Rolls of thick paper sat proudly in a bundled mess, within a glass case. Papers, that contained the detailed designs of every great building that put this small shredded city of Eastern Europe, on the geographical map.
A plain wooden plaque, placed in front, read, in golden letters:
Dr. Andrew Stenson
Chief architect
Founder of Sten Design's
Karl read the plaque. Dr. Stenson... The person responsible for the revolutionary change in European architecture, was also the reason, Karl was brought to Earth.
Standing in front of the grand memento, designed in memory of his late father, Karl could only think of his bitter childhood days spent with the man.
Andrew Stenson, loved his buildings and the city, he was redesigning. And Karl, prayed every single day, that his father would look at him, even with just a sliver of that adornment, as given to those lifeless bricks. But the day never came. On the contrary, his father treated him as an empty container, where you could drill the logics and the designs into his brains, even though it spewed them right back up. Karl repeatedly tried hard to understand the angles and length and breadth and everything that goes with architecture, but they never made any sense. The logics and the dynamics evaded him. So, instead of convincing himself, he tried to convince his father. Tried to make him understand the magic of literature, but his old man just scoffed, turned around and left.
Andrew did not understand anything other than architecture. Nor could he understand how such an empty headed child could be his. Language!... the kid wanted to learn language!!... As any of that ever got anyone anywhere!!... Ha!... The idiot!!. It was then he decided, if his blood was not talented enough to be an architect, then, God! he would make one out of him. No matter what it took.
And hence, Karl Stenson, the architect, was born. Karl did not like it… no, he hated it. He hated his father for it. But even through all that hatred, he could never bring himself to hate his father's designs. Even when young, he could see the wonders of them. And it wasn't as if, Karl himself, turned out bad. He was decent enough. In fact, there was a time, when Karl had designed an elegant skyscraper to one of his clients, which was liked instantly, and was assigned another project on spot. The clients had told: “Like father, like son”. Karl, had thought, he had finally reached, where his father wanted him to be. But it all lasted until, Andrew took Karl's charts, smilingly, and told them about a few changes. A few changes that changed the entire design. The next thing Karl knew, were the clients looking at him with a small smile: “You are good. Buy you can never be your father”. And so he left.
Karl left and never looked back. He left his father… architecture… his life… he left it all behind and started a new one. Now, 8 years down the road, Karl was an established author, with 2 Edgars up his sleeve, and many more to come.
And not once had he given a thought to his father. Until few days ago, when a call came, informing him of Andrew's demise.
And now, standing there in the reception of Sten Design's, and looking at the memento, Karl had no idea how to feel. Loss… for those great designs will never be drawn again... or hatred… for never even trying to understand his own blood.
No… Karl had no idea.
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