A Letter To My Daughter

Every dawn is the most promising time of the day. Promises of a new beginning, to start anew, to start afresh. And each day I love you more and more, and I feel helpless and vulnerable. Feelings can make you mature and it can make you lonely too. Alone among a crowd. I got a letter from you. You wrote a letter to your ammu. Filled with love and understanding. I still can remember the day when you showed me the picture of the girl your father ended up marrying. “Ammu, will you see this?” You sounded hesitant. I wanted to see it. I saw the picture. Your father, his usual smile, and beside him, his new wife. A beautiful young lady. I felt nothing. I gave up on him long ago, long, long ago. I just strangely felt that I used to sit beside him when he used to smile, almost the same way. It felt strange. You, my oldest daughter, now 13, are also turning into a beautiful lady. When you smile, when sunlight reflects on your knee-long hair, I think about my mother. I cannot think about her often. Somehow the door got shut as it seems less painful, it seems more convenient. At night, we, two lonely souls, were trying to sleep, side by side. You asked me at last, “Ammu, will you not remarry? Don’t you love someone?” I was thinking about answering that. It is never an easy answer. When you were a child, you used to declare that you will be a gynecologist when you grow up. You were so sure about that! You, my oldest daughter, used to draw pictures of Butterflies, rainbows. And in those pictures, we used to smile. We used to hold hands with each other. Me, baba, you and your little brother. I still remember about one day. We were sitting, the front yard of our house was a cozy place to sit and chat. You were jumping with your brother. I saw a young boy walking by. He was looking at you. A boy of your age, under the twilight sky, was looking at my young daughter. Last night you were holding my hand. Your voice felt soft and gentle. You sounded softer than your usual tone. You wanted to know about my future plan. You were asking me while your hand was touching mine. For a strange reason, I was thinking about that evening. I felt loved, I felt special. And I felt displaced.