My classes had just ended when Nilima aunty called.
"Misti, please come home as early as possible. Your father is not keeping well."
My father had been bedridden after a stroke for almost one and a half years. His sister, Nilima aunty— a widowed woman in her mid-fifties, lived with him and took care of him. For that, I was grateful to aunty.
I booked the first available flight to Kolkata, my hometown. Even then, I couldn't make it in time. The messenger of death had already snatched my father, the man who always made me feel safe and secure. My mother had passed away when I was a little girl. I was an orphan now.
The next few days were a blur of activities— performing rituals for the departed soul, welcoming guests and so on.
After everything was over, a quiet silence shrouded our house. I was overwhelmed with grief and decided to stay back for a few more days before heading to Bangalore. One afternoon, Nilima aunty handed me a blue, leather-bound diary.
"Misti, your father gave me this diary and told me to hand it over to you. Please keep it."
That night, after finishing dinner, when I was alone in my room, I opened the diary. The first few pages contained practical details— insurance policies, bank account details, investments and other things Papa wanted me to know after he was gone. There were also neatly scribbled notes on menstruation. I smiled through my tears, remembering how Papa was the first to teach me about menstruation during my adolescence.
After some pages, I stopped abruptly. There was a letter addressed to me.
"Dear Misti,
Hope this letter finds you in good health and spirit. When you read this letter, I'll be far away from you— resident of a different world altogether.
Today I want to tell you something I've hidden from you all your life. I told you that your mother had passed away, when in reality she had abandoned me for a rich businessman. You were just five years old— too little to understand the full import of the word 'divorce'. She didn't claim your custody and I was only too happy to have you in my life. In my bid to save you the heartache and trauma of your parents' separation, I made up the story of her illness and subsequent death. But Misti, please don't misunderstand your mother. She loved you in her own way. She was not happy with me. So she searched for happiness in another man's arms. And everybody, including our mothers, deserve to be happy, right?
I might have been an awful husband, but I tried my best to be a good father. Only you can tell how I fared as a father.
Be happy. My blessings are always with you.
With love,
Papa."
Tears pooled in my eyes. "You are the best father a daughter could ever have, Papa.", I whispered through my sobs.
Image source: Unsplash
This story has been chosen a winner in the fortnightly "The Spirit of Asia Contest #207" (Topic: My Father's Diary), hosted by the Asian Literary Society.
This blog post is part of ‘Blogaberry Dazzle’
