Ilhan & The Rocking Chairs

In cities where skyscrappers longed for the sky and roads were paved with endless opportunities, poverty was thought to be a thing of the past. But not in this city. For right at the end of Cheviot Hill not too long ago there used to be a falling wooden house. A house small enough to be given a miss. Yet it was here that a once young Ilhan learnt values which the rich... given ten life times...could not have attained.

Ilhan's father is a rocking chair carpenter. It was a family trade. Even the most advanced of technology could not create the kind of precision and woodwork that his father's hands could. The chairs always seem to be in perfect center of gravity. Always.

Tides change, seasons change and like the moon which gives way to the sun every morning, so does preferences and trends. Rocking chairs are being descarded for new leather chairs. Rocking chairs were suddenly old fashioned. But good traditions die hard and this was the only thing Ilhan's father knew how to do. He has 4 sons to feed, to educate and to raise.

Though there still existed folks who came to Ilhan's father for a custom made chair, business was relatively at a stand still. They barely made ends meet but Ilhan's father wanted his sons to go to school. Somewhere deep inside, he some what knew that his sons's education was probably the last throw of the dice for a comfortable life. This forced him to seek odd jobs elsewhere.

Alas 30 years of sawing and sanding and bending over the work bench somewhat showed in Ilhan's father's health. Ilhan knew what was going on but his father always tried to act normal and brave in front of his sons. And when his children are out of sight...he would lean back against the wall, clutching his chest and cough out loud. Ilhan felt the pain too.

Then there came a special order of 20 of the finest rocking chairs. It was a showcase for the 'Color me 60's' exhibition at the Museum. The man in charge of the event knew exactly whom to look for. Like a man repossesed, Ilhan's father straight away sorted out his tools and started sawing. To him, it meant education money for his sons.

During the day, Ilhan would help out his father in the woodshed but after dinner, Ilhan would be forced to do his homework. He would be beaten up by his dad whenever he attemted to do 'overtime'. Since it was the monsoon season, Ilhan's father worked well into the cool rainy nights.

Ilhan could not sleep. Admist the pouring rain, he could listen to the monotonous sawings from the woodshed. Then he heard the sound of coughing. And he felt hurt again. Ilhan thus made up his mind there and then. As soon as his father retired for the night, he would sneak out into the woodshed to do whatever he can.

And that was exactly what he did. Ilhan was a fine carpenter. It was in his blood. His posture...his strokes..his precision was pinpoint. Before the morning prayer call, Ilhan would sneak back into his room to catch whatever sleep he can before he wakes up again for school.

Everyday, this little misadventure would occur and Ilhan's father remained unsuspicious. His father was somewhat amused that he did more than he thought he did the night before. But he put it aside...believing that since he worked late into the night he must have forgotten how much he actually did. Not knowing that he had an angel to help him.

Days and days of insufficient sleep showed when Ilhan failed his class test for the first time in his life. Ilhan has always been a straight 'A' student. When news reached his father's ears, his father was disappointed in his eldest son. Ilhan was confined to studying shall not help in the woodshed anymore. And yet Ilhan still continued with his misadventures every night.

Then there was one afternoon when Ilhan was at the study table..too tired to concentrate on his homework...and he dozed off. Forehead on the pages of his Maths textbook. His father happened to come in for a glass of water and flew into a fit when he saw his son sleeping when he was supposed to be studying. His son was sleeping in the afternoon and Ilhan was whacked like a punching bag.

And yet...Ilhan still continued his angelic deeds in the night. After 3 hard months of compromising his studies and sleep, alas the 20 rocking chairs were completed. Ilhan's father was extremely delighted when he went out of the house for the museum. He was paid handsomely as promised and he decided to buy some stuff which his family could never afford before.

That afternoon, on the way home, he bought a huge box of St. Michaels chocolate biscuits. After dinner that night, he placed the chocolates on the table and his sons preyed on them. All except Ilhan who was in his room studying. Ilhan's father and mother didn't even want a piece of chocolate. They wanted their sons to have everything.

Ilhan stood up....wondering what the commotion in the kitchen was all about. He opened his room door just enough to peek thru. Tears of joy filled his eyes when he saw his younger brothers eating away at those expensive chocolates. They were happy and it made him happy too. In the midst of the happenings, Ilhan's father took a handful of chocolates and put it in the cabinet. "Keep this for my son Ilhan", he told his wife as he walked out into the veranda to sit on his rocking chair.