A concatenation of circumstances

Many years later I would learn that the financial crisis of 2009 had already begun rearing its ugly head in the summer of 2007. But in 2007, the exuberant speculation in the housing market was drowning out the concerns of the few doomsaying bankers and economists. Wall Street was deluged in a rain of money. Some droplets from that downpour had also managed to percolate into the hands of my father, who, overjoyed by his fortuitous investments, had whisked us off to San Francisco for a family vacation.

I distinctly remember the serenity that had characterized my existence through that first week that we spent in San Francisco. A golden sun had beamed down at me, an azure sky had stretched across the horizon, and not a care had marred my tranquility as we sauntered across the Golden Gate Park. Even my parents had been getting along surprisingly well, which is uncharacteristic of our family vacations. It is a well-known axiom in our household that a family vacation cannot be deemed complete until my parents hurl a few objects at each other and everybody refuses to speak to one another. I think my father was simply so elated about his investments that not even my mother’s bickering about the food and the travel arrangements could throw him off his glee. My mother had taken time off her job after two years, so she wasn’t about to let anything cast a shadow on her merry either. Joy, in a nutshell, reigned supreme and it seemed like nothing could go wrong.

What I had not considered, however, is that life has a twisted sense of humor. It first lulls one into a false sense of peace and comfort, and, when one is feeling particularly braced with a song trembling on one’s lips and a heart full of hope, it unleashes its atrocities. At least that is how those rueful events unfolded. It started off very innocently with us languorously toying with our deserts after finishing a spectacular meal at The Cavalier. A pleasant man bearing a small suitcase descended upon our table beaming smiles and introduced himself as my father’s friend from college. Apparently, he was in town to attend a business conference and had separated himself from a table of his colleagues to rekindle the old friendship. Pleasantries ensued, with copious to-ing and fro-ing between my father and the friend about stories of the dear old days and the so-and-so professor who did something hilarious and what-not, and after about three-quarters of an hour, the friend took his leave. Soon after, my father signed our check and we also got up to leave when my mother noticed the small suitcase that the friend had left behind. We had made plans to meet him for dinner, so my father asked me to grab his suitcase and we made our way to our hotel for a much-required snooze.

I have never been too fond of afternoon naps, and as such woke up early to find my parents engaged in a fierce battle to cave the ceiling in with their snoring. My father, the genius investor, had used his tremendous mental faculty and decided to sleep with his right thigh firmly planted over the television controller. Having thus checkmated my ability to entertain myself while they slept, he snored blissfully. A mere ten-year-old in a foreign city without access to television, I knew that my only chance of having fun was to be creative with my surroundings. I looked around to find curious objects that would amuse my simple mind, but after running through both my parents’ suitcases and experimenting with every product in the bathroom, I was out of material. The only object that now held the potential to entertain me was the suitcase belonging to my father’s friend.

One of the primary values that most parents impart to their offsprings is that you shouldn’t open letters, packages, presents, and other sealed items, including suitcases, belonging to other people. Had I adhered to these values, there would have been no story to write. I, however, plagued by boredom and curiosity, decided to venture into the suitcase and discover the unknown treasures that it held within its brown leather exterior. The lock was amenable to being unlocked, and within a split second the suitcase snapped its jaws open and revealed its contents. There did not appear to be much that would interest a ten-year-old. There were a few files of different colors, a stack of business cards that I threw around like ninja throwing stars, a black velvet box with a ring inside, and a silver cigarette case with a matching lighter. Having exhausted the entertainment potential of all these items, I turned my attention to the only other thing in the suitcase - a small unsealed white envelope.

It is curious how easy violating one moral principle makes it to violate another moral principle. The first time one does it, one has to participate in an internal struggle and exercise effort to resist temptation until it becomes impossible to restrain oneself. The second time, it almost feels like muscle memory. Without a single thought I propped the flap on the envelope open and slid out the folded letter. I cannot say what I had intended to read, I had imagined it to be some boring business correspondence and just wanted to peek over it, but I did not expect to read what it actually said. Without going into cumbersome details, it appeared that my father’s friend was in love with a person named Jason who lived in The Castro and wanted to give him the ring in the black velvet box.

My parents woke up in the nick of time for us to make the dinner engagement. We hurriedly showered, dressed, and called for a cab. Matters were not helped by my scattering of all the contents of our suitcases over the bedroom floors, but we managed to reach the restaurant in time for dinner. The entire time that we sat inside the cab I could not help but ruminate on what I had just done. I kept thinking about what would happen if my parents found out that I had rummaged through their friend’s suitcase, but I was also thinking about Jason and the black velvet box with the ring. When we arrived at the restaurant, my father’s friend was already seated at the table with another gentleman and waved us over from across the room.

“Welcome, guys. We almost thought you wouldn’t make it tonight.”

“Oh we were just stuck in traffic, it takes forever to get anywhere nowadays.”

“I hear you.”

“Oh and this is your suitcase, you forgot it at lunch.”

“Thanks a lot, it is very valuable. I’m glad to have it back. By the way, this is my colleague Jason. We are doing the pitch meetings together, so I thought I’d ask him to join us for dinner.”

“Of course, nice to meet you Jas-“

“You’re going to love the ring!” I exclaimed at Jason.

To this day, I do not know why I did it. Maybe because I had been thinking about Jason and the ring in the cab and was surprised to suddenly meet him in person. Maybe because I genuinely thought he would get excited - I knew that I would be excited if anybody got me a present. But mostly because I did not know about homosexuality, did not know that my father’s friend had not yet come out as a homosexual, and did not know that he was already married with a wife and two kids in India. It was the worst possible thing to have done, and I believe I only got away because I could claim a ten-year-old’s innocence.

“What did he say?” Jason asked.

My father’s friend looked shell-shocked. Jason craned his neck forward as if he hadn’t heard what I said clearly and was waiting for me to repeat myself. My parents looked at me confused, then looked at the pale face of their friend, then looked at Jason, and managed to put two and two together. My father’s friend pulled himself up to his full height and told my parents in very few words how he felt about them invading his privacy. Before anyone could explain, he collected Jason and stormed out of the restaurant. To this day, my father has neither seen nor heard from that friend again. He probably still believes that it was my parents who opened his suitcase and went through his personal belongings, and I completely understand his dismay at his marriage proposal to Jason being revealed in that unkind manner. He probably thinks that my parents discussed the contents of his letter at length for me to be aware of them, which makes the transgression even worse to pardon.

It had not taken my parents long to figure out what I had done. That evening we had a long talk about sexual orientations and preferences, and I realized the gravity of my mistake. To this day, I genuinely regret invading his privacy and not allowing him the opportunity to come out at a time and manner of his choice. I also regret that I spoiled the surprise for Jason and that I cost my father an old friend. But most importantly, I regret that my father fell asleep on top of the television controller that afternoon.