Pensieve: October 2008

Dear Dad,
It is very difficult for me to write a letter...not just to you,but to anyone in this world...and I think part of it is because I am impulsive.I think impulsively...no wait,scratch that out,because impulses hardly ever go hand in hand with though,do they?
I suppose I act,react,feel and express at an alarmingly quick rate,that sometimes,emotions tumble over.Musings that brew at the very back of my mind come out,all in a stutter.Petty spite and short lived resentment flare up and burn some fragile threads of conversation...and sometimes these threads can never be reattached.
I am too scared to lose the people who are a part of my world,and this prevents me from being downright frank and genuine with them.Hence,...the long silences.

Of course,losing people is something I've become used to.It's almost routine now.Moving out of Hyderabad meant saying Goodbye to so many lil friends,formal friends,"jus-for hanging out" friends and the ones whom I can talk to till two a.m.
Moving out of a familiar circle of faces was like leaving the pleasant Australian seas behind to sail out to the cold,gloomy lonely Antarctic shores.
The difference is that I know that I mustn't sail back,even if I knew I could.

I always hated your job,Dad.Yessir,living out of the suitcase for months together can douse the wanderlust in anyone.Moving to a new place every three years ,fitting into a cozy group of your own only to abruptly leave again,and always having a different house,a different school,a different identity is something I cannot,and probably will not ever understand.That's just the problem though,isn't it?
I didn't understand.I didn't understand that it wasn't all just about me.I did not even meander around the possibility that there probably are bigger losses in the picture.Deeper disappointments,stronger regrets,or more wistful expectations that float around in your mind.

And yet, you haver never let me remain with a frown on my forehead for too long.With hot cups of cheerful coffee(with the chef's special ingredient:double pyaar), sincere apologies,earnest promises,warm smiles,and even more warm words,you wipe away my tears,and bring in a little more hope,a little more light.
You are the best pick me up drink Ive ever had the fortune to taste,Papa,and I will always be glad that I was picked to be your daughter.

I know ,that like you,all Dads,try to be the ideal "man",completely involved in dressing others' wounds,while their own blood trickles unnoticed.I admit that I sometimes took this for granted,secure in the thought that there was always one person whom I could fall back on,my cushion,my infallible barrier from all things that are big and bad,cold and cruel.I remember ,in a flash,a conversation we once had,back when the world was a happy riot of colour.You asked me:"Always be with the people in your life.You can buy everything in the market,heck even hearts,but not people."Only,I've never had the need to reflect upon these words,until now.

However,I've opened my eyes to the fact that,barriers shatter too.
Mighty oaks sway,houses of brick start to shake,and the bravest of hearts shudder.
And that is when the willows sway too,trying in vain to block the oaks from the gusty fiends.That is when the humble powdery cement tapes the red bricks onto the foundation,and that is when little hands soothe the hurt,pieces of bravehearts.
If prayers can move mountains,then surely prayers can carry my heartfelt sentiments across the borders to you ,Papa.

My father.My hero...
I pray for your mental and physical strength and well being.May the angels watch over you.

Peace,
Your loving daughter.