The door opened.
The question was posed, “Why so late?”
“We had gone to the Police Station for an inquiry,” the answer was given.
I was still taking off my shoes before making my way inside the house to join the birthday party when the story, he made up for the answer, fell into my ears. I was left stunned with the impromptu. In my head, his Dadi’s accusations rung hard and loud with “Jhooth bol raha hai, jhooth bol raha hai.“
These days, his stories are not remaining confined just to his school activities and notebooks but are spilling and blurting out anytime anywhere without a slight bit of discrimination of the place or person. Tell him when you randomly drop stories in interactions with people in reality, you cannot seek excuse by calling them a work of fiction because then they tend to sound like lies.
“Mummy, I am only making fictional stories. My intention is not to lie.”
This reminded me of one such chat with my brother about making stories vs lying. His rationale was “I tell my stories in the first person. This is not lying. This is creativity.” This was while both of us were in school. I laughed it off appreciating the new perspective but his storytelling skills often caused me to land into trouble when the other kids used to come to verify the truth of his stories with me since I was considered the honest and truthful one who wouldn’t lie in any circumstance.
That was past. At present, I am nothing like my past self. I have been lying left, right and centre to avoid people in order to take care of my fragile mind. I have been making excuses myself and a lot of them. 3 weeks ago, I asked my husband and Dhruv to tell the hosts of a birthday party I couldn’t attend due to fever while the truth was I had been suffering from hyper-anxiety that day. Asking Dhruv to tell a lie for me wasn’t a nice feeling but I felt helpless. Do people understand anxiety as it is?
The next day, he didn’t want to take off the band-aid off his face which I had plastered the previous evening as a part of home remedies for treating his mole/wart. The band-aid is supposed to be kept on overnight and taken off during the day. That day I had planned to take him and Mr. A (his best friend) to the riverside park. Dhruv wanted to tell Mr. A the story how he had scratched his wart the night before, how his face had got all bloodied and thus the band-aid. He was so much worked up about the story idea that he warned me to support him as he had done the same last time with my lie. Therefore, I had to, in all fairness. This did hit me hard.
This was a call for me to straighten myself up. So, for the next birthday party invite, I worked on the mind to lessen the anxiety in order to not avoid attending it by feigning an excuse, a lie. We planned to arrive at the venue an hour late to cut down the staying time. Who knew there will still be a story about us arriving late in the form of A visit to the Police Station for an inquiry.
Linking this post with Monday Musings hosted by Corinne Rodrigues