My Child

I dropped Rani and Smriti, and returned. Just fifteen minutes ago the house resonated with activity. And now, it was barren. Fighting tears, I climbed upstairs to Smriti’s room. The blanket was carelessly tossed on one side. The linen was creased. And, the pillow still had a big dimple on it. I caressed the creases and the dimples, and broke into hysterical sobs. How different is Smriti from an ordinary child! She had to lose an academic year on shifting from Delhi to Bangalore, but did not complain. She did not complain when in spite of securing more than 92% marks in the Class XII exam, her name did not figure in the list of candidates shortlisted for medical education. How enthusiastic she was when she appeared in the Design Entrance examination of Symbiosis, and how gracefully she accepted the fact that in spite of being short listed, she did not make it to the final list. I often saw dreams in her eyes – dreams that twinkled like stars, and dreams that died like wrinkled flowers.

I do not know when I will see her next. But I know, things will not be the same any more. It happens with distance. She will be more formal henceforth. She never demanded anything that she felt I would not be able to provide. Now she will be all the more cautious.

Smriti, my child, I wish you the best! I am not a rich man. What I did not give you far outnumbers what I gave you. But, I gave you my love. I will continue giving it till I breathe my last.