She was delighted to find the sealed envelope lying on her table. As she reached for it, she heard a soft knock on her door. Turned around, she found her father standing, with a smile on his chubby cheeks. His persona was charismatic because of the army uniform, and his eyes shone with pride. His aura was shining ever more brightly because of his smile.
“Papa”, she said.
She hurriedly ran towards him, and hugged him, tears welling up in both of their eyes.
She was a twenty year old, college going cheerful girl. Raina Dutt, daughter of Major Devashish Dutt and Late Mrs. Divyanshi Dutt.
The kitchen smelled of sweet aroma of the boiling tea. Major was busy brewing the tea, especially for her daughter, with loads of ginger and mix of spices. People die, but their habits don’t, and hence here was he in the same way pouring his love in the cup of tea, the only thing changed was that his wife was not present there. But their daughter had inherited the habit, sharing the same taste of tea with her mother.
The sky was blue, feather like clouds augmenting the vast skyline and cold breeze made the leaves dance in their own rhythm. After a long time it had felt like home. Raina often returned from her college to the house – house not home – because there wasn’t anyone to welcome her, well no one for whom she could cook, talk or watch hr favourite shows with. But today was different, seeing her father back was the best gift she could ever ask for. It had been almost three year – three terrible years – her not seeing her dad, the only way left for them to be contact was phone – which became rare habits due to the poor connections on the border.
The tea was prepared and served, she brought some cookies which she baked, her one of the peculiar habits – she knew her dad loved so much. She missed her childhood days, days where she could be happy and carefree. Days when dad wasn’t so busy at the border. Days when vacations really did mean something important to her – which now became a mere formality in which she completed her summer internships. Days when she laughed hard on terrible jokes, and no one could judge her. Days when her family gathered most of the nights and ate dinner – either at home or at restaurants. Days when mom was alive. After her death, almost everything died – like the kitchen plant she adored, the freshness and homely smell – the home was not just a house.
She was fifteen when her mother died in a terrorist attack, and it was shattering for her little heart. Her father was out of the city for the lieutenant duties and her mother was killed in the Mumbai bombings. Terrible memory. A memory which ached her heart. Her grandmother took her great care in the mean-time, but now she was also a faint memory. From then it had been her father and herself, Major even thought of getting transferred to a nearby place – and he succeeded too. But we never know when an emergency might be called upon – and it was one such call – and Major was back at the borders fighting for her daughter as well as the thousand other kids and families – to keep them safe.
The clock struck the tune of six, two tea cups were sitting on the centre table, while she was comfortably sitting in front of the TV watching her favourite drama with her dad next to her. A comedy. And she laughed, her father did too, a laughter which was really uncommon in the corridors. She sipped her cup, her smile spoke millions about the exquisite taste of the drink. It trickled down her throat and melted all of her frozen feelings, it warmed her heart.
Her phone rang – and after two continued dismissals – she picked up. And unknown number.
“Hello”, she said.
“Hello, am I talking to Raina Dutt?”
“Yes”, she said as she paved her way to the porch, near the table where lied the sealed envelope – she almost forgot about it.
“Ma’am we are really sorry, but your father Major Dutt has been martyred in the battleground. You are requested – ”
The phone dropped from her hand. She could not believe what gibberish was the officer speaking on the other side of the phone. Martyred? That was not possible. Not at all, she was just sitting with her father drinking the tea. This is not possible. She hurriedly ran back to the living. The TV was still running, the two cups were still lying at the same place on the table. The sofa was empty. Her dad wasn’t there. She called out his name, checked rooms, but he was no-where to be found – as if he got vanished into the thin air. She called his cell phone – not reachable. Dialled the number to fellow officers, and every single of them told her the same news in a low and sad tune.
She was panting, sweat trickled down her forehead, her eyes watered – ready to be overflown at any passing second. The firmament changed its hue from blue to orange, the cool breeze was replaced with the chilly squall and there was silence all over – not even a bird chirped. She remembered something and paced to the porch.
The envelope was still lying there. She reached out for it wiping a trail of tear from her cheek, and slowly tore it open. It was a letter.
Dear Raina,
How are you my brave girl? I am sure you’re keeping well. The situation here is getting worse, but don’t be afraid for there is nothing your old man can’t handle. Right? And while you read this line, I am sure you’re rolling your eyes, “Papa, you aren’t old”, you must say. Well enough of the ranting. My health is good. And I am keeping up. I hope you’re studies are going fine.
Well I just wrote this piece of letter to tell you that I am not going to make it home for this summer holidays. No. Don’t be sad. The crisis here is tough, and I can’t simply leave them. You understand right? Of course you do, you’re my sensible kid and a smart lady. I am so proud that you’re my daughter. I should have called you, you might wonder. But there wasn’t any stable network here. Or I would have had told you on the phone.
And promise me sweetheart, you’re going to make all your dreams come true. For me. For yourself. And for your mother. She would be so proud of you.
But don’t worry. I promise you, I will return very soon. I will come back to meet you and then we would spent our time drinking tea and binge watching your favourite movies. Trust me. I will surely come back.
Love,
Dad.
Raina collapsed on the floor, this time there was no one who could mend the pain her heart suffered. And she cried. She cried out all her obscured feelings. That was another of her terrible night. Even worse than the previous one. But she knew, the next morning was a new beginning for her. She would pay her tributes to her father in his casket and promise him that she is going to make every of her dream come true. For herself, for her mother, and for him.She was delighted to find the sealed envelope lying on her table. As she reached for it, she heard a soft knock on her door. Turned around, she found her father standing, with a smile on his chubby cheeks. His persona was charismatic because of the army uniform, and his eyes shone with pride. His aura was shining ever more brightly because of his smile.
