Hello Friend ,
We have never met,but your father met me once.I am sure you miss him as much as I miss my father and mother.
I remember it was a bright evening,and as almost always we had some guests over.There was some nice music playing in the background,my mother was cooking in the kitchen ,the conversations didn't make much meaning to my two years old mind,so I was busy engaging Sandra to play with me.Sandra is my caretaker,and I like her a lot.
As long as I can stretch my memory,my home had always been like that - my loving parents welcoming guests with a warm smile and hugs.Ever since they moved here to Mumbai it has been like that.
I like it here,the sun ,the sea and the people.There are festivals all year round.People play drums and dance on the streets,they distribute sweets and burst crackers.It is lot of fun.
That evening too,it seemed like some festival.There were loud crackers being burst but suddenly something went wrong.Every one panicked as a man walked into our room with a big toy - it looked like a gun.
I looked around,all guests were lying down,so were mamma and papa.Sandra was not there.The huge man with the gun had gone up the stairs.There was a lot of red liquid thing on the floor.It scared me and that is when I started crying.
There were footsteps on the staircase,coming down towards me and the loud noise of crackers.It was your dad on the stairs ,I guess.
Suddenly Sandra rushed from the store room,picked me up in a flash and ran towards the main door.Outside also people were firing crackers.
Three days later,Sandra dressed me in my favourite bright green T-shirt and carried me to the synagogue.I cried for mamma,I had not seen her after that evening.She didn't come.
The next day we sat in a plane and came to this place,my granparents' home.They tell me that my parents and your dad and all of the people there went to meet god.I believe them.I thought I should tell you too,in case you don't know.
When I grow up I'll go back to Mumbai .Hope to see you there as a friend and a guest.Till then take care.
(This is just an imaginary reproduction of the events of 26/11 Mumbai terror strike.)
Orange Flower Awards
Readers Loved These
I write about
April Blogging challenge love 2015 daughter life memories women death girls dad hindi poetry gender ratio 2014 soul mom poet childhood death loneliness alone priyamvada woman loneliness delhi rape words. thoughts child heart words.thoughts Stream of consciousness answers violence blog lessons mother birthday women's day contest grief home loss men sexual harrasment HAIKU blogoversary cities discrimination festival friends me memories mind papa religion shimla sufi winter lonely mom dad pain questions writer diwali dreams freedom god grandfather patriarchy random thoughts sad writing brothers children fear fog grandmother hope kids light motherhood ritual summers basho book chandigarh emily eyes facebook hills husband kerouac longing miss new year nostalgia paradoxes remember school sonee 2011 BOY Ruskin Bond WISHES fairytale family freeze independence day jagjit singh kashmir nobody pyar rain reading shame short story son virginia woolf worship 9/11 GADGETS TV aazadi autumn colour daughter's day first frenemy happy history human joys krishna leader mother's day nest opposites plant small teachers thoughts toddlers tragedy tree wife 2012 2013 Haider her tea