A letter to my dad


Dear daddy,

8 years right? It has been eight years since the black and white columns and rows accompanied with soldiers, kings, queens and much more still stare at me in a very strange way and ask me, “Do you remember the last time you played with us?”
Oh! My king still irritates me with the same question time and again that why I won just one time?

Sometimes in anger or out of frustration maybe, I throw away all of them and scream at the top of my voice but sadly with no sound. I end up crying like hell and then a picture, tugged right in front of the wall I supported myself with while crying, stares at me, maybe with anger like the players of the game, they call chess do. I hold that picture close to my heart and feel as if hugging the one, I call daddy.

I don’t really miss you.
Yeah, I don’t.
Please don’t stare me like this.
I don’t miss you.
I told you I don’t.
Ok. Fine. I do M-I-S-S you. Now happy?

Sometimes the flood of tears I shed, even makes fun of me saying “ye lo phir suru ho gyi, kabhi to has liya kr” and I’m like, “Will you shut the fuck up?”

I don’t give anyone the permission to make fun of me, Right daddy? Only you owned that right but hell yeah, you parted your ways away from me and didn’t even think of dropping in sometimes taking permission from God.

I wish there would have been a “LEAVE DAY” as jobs have then probably by sparing a thought for your little angel you would have come to see the scars given by the people of this fucking world.
Or maybe be then you would have hugged your daughter like you did when you first held her in your hands.
Oh! freak it may sound some sorts of ‘pagalpan’ as you will say when I will tell, you guys, that I sometimes feel his presence, when for sure my breathe isn’t heavy but the wind surrounding me is.

Those days of depression I went through, at the tiny age of…ummm…15 maybe, that wasn’t a joke actually. The time when all I wished for, was those arms to hold me that had covered me when I first fell down the staircase.

Oh! daddy do visit sometimes, come even in my dreams, please. All I want is to see you and want to touch your feet whenever I accomplish something and cry remembering the only man of my life.

Don’t worry I don’t cry so much, see 8 years and I’m still living and fighting like a girl.
Love ya.
Yours pagali.

2 Comments Add yours

    1. Addhaya Anil says:

      Hey, thanks a lot for reading. :)


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