A letter to my father.

I remember being perched outside my window, in the chill of winters, watching the world pass me by. I’d be standing there for hours in the evening, waiting for you to come back from work. And sometimes the sun had set and you still weren’t back I’d always wonder what was so important that  kept you away?

You’d always come back though, sometimes later than I expected and I’d have to stand out a little longer. But you’d be there for sure, every single night. I’d run up our corridor and open the door for you and you’d pull me up in your arms. Sometimes, Maria would get there before me. And you’d pull her into your arms first. I didn’t like it when that happened.

And then you’d put you’d look at ammi and you’d ask, koi chitti patri? Koi phone call? And everyday we went through the same routine.

Then one day, something happened . It was strange. I didn’t want to play cricket with you anymore. And I stopped waiting for you to come back. Sometimes, I wished you didn’t come back. You’d just tell me to study right? What was the point of that? I didn’t know what was happening, I didn’t understand these changes. Now I think about it and it makes some sense to me. I grew up.

You handled it with an air of indifference. You gave me my space. Surely, it must have been difficult for you? But you were composed. You let me make my mistakes but you were sure to make sure I learned from them.

I read somewhere that by the time a man realizes his father was right, he has son who thinks he is wrong. I still have 10 years at least before I’m a father, so I guess it’s safe to say I realized just in time.  

Love, Ahmar.

Ps: Thanks for the two best gifts you ever gave me, words and a sense of humour.