He met with me in June, became my destiny in November and left me in December…forever…
Ours was a fleeting love-affair but it’s perennial. My love for him is boundless, ultimate. He is the man whom I loved and will love till my last breath. He, who was the exemplar of all the goodness and glory of my life, taught me to forgive and forget, love and live.
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“Papa, where are you? I’m scared. Please come back.” The frightened little girl was sobbing, looking for her lost Dad. She was in a huge edifice, quite akin to an ancient Roman Colosseum. Searching for him recklessly, she too was lost in that labyrinth.
Suddenly, she got a glimpse of him. He was in his favorite white outfit. A crisp white Dhakai Mulmul Kurta teamed up with a pair of loose cotton Payjamas. His finely starched indigo dyed kurta had crinkled sleeves’ detailings. He himself mastered this special art called ‘Giley’ he had learnt from one of his Bengali friend’s mother and taught his servants.
His little daughter recognized him of his outfit despite the distance and lowlights of that Colosseum. “Papa, please stop”, she screamed. But he vanished. Yes, he was her Dad. She was conferred with the side contours of his visage before he disappeared. She couldn’t stop him.
**************
I jerk opened my eyes all soaked in sweat. Ah! It was a dream. The little girl seemed familiar to me. I saw that dream in monochrome, colorless, in all possible shades of blacks, greys and whites. A pleasing yet scary dream it was.
**************
He mollified my malevolence with his soft words in those scorching summers, drenched my barren soul with his mellifluous music in monsoons and melted my frigid self with the warmth of his love in frozen winters. He seeped into my soul. But time was the cruelest adversary in the battle of my existence. I lost him. The ice of melancholy overpowered my pith and my essence was frozen…again.
He was vanished in that enormous Colosseum. That little girl was me. Though matured enough, I always felt like a little girl in his presence. He still makes me feel so. I sense him around me everywhere. Even after twenty years since he’s gone. Whenever I go to bed I see his innocent doe eyes. And they haunt me in my little-girl-dreams till morning. Sad, quibbled, lost in the labyrinth of this harsh world, wherein he was a misfit.
I lost the reason of my survival when he lost his battle of life. He went adrift in the maze of the vast expanse, up there in the heavens. Beyond my reach, beyond everyone’s reach. Perhaps, we, his daughters were the reason of his premature demise. Because he knew, his daughters were like him, insanely emotional, absolutely misfit in this dark devil world.
It’s been twenty years since I’ve not celebrated Christmas. But every night, in my Colosseum dreams, I try hard to catch hold of Santa Claus of my life who wears white Indian clothes and carries a bag full of happiness. I try my best to find him in spite of those beguiling, deceptive aisles, hazy lights and acute disappointment at the end. Hoping against hope, I’m sure of his retreat, though don’t know how.
Today, 20th December is my father’s 20th death anniversary. Will Santa be back again this Christmas with my happiness?
I miss you Santa Claus! Missing you Papa! :'(
Featured Image courtesy: coffeetimeromance.com
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Very heartfelt writing.