Summer of 1987.
I was 7 years old. Me and my elder brother had a terrible physical fight, bruising ourselves almost to the extent of having permanent scars. My mom had intervened and did her act of scolding (which invariably follows with crying) and threatening to complain to dad. I formulated all the wrong things my brother had done which had ensued The Great Battle, so that my case wins over my brother's in my father's court.
Soon, the clock ticked 8 PM and sure enough, my dad's car turned up over the driveway. My brother and me ran to the car just as it stopped, hoping that the first man gets justice. As it happens in cases when the judge's gavel is just not powerful enough, both of us started shouting over one another, justifying our actions. My mom simply stood at the doorway and gave a brief description of The Duel to my dad and went inside. My dad too went inside the house, turned, and closed the door, leaving me and my brother out in the driveway. We were locked outside the house for more than I could care to recall. I could sense the trickle of a tear. I felt bitter towards my dad.
Today, I realised, if my kids had come running to me, complaining to me about their petty quarrels, just as I reached home after a long day at office, I guess I would have done far worse than what my dad did...