months after they met, there was simmering hostility. Their ceremony was a small one in New York, in front of about fifty guests. Shyamal began changing jobs which meant changing states. First there was a move to Florida. While they were there, Sattik was born, in 1979. Then came moves to Virginia and Massachusetts.
I came in 1988. In the early 1990s, the Deb family moved back to New Jersey, when I was about three. Shyamal, who already thought of himself as discerning, thought Bishakha was cold and lacked ambition. Neither felt they could have the intelligent conversations the other desired out of a life partner. Bishakha, who hadn’t wanted to get married in the first place, sank into a depression that slowly got worse as the marriage went on. They each viewed the other as domineering, demanding, and unable to empathize.
This dynamic always existed. So there was an obvious and rather existential question I had to pose: “Why did you decide to have a second child if things were already bad?”
“I was very happy when you were born,” Shyamal said.
“I believe you, but—” I began to answer, but he interrupted.
“No. I was very happy when you were born. Any father in the world will love their children,” Shyamal said. “When you were born, there was a difference of nine years between the two of you: 1979 and 1988. I loved both of you in the deepest core of my heart. Life is not about mathematics. It can happen to anybody. When you came, I was very happy to see you.”
“I’m not saying you didn’t love me as a kid. When I was conceived, was I planned?” I said. Now we were literally having a sex talk.
“Hard to say,” Shyamal said. He looked up at the ceiling and thought some more. He repeated it again. Shyamal said they were always planning on having a second child, but it was unclear whether my mother’s health would allow it. But I also wasn’t sure my father understood the question. For my parents, having children wasn’t even a decision. It was just something they were supposed to do. It’s what their family members would’ve done. I was born of two parents who had limited control over their futures growing up but who chose to have me, in spite of the contempt they had for one another. And my father couldn’t even explain why.
Given how unhealthy they were together, was it responsible for them to have a second child? Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad I exist. But should I?
Eleven
“My dearest son, I have no regret.”
When I was in elementary school, I became obsessed with professional wrestling. I had to watch in secret though, because I knew my parents wouldn’t approve of me idolizing oiled-up grown men who fake-hit each other with metal chairs. My favorite performer was this guy Paul Wight, better known today as Big Show. Wight is less a guy and more the human manifestation of an oil tanker, at one point in his career clocking in at more than four hundred pounds. Every time he entered the ring, his opponents would quake with fear (or, you know, pretend to). A single punch from him would cartoonishly launch opponents to the other side of the ring. And if they weren’t being slammed to the canvas, Big Show would headbutt them to another dimension.
At home, I used to take multiple pillows, stuff them inside each other, and create dummies to bodyslam. I created elaborate scenarios where I would “fight” A-list wrestlers like Kane, the Undertaker, and my favorite, Big Show. My finishing move was “the Hellraiser,” which involved putting a pillow in a headlock, lifting it up over my right shoulder, and then piledriving it into the mat, which was, in this case, my bed.
I didn’t have wrestling tights, so I used to run around in only my underwear. It was a bizarre sight for both of my parents, who knew little about half-naked men fake-fighting each other as a form of entertainment, or that I even watched them. I composed my own theme song on the keyboard, which was not bad, actually, and I delivered promos with an imaginary microphone.
“HEY BIG SHOW! WHEN SOPAN DEB GETS YOU IN THE RING, HE’S GOING TO RAIIIISEEEE SOMEEEE HELLLL!”
I gravitated to performers like Big Show because he was everything I wasn’t. I was scrawny and afraid of actual physical confrontations. Hey, you would be too if you were my size. Put me against someone with