Tag Archives: letter

The Missing Son

The ball crashed into Mrs. Jadhav’s house, shattering the window glass into pieces. It was stuck with immense power by Sunil, a thirteen year old kid from the neighbouring colony. He was touted to be the next cricketing sensation from the neighbourhood which had seen over ten representations in the Indian cricket team in past five decades. His father, Raghav, a former Mumbai Ranji team member, was a close friend of Daksh, Mrs. Jadhav’s only son. Sunil rang the bell twice before Sunitha answered. She placed the ball in his hand with a gentle smile on her face. “Next time, hit it towards Mrs. Dsouza’s house. She was laughing when you broke mine. It’s time for payback!”

“Dadi, I am sorry.” Sunil replied.

“It’s okay, kiddo. Smash as many glasses as you want but do get yourself selected for the Indian team.”

He nodded, as he handed over an envelope which was lying on the floor of her main door and rushed back towards his friends. Mrs. Jadhav placed the envelope on her study table as she continued to broom away the broken pieces. It took over 15 minutes for her to finally get her hands over the envelope. Her frailing health wasn’t helping either but it was of no match when compared to the grievous pain she had felt since Daksh ran away from home.

He was only thirteen then, he had an argument previous night where his parents wanted him to concentrate on studies than cricket. But like most of the kids from the neighbourhood, even he dreamed to wear the blue jersey. The banter wasn’t new; it had been going on for over a year then, his falling grades and poor performances in local cricket tournaments weren’t supporting his case either. That night, the argument got more louder and finally ended when Mr. Jadhav slapped Daksh and asked him to do exactly what he says. The next morning, when Sunitha entered her son’s room, she found only a letter to settle for. The cricket kit bag, a few crisp notes from Mr. Jadhav’s purse and, most importantly, her son Daksh were missing. All that was left was that letter; a letter which asked his parents not to look for him with a promise that he will return only when he makes it into the Indian Cricket Team. It’s been over twenty five years now, Daksh never came back.

She collected her reading glasses, and opened the peculiar looking blue envelope. And what happened next, was something which Sunitha had expected time and again to happen but remained unrealised until today. It was a letter from him, he was coming home finally.

Part1 Ends.
Picture Courtesy: Tom Shaw/Getty Images.

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The Empty Envelope

“I lay there among many other envelopes at the corner of a dark room, the room which the just married couple had used for storing their glittery presents and beautiful bouquets that they had received at their reception. It was a fancy affair I must say which actually made me feel left out; I was a simple white envelope which didn’t have even a tiny glitter at its ends, so you surely can understand the inferiority I was going through.

I was cramped here in this room for both space and breath as Paisa Bhai, a healthy looking envelope, had landed over me in search for comfort. It had a smell of wealth all over it which made it harder for me to survive as I tried with all my might to retain the impressions of the tear drops and the smudges my owner had left over me. He was a sad man, who wouldn’t be, especially when he had found out that the girl he loved for the past ten years is going away from him forever. He didn’t have the courage to profess his love for her, to his best friend, but now when he had the letter ready, it was a little too late.

Still he stood adamant; he wanted her to know, at least understand what he had always felt. So when he took that teary eyed letter wrapped in me to the stage where she stood, I sensed his grip loosening while his hands started to tremble with fear. In midst of all this, I finally caught him with tears in his eyes when her eyes met his. I felt for him when he realised how happy she is, with her would-be who was standing next to her, flaunting a bright smile together. It broke my heart, my paper heart.

I could feel the tears over my body as my owner slowly removed the letter at the very last minute, and scribbled a saying over me for his best friend to read.
“Envelope is too small for me to put any gift into, after all it’s you Priya, it’s you. Only thing that would suffice would be to gift myself to you with a promise to be your side as a friend forever till my breathe would last. Keep that smile up princess, always!”

Suddenly the dark room door opened, and Priya walked in with her bridal dress still put on. She slowly searched in the flickering light, hugging me close as she found me and finally re-reading the lines with a silent tear and a smile as she ended.”

#Tara&Ryan

The One before the last

Fiction

Title: 21 year old Ryan’s Mysteries of life

Do I believe in miracles? May be I don’t, but maybe I would someday. I get these thoughts where I start seeing these special happenings in a much broader way as I flow through these new experiences in life.

