Portrait of a day in the life of a dysfunctional family

My husband, Afzal, and I stepped out for a long walk with our dog, Scarlet, in the forest park next to our home last week. We agreed with each other a lot as we spoke. This is not our usual state. On good days, we tend to be provocative, contrary and distracted when we speak to each other. We often seem to be arguing animatedly, even though we may be saying the same thing in different words.

This was not that good a day. As we stepped around puddles of rainwater and walked carefully on the edge of slushy paths, I told my husband that our family life was in a state of emergency. “We are not doing well at all, Afzal,” I said. He agreed with me.

“We have become a dysfunctional family,” he said. “We have failed.” We watched our dog enter a shallow pond in the park. The thin green cover of algae on the surface of the pond separated to make space for the black dog. Usually we yell at her, attempting to dissuade her from what we feel is unhealthy. She loves it. We would have to shampoo her before entering our home.

As we continued to be agreeable with each other, Afzal and I made a list of things that seemed to be breaking us. I told him that his anger makes our daughters and me nervous. Something is making him fragile and we want to help him address it. He shared that he is frustrated with what he perceives as my obsessions. I sink myself into projects and am not available when he needs me. We spoke about our daughters and their anxieties. “We’ve been trying to solve their issues for so long,” said Afzal. “They need to take responsibility too.”

“They do,” I said. “I also get frustrated and often one or the other child will patiently explain to me how much they are trying to participate in the daily work of the home. We need to ease up on them.” I spoke to him about our nagging post-corona health issues. Our fatigue and need for respite from expectations. His need to slow down and not try to fix things that are determined to decay and self-destruct. I want him to make space for his own healing.

“I need to do so some straight-talking with the girls,” he said.

“Be gentle,” I said in response. “There is a skewed power dynamic between parents and children. They feel helpless in the face of our displeasure. We have to be mindful to create a safe space in which they can hear us and speak without fear.”

“I’m listening to you,” he said.

Scarlet emerged from her romp in the water with green speckles on her underbelly. She raced towards us to share her happiness. “Don’t,” said Afzal sharply. “Don’t try to come near me. Embrace your mother.” I turned sideways to brace myself as Scarlet jumped on me with her muddy front paws.

After a while, I laughed out loud. “Afzal, perhaps we misunderstand ourselves. We sound exactly like a regular family with over-wrought parents, mysterious teenagers, pets and a constant stream of houseguests and relatives. I think we may have finally become a functional family. Like everyone else!”

Afzal liked my joke. This, my favourite trait of the man. He laughs when I am trying to be funny.

Later in the day, I came out from my bath to hear the voices of my children and their father talking at the dining table. I recognised the word, ‘responsibility’. I could hear the girls responding.

I knew I had to keep out of it and distracted myself with one of my many projects. I chose to feed the three families of cats who are my current obsessive joy. Watching the kittens transition from screaming with hunger to being satiated as they fill their bellies with boiled fish makes me feel that I have made my daily contribution towards world peace. Later, I took my laptop to my father-in-law’s room and sat near him as I hopped between multiple open tabs on the browser.

“What is the programme for today?” Papa asked me.

“Nothing much,” I said. “We shall have a quiet day of doing nothing.”

“That’s easier said than done,” he said. “One has to work for peace. Chaos descends if we do nothing.”

“That’s true, Papa, but sometimes we need rest.”

I had worried about the morning’s conversation with Afzal for months before I initiated it. Speaking to each other about the weight that we had been dragging in isolation helped us acknowledge our mutual distress and keep it aside for a while. Both of us needed to feel a renewed sense of acceptance with our quirks and oddball personalities. The feeling of being taken for granted had made us resentful.

One of the most important assets in intimate relationships is our separateness from each other. We need to protect it, savour it, sometimes fight for it. Cherishing our uniqueness is what keeps us together eventually.

— The writer is a filmmaker & author.

natasha.badhwar@gmail.com