“Papa”, she said.
She hurriedly ran towards him, and hugged him, tears welling up in both of their eyes.
She was a twenty year old, college going cheerful girl. Raina Dutt, daughter of Major Devashish Dutt and Late Mrs. Divyanshi Dutt.
The kitchen smelled of sweet aroma of the boiling tea. Major was busy brewing the tea, especially for her daughter, with loads of ginger and mix of spices. People die, but their habits don’t, and hence here was he in the same way pouring his love in the cup of tea, the only thing changed was that his wife was not present there. But their daughter had inherited the habit, sharing the same taste of tea with her mother.
The sky was blue, feather like clouds augmenting the vast skyline and cold breeze made the leaves dance in their own rhythm. After a long time it had felt like home. Raina often returned from her college to the house – house not home – because there wasn’t anyone to welcome her, well no one for whom she could cook, talk or watch hr favourite shows with. But today was different, seeing her father back was the best gift she could ever ask for. It had been almost three year – three terrible years – her not seeing her dad, the only way left for them to be contact was phone – which became rare habits due to the poor connections on the border.
The tea was prepared and served, she brought some cookies which she baked, her one of the peculiar habits – she knew her dad loved so much. She missed her childhood days, days where she could be happy and carefree. Days when dad wasn’t so busy at the border. Days when vacations really did mean something important to her – which now became a mere formality in which she completed her summer internships. Days when she laughed hard on terrible jokes, and no one could judge her. Days when her family gathered most of the nights and ate dinner – either at home or at restaurants. Days when mom was alive. After her death, almost everything died – like the kitchen plant she adored, the freshness and homely smell – the home was not just a house.
She was fifteen when her mother died in a terrorist attack, and it was shattering for her little heart. Her father was out of the city for the lieutenant duties and her mother was killed in the Mumbai bombings. Terrible memory. A memory which ached her heart. Her grandmother took her great care in the mean-time, but now she was also a faint memory. From then it had been her father and herself, Major even thought of getting transferred to a nearby place – and he succeeded too. But we never know when an emergency might be called upon – and it was one such call – and Major was back at the borders fighting for her daughter as well as the thousand other kids and families – to keep them safe.
The clock struck the tune of six, two tea cups were sitting on the centre table, while she was comfortably sitting in front of the TV watching her favourite drama with her dad next to her. A comedy. And she laughed, her father did too, a laughter which was really uncommon in the corridors. She sipped her cup, her smile spoke millions about the exquisite taste of the drink. It trickled down her throat and melted all of her frozen feelings, it warmed her heart.
Her phone rang – and after two continued dismissals – she picked up. And unknown number.
“Hello”, she said.
“Hello, am I talking to Raina Dutt?”
“Yes”, she said as she paved her way to the porch, near the table where lied the sealed envelope – she almost forgot about it.
“Ma’am we are really sorry, but your father Major Dutt has been martyred in the battleground. You are requested – ”
The phone dropped from her hand. She could not believe what gibberish was the officer speaking on the other side of the phone. Martyred? That was not possible. Not at all, she was just sitting with her father drinking the tea. This is not possible. She hurriedly ran back to the living. The TV was still running, the two cups were still lying at the same place on the table. The sofa was empty. Her dad wasn’t there. She called out his name, checked rooms, but he was no-where to be found – as if he got vanished into the thin air. She called his cell phone – not reachable. Dialled the number to fellow officers, and every single of them told her the same news in a low and sad tune.
She was panting, sweat trickled down her forehead, her eyes watered – ready to be overflown at any passing second. The firmament changed its hue from blue to orange, the cool breeze was replaced with the chilly squall and there was silence all over – not even a bird chirped. She remembered something and paced to the porch.
The envelope was still lying there. She reached out for it wiping a trail of tear from her cheek, and slowly tore it open. It was a letter.
Dear Raina,
How are you my brave girl? I am sure you’re keeping well. The situation here is getting worse, but don’t be afraid for there is nothing your old man can’t handle. Right? And while you read this line, I am sure you’re rolling your eyes, “Papa, you aren’t old”, you must say. Well enough of the ranting. My health is good. And I am keeping up. I hope you’re studies are going fine.
Well I just wrote this piece of letter to tell you that I am not going to make it home for this summer holidays. No. Don’t be sad. The crisis here is tough, and I can’t simply leave them. You understand right? Of course you do, you’re my sensible kid and a smart lady. I am so proud that you’re my daughter. I should have called you, you might wonder. But there wasn’t any stable network here. Or I would have had told you on the phone.
And promise me sweetheart, you’re going to make all your dreams come true. For me. For yourself. And for your mother. She would be so proud of you.
But don’t worry. I promise you, I will return very soon. I will come back to meet you and then we would spent our time drinking tea and binge watching your favourite movies. Trust me. I will surely come back.
Love,
Dad.
Raina collapsed on the floor, this time there was no one who could mend the pain her heart suffered. And she cried. She cried out all her obscured feelings. That was another of her terrible night. Even worse than the previous one. But she knew, the next morning was a new beginning for her. She would pay her tributes to her father in his casket and promise him that she is going to make every of her dream come true. For herself, for her mother, and for him.
Escapist 