Living under the shadow

It was at the age of 23 that my father started consuming alcohol regularly. Based on what I have heard from his friends and my mother, it was the pressures of work that made him first succumb to drink. His work in the shipping industry forced him to stay awake through the night around Kolkata’s Kidderpore docks. Alcohol proved to be a stimulant and, not long after, it became a habit. It started with him having two or three pegs of whiskey at the end of each day. By the end, even a full bottle wasn’t enough. When I try to recollect scenes from my childhood, I see my father coming home from work, freshening up and sitting down with a drink. In a few hours, he’d be in a stupor and I’d hear my parents bicker. I was familiar with these altercations by then. Only after a certain age did I come to realise how difficult everyday life had gotten for my family.

Not only did my father’s alcoholism affect our finances, it also had an adverse effect on our social life. Being an alcoholic, he tended to socialise with others like him. Together they found more reasons to drink. It was only for a few months, but my father once fell into the company of abusive men. Influenced by them, he would turn violent when there wasn’t enough alcohol at home. My mother was unable to stand up to him. Though I was only 15 at the time, I felt compelled to intervene. I’d stand in his way and say, “If you want to raise your hand on anyone, you’ll have to go through me first.” Seeing his daughter assert herself in this manner would make him recoil instantly, but these are admittedly horrid memories to live with.

Living under the shadow of alcoholism can force you to live a double life. No one in school knew what I was going through. I always had to wear a different face for the outside world and a different face at home. My father would always say — “What happens in the house, stays in the house.” He was embarrassed by his alcoholism. For the world, he was a fun-loving person who liked singing, dancing and having a good time. But for the family to live in society and portray the picture of a happy family unit, we had to wear our masks convincingly.

For my family, matters only got more difficult when my father was diagnosed with cirrhosis in 2009. He was all of 49 and was forced to opt for an early retirement. After affecting his liver, the disease reached his kidney. The best doctors and hospitals in Kolkata, Delhi, Chennai and Bangalore couldn’t reverse the inevitable and he died earlier this year. His last months were made harder by the encephalopathy that had set in. With toxins reaching his brain, he would sometimes mistake the puja room for the washroom and think that the kitchen was the balcony. The frequency of such incidents only increased with time. I had little reason to hate my father after he had quit drinking in 2009, but it was difficult to let go of the anger that had built up over the years. I often didn’t want to speak to him and when I did, I’d easily snap.

I was eventually led to the literature of Alcoholics Anonymous by one of my employers. I found a support group for the children of alcoholics, where others narrated experiences I could instantly identify with — that sense of responsibility, the fear of losing control, financial concerns. I understood that if I had to have a happier life, I had to forgive my father. Alcoholism, I learnt, was a disease of the mind. Alcohol takes over a person much like the devil and the addiction isn’t entirely their fault. I was living away at the time and my brother called one day to tell me how sick my father was. Soon after, I felt I’d finally forgiven him.

While I think I’ve moved on, my brother, who is five years younger, has had a much harder time. During my father’s last days, my brother was the intermediary between him and the world, be it doctors, relatives or my mother. As a result, my brother is now more spiritual. We were a completely non-vegetarian family, but he has turned vegetarian. He says that he has seen enough suffering to let any person, animal or thing suffer again.

He lives his days racked with guilt. He did everything he could to try and ensure that my father survived. That didn’t happen. He does admittedly feel relief, but that just exacerbates his guilt even more.

My brother and I have each other to talk to, but with the kind of stigma that is attached to alcoholism in India, it is hard to find support groups. It is inevitable that you’ll feel anger towards the person who is dragging you through hell, but you need to know that it is just the alcohol which has muddied the water. The person underneath is still loveable. If you treat the alcoholism as a problem and not the human being, you might sleep better at night.

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