

“See,” says the mother to the shorter cousin. “Your father married too late. He didn’t listen to anyone. Now he has grey hair, and you are yet to clear the board exam.”

“Mom,” says the tall cousin, “but Dad is older!”

“You are the youngest. He’s the eldest, you see,” says the mother.

The two cousins share a smile. Cousins always come first. God created cousins, then uncles and aunties. It has always been that way.

“Did you eat anything?” asks the mother to the shorter cousin.

“Yes, aunty,” replies the shorter cousin, “just a banana and an egg.”

“You should eat more on such an important day,” says the aunty. “Your cousin wouldn’t eat anything too. I made him eat an egg though.”

“It’s 8 am, are you done?” asks the shorter father.

“See that you have everything, pen, extra pen and all your stuff,” says the tall father.

Without waiting for a response, the two fathers amble towards the path that meets the main road. The cousins choose to follow some distance behind the fathers. But the fathers stop at the road and wait for them to catch up.

“Do well,” shouts the mother from the gate. She waves from the gate.

‘Hey, you all look great together,’ says the tall cousin’s sister sarcastically.

The fathers and the cousins walk a few meters apart. The cousins look back and see the mischievous grin on the sister’s face waiting for a response. They manage to return a nervous smile. The fathers do not care to look back at the silly call.

It’s the identicalness, the resemblance that embarrasses the cousins; the shorter cousin to the shorter father and the tall cousin to the tall father. It’s not just the oddness, but the sometimes-uncanny resemblance that draws people’s attention.

The fathers turn back occasionally to ensure that the cousins are following right behind them. But now it’s not just the cousins but hordes of young people in different uniforms but without their fathers. The fathers’ gaze makes them nervous. But the fathers have other things in mind. They want to make sure that they reach on time.

A friend now joins the cousins, but they are still in their shell of rigidness – a common disarray when young people are amidst grown-ups.

“A joke,” says the shorter father. “I had a friend in school who never studied. The night before an exam, he slipped into the classroom and wrote all probable answers on the ceiling. But he had written everything in the opposite direction. He was caught, gazing at the ceiling, trying to figure out his own handwriting.”

Fathers often embarrass their kids, but the shorter father surprisingly held his own with humour. The cousins’ friend laughs so hard that he closes his eyes and staggers as he hangs on to the tall cousin’s shoulder.

“Father,” calls the tall cousin. “You see, we have friends now. We can go on our own. You and uncle can go back.”

The father does not respond but walks faster. Now at the school compound, there are scattered groups of girls and boys, all in a great tumult. Seat arrangements are up on the wall, and the cousins find themselves just a few benches apart.

Young people have a thing for disarray. Some necessary, some only chaos! Now the fathers, sick of the noise, go off to a quieter corner. They pray for the cousins – who are young and promising, they want to believe; about to undertake probably their biggest challenge in life. A gateway that takes them to endless opportunities or a slight crack that opens to a big slump, if they fail. Most significantly, it is the first and last chance to grasp the responsibility of shaping a generation in their hand. Who can let slip such an opportunity?

Excerpted with permission from ‘The Cousins’ in The Last Free Naga, Jim Wungramyao Kasom, Speaking Tiger Books.

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