Dear Daughter,
There was once a time when this old man of yours was cynical about the world, the life, and everything in general. As I started writing these letters to you, I started appreciating every aspect of my life. Writing to you, helped me open up to myself.
I started feeling lighter, and I felt as if the world had enough good to live for. If it hadnt been for you, little girl, your father would not have thought of his life to be worth living for.
For fourteen years, I wished I could talk to you, cradle you, pamper you; but my insecurities held me back. Today as I sit here, with control on my doubts and a ball of hope in my gut, I am sure that it was the best decision of mine to continue living.
The world does not seem like such a bad place anymore; it seems to me like that lone leaf left on the tree, which stayed as hope for Johnsy in O Henry's story The Last Leaf. It was fake, but the emotions behind it were not. I shall hang on to the hope of meeting you, just as she hung on to that leaf.
One of these days I had gathered up all my letters and those pieces of papers had my courage wrapped up in them. I decided then, that I would finally let you know about the family you had of your own. But my fears haunted me, and my insecurities gnawed at me. What if you do not forgive your old man? Or worse, what if you would not believe this old man?
For weeks that thought would not leave me. I kept wondering about that one thing and nothing other but today I know that you will recognise me.
If things come to it, we will probably even get a DNA test done but I really hope that would not be necessary. I know I will recognise you easily, but I hope you accept me too. I can understand that these fourteen years might have been difficult for you, but trust me little girl, I will try me best to make the rest of your life joyful.
The thing I was wondering about for so long was what are you named? I never got to name you. Who named you? And what did they name you? I wonder if you would be fine with me naming you. Would you?
If you would be, I would call you my Khushi; my happiness. Or I would call you my Muskan; my smile. I don't know when I will meet you, or when I will get to name you but I hope it is soon. After all, for how long can God separate a father and his daughter?
Always and Forever,
Your Father.
July 11, 1999.
YOU ARE READING
Dear Daughter | ✔
Cerita PendekAs the Kargil war raged on between the nations of India and Pakistan, a young army father continuously wrote to his daughter in hopes of rejoining with her post this experience. Set mostly in the gusty streets of the Indian capital, Dear Daughter i...
