'Grief Is A Permanent Guest:' My Illegitimate Son Examines Love, Loss

Relationships are achingly complex, even more so when it’s a father and his accidental love child. In My Illegitimate Son, Sanjay Jha narrates a stirringly poignant story, which has both riotous laughter and abundant sorrow, that might just find an echo with your own.

Two strangers meet serendipitously. One is an irrepressible, mischievous brat and the other a brooding platitudinous bore. Their contrasting individual paths that portend a star-crossed disaster suddenly find a shared future. Fate brings them under the same roof, and soon, the insolent child’s wild, roller-coaster, mind-numbing life takes centre stage in a moody family’s wacky, dysfunctional abode. What follows is a fantastical journey, and that is putting it mildly.

In this exceptional slice-of-life book, Sanjay Jha tells us a heart-rending account of love and loss, happiness and grief, regret and redemption. ‘Grief, once it checks in, is a permanent guest’, says the tiny protagonist. Is atonement and forgiveness at all possible, or is it just a desperate human urge for finding inner peace? Is time, eventually, the only true healer? Can we really move on?

Here's an excerpt from Sanjay Jha's My Illegitimate Son 

I have a vague memory of my mother. I knew that she was madly in love with this shiny black-haired punk who regretfully looked like me.

He had an attitude as if he was the only one of his kind, the only miniature Dachshund the world had seen, strutting around with his tail parallel to the ground, a sign of both confidence and chutzpah. Some conceit that, though I must concede that I may have inherited some of his immodesty. But surprisingly, it was this cool dude’s hubris on his otherwise poker face that seemingly captivated my mother. She fell in love with him hook, line and sinker, floored by his mysterious charms. Quite literally, to be honest.

Like adopting a crazy yoga pose on the floor resting on her back, looking moony-eyed at him, while giving him the slightest wag of the tail which continued incessantly for long intervals. She was seducing him for sure but she was in no hurry either. Contradictory? Not really. She was playing hard to get; I guess both humans and dogs read the same romantic ‘How To’ manuals for dummies. Or a ‘How To Hook Up’ on a dating app. It is not the wagging of the tail alone that is a manifestation of our emotional catharsis; it is also its speed of movement from left to right and the frequency of intervals. It is a complex algorithm, frankly. Most humans don’t get it. Even Meta won’t. Or that maverick Musk.  

In our crazy brotherhood, the sex ratio is unfavourably skewed against the she-dog (some of these depraved humans call us ‘bitch’). The gender diversity problem is created by, you guessed it right, the human species.  Because you find keeping she-dogs a bloody mess, even while you have multiple multinational sanitary brand choices for your monthly mood swings. Truly it is an unfair world.

My mother, named Lucy (I assume named after a television celebrity star from yesteryears) by her cranky but doting adopter, clearly knew her prepossessing statistics. She knew there were many suitors, and among them were those named Tom, Dick and Harry too, trust me. I am not trying to be funny.  

I have still not understood why many name us dogs as Tigers! Try calling the Lion King ‘Tommy’ and see what he does to you. Lucy’s fan club was a Who’s Who.  She could have sued every one of them with a hashtag of her own creation, as practically all had wooed her with differing intensity, and some had got carried away with their amorous propensities.

One fellow called Dabang stood out because of his straight face and absence of melodramatic histrionics. But he had those sturdy biceps and thick calf muscles that did make my mom drool. He was also a hot-headed rapscallion, it was rumoured, so Lucy eschewed her infatuation. But deep in her heart, she was actually smitten by Charlie, who lived on the sixth floor of the sea-facing skyscraper and hung around his balcony to give her sly looks of appreciation, which is a euphemism for insatiable lust. 

Neither Charlie nor Lucy had a fellow dog companion, as probably humans find managing us little things a gargantuan challenge. Small is beautiful, I guess. At least it is much easier to manage.  Anyway, mom would be patient but would let Charlie know that she was interested too. But he had to get rid of his habit of giving those cool dude vibes, as if he was like a trophy acquisition.  

Alas, Charlie was obdurate and remained blithely nonchalant. And arrogant. Because he knew that there was no way a mini-Dachshund could ever mate with anyone else but a mini-Dachshund. You see, at our prime we are about 6 inches tall and weigh 6 kilos, so if we develop amorous inclinations towards a Labrador (or a Beagle too), it would be a bit awkward; like a Chinese bhel.

It would be like a bear mating with a butterfly. Dabang for all his masculine oomph and Lucy’s crush was a non-starter because while a one-night stand (literally) was a satisfying prospect for Lucy, risking bone-crushing trauma was not on the table. In a way, we mini-Ds are clannish on account of our exceptional lineage. And body metabolism. We don’t need no Tinder. We are class-conscious in an Oxbridge sort of way.  

After rubbing noses, giving each other sidelong glances of our licentious intentions and generally frolicking around, Charlie and my mother eventually fell in love.

Extracted with permission from My Illegitimate Son by Sanjay Jha published by Rupa Publications 

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