When I look back in time, there was a point when I thought miracle was something which only God could perform. Later, I started to associate them with my family, friends and also the good things which kept happening all around me. And now, where the rationalist phase has been kicking in harder and harder day by day, I find myself looking at every possible observation to find that miracle in life, but I still remain confused.

I keep wondering by posting these simple yet unsolvable questions, which have got associated with joy and happiness. What are these two to me? Who do I associate them with? I have no idea, but the only thing which keeps me pushing is the happiness to wander. The happiness to move restlessly to find that miracle in life which would bring me closer to what actually joy is for me; this is something which I look forward in life…May be someday I would witness my miracle, till then let me keep my wings loose, let me be everywhere, let me be the wanderer that I so desire.

I closed this commentary in a neat yellow coloured envelope with golden bordering which had speckles of shiny dust sticking to it. It might have got stuck on to it when I placed it on my dusty table; I should have been more careful, thinking to myself. I did have a name to address this envelope which I had carefully written beforehand, “My Dear Tia”.

After finishing the work, I took the envelope back to the shelf where there were many more like them, each with a different bordering but the colour yellow always remained. That’s the colour my daughter likes, so it was a simple choice for the letter as it is addressed to her.

Every envelope has a story which had mesmerized and had kept me thinking when I was her age, maybe I just wanted to pass it on to her, maybe I wanted her to understand me better. Now as she is going away to a different place for the very first time, I thought the time was ripe to hand them over to her but I had one last letter to write.

I know the distance would be painful but I also know that it is for her own well, atleast that’s what I keep saying to myself; education is far more important than the many miles we would be kept apart. May be on those days when she misses me the most or is stuck with a dilemma which she is hesitant to share, she might just pick one of the letters and read. And hopefully she might find an answer in the questions that kept me wondering or may be add another question to it. But in anyway, she won’t feel alone as she would always find me in these thoughts, and sometimes even make her realize that her dad went through similar stuff and it is nothing to be afraid of.

Now as I try to arrange these letters in order, a tiny tickle of tear falls on to the name in one of them. I tried brushing it off but the impression was already made. I knew she would notice it, but I couldn’t help it, she was going away and I was getting worried about how she would cope up with the world ahead. But I did know deep down, that she will, she is my girl, she is born to succeed and I knew I would always be there to make sure that it happens.


Note: Coming back to the miracle which I was talking about, I did find it and it’s the very person who I am writing these letters for, my little angel Tia.

The Letter

Work of Fiction

Dear Rose,

It been a while since we had a proper conversation, and I am sad that this is going to be the last one, may be we aren’t that special which we always felt in each other’s company.

I hope you remember the promises we made of being together till death tears us apart, I am grieved that it’s not death but our own egos’ which killed our relationship. The ego of one self is a very dangerous thing, every time I tried to speak in a calmer tone to set things right, every time I failed because of my all-encompassing ego. You were no different in being, you are still similar to who I am, repelling away like the ‘like poles’. We couldn’t adjust ourselves in the world we built and we ended up shattering every brick that we once carefully laid.

I still remember the first time I saw you, I saw you more as a friend than the lover you would once turn up to be. It was no love at first sight for me and neither was it for you, but it was love which blossomed through the long conversations we had, it was while ago when we did have conversations, not anymore, not anymore.

The first time when we exchanged our numbers, the first frantic calls, the teary eyed breakups of our former love lives, the career decisions, the always support attitude, I so miss all of this, but my ego would not let me go so my body is willing to do me the favour. The doctors have favoured a new research module to test upon what is really plaguing me, but they have failed to understand that more than the cancer it’s the broken heart which is bleeding the havoc by making me restless and maligning the left over self.

This time when I am ready to keep my ego apart and fulfil the promise of being together forever, it’s the death which scares me as our promise back then was belittled by the very death. If there was a place where all the dead souls depart to, I would choose to be the wind that could flow by you, which you could feel but you could never see.

I hope you never find this letter, I hope you never come for me, and I hope you moved on. But if you still manage to come and visit, don’t be disheartened because I would always be there around you like the protective wind which flows through you, though you could never see but you could always feel.

Yours lovingly,

Jack


This form of story writing is totally new for me, but I fell in love with the idea of how deep a letter could convey, especially the emotions. Celebrating love doesn’t only involve the external feelings but the specialty lies within, the inner ones. It could be tragic, on the other hand blissful, melancholic or happy, in simple words, it’s these paradoxes which allows the boat of life to sail with a feeling of being alive.

Thank you !