Missed Part 5?
18th May, 2016
Being independent is important. Your identity is all that you can call your own. Never fancy a sluggish life. Set a goal. Dream. And work hard towards it every moment of your life. Without it, you’re just a puppet working for others’ goals. Happy Birthday.
I’m a writer. I know making a name for myself as a writer wouldn’t be easy. But his words make me want to try. The rays of Sun touch my face. I look up.
18th May, 2017
Being comfortable isn’t same as being happy. Venture out. Don’t stick to the same place only because of its comfort. Are you happy? Is this all you want? If not, then walk out. Take risk. Accept failure and gear yourself up to handle success. Happy Birthday.
Last year I sent my first manuscript to a few publishers. To date, ten of them have rejected it. Failure has never hit me so hard before. But I am happy. I’m pursuing my dream. This is what I want.
That was the last letter. I exhale and get up. I’ve to go downstairs. Mom’s sister and her husband are taking care of all the arrangements. But I should help them. I meticulously fold all the letters and put them in the box.
Placing it on the table as I turn to leave, something falls off the table. I turn to see what. It’s a small piece of paper. Did I forget to put all the letters inside? I kneel down and pick it up. Oh, it’s the unfinished letter. I gulp. This was supposed to be Dad’s fourteenth letter. I found this a day after Mom…
Mom had a severe heart attack. I saw her lying on the floor of her room the next morning. By the time we reached the hospital, she had taken her last breath. The next day as the relatives and friends left, I went to her room. I hadn’t shed a single drop of tear yet. I still couldn’t believe that she was gone. I knew her smell would still be lingering in her room. I arranged her books, laptop, clothes. And then my eyes fell on this letter on her study table. A pen lay on it. Its cap was open. The letter was unfinished. As if she was writing it. The same yellow paper, the same envelope and on top of it, the same words scribbled – 18th May, 2018.
I ran to my Aunt, Mom’s sister. She had stayed back. I showed her the letter. Her nervous glance told me she knew the truth.
‘Your father isn’t dead.’ She said after a good five minutes of silence.
I staggered back in shock.
‘Your Mom would’ve never told you all this,’ she said, ‘but probably it’s time you knew.’ She paused, then added. ‘You’re a love child. Your father denied all responsibility. But your Mom didn’t want to abort you. She was ready to parent you all by herself. All was good until one day you started asking hundred questions about your father. She realized you were growing up. And that you were not only missing a father figure but a parent. She was mostly away because she had to work. Being a single parent isn’t easy. I hope you get that. So she decided to write these letters to give you a father. A Dad. A parent. She knew she couldn’t be there for you always. But her words were there to guide you…protect you.’
I started crying. My body shook vehemently. My senses went numb. She handed me the letter and left the room silently. The last ever letter from Mom.
18th May, 2018
Someday you’ll stop receiving my letters. Not because you won’t need me anymore. A child always needs its parents. Irrespective of its age. But at some point, parents need to leave its hand. You’re growing up, daughter. Hence let me tell you one thing – life’s going to be tough. Very tough. But then, was it ever meant to be easy? No. I would…
She couldn’t complete it. I wipe my tears, put the letter under my pillow and head out. Mom was always watching over me. She still is. She always will. Like the rain…the Sun…the clouds…and the wind.
It ends here…
Written by Chirasree Bose