Dear Papa,

I’m not sure whether I should write this to you and nor do I trust that you will read it entirely. Yet I choose to write! I loved you for being the most handsome face I saw; the first time I opened my scared and tiny eye lids. Although I knew not the meaning of either handsome or what was meant by the word ‘man,’ I simply knew that you were different from the other angel who held me so far. I was told that I look like you; a splitting image, a sign of luck! All through crawling and waddling through school I held you as my saviour. A saviour who signed my report cards, smiled at the daily remarks that I got (mostly bad ones) from school and fighting my battles endlessly. You were too good to be true! I mean how many times will you find a parent smiling away while autographing little notes that are of no concern for a child? You were my Superman, the mighty knight saving me from the school bullies, mom’s scolding, scrapped knees, vaccinations besides the ritualistic bed time stories that I will forever cherish. It’s funny how I could never get to the end of the story that you so often read and it had to be revived over and over again in your overpowering baritone.

There are so many events etched so deeply in my memory that I have totally forgotten what it was to be your daughter. You told me to fly like you once did. I fought even the slightest thought of doing so. I refrained as I knew they didn’t make pilots like you anymore! So it was best that I dare not challenge it. Instead I poured my heart on paper; something you read so often with pride. I wasn’t sure if you were really proud or you were simply gladdening my little heart. And then after a decade or so, the dreaded thing happened. You became a father once again! This time of a bonny baby boy! The birth of a son is one that gathers unnecessary attention in Indian households. A son, the sole heir to the family name! You looked different now. You spent more time with him. The difference between us was huge; I must admit 12 years is a long time!

Gradually your cross expression became routine. It soon progressed to a sharp glance and later to this constant state of irritation that I had uncannily brought about. You hated my appearance. You groaned at my grades. There were no bed time stories as there was little time on your hands. Instead, your constant murmuring drew comparisons with an upcoming writer Soham, who as per your observation wrote far better than I did. I was simply reduced to being a loathsome drab of flesh battling hard against hypothyroidism. It was suddenly all about Soham the writer and less about me, your daughter. You also advised me to be an apprentice for all I was worth. I never told you how I felt but every time I saw your face buried in the little cherub’s tummy and your constant cooing to him, you snatched away a bit of my soul.

I told myself that I am good and that time will prove it to you. So I decided to take the final plunge. I am sure that I will make you proud someday with all the respect and adulation that has been gathered so far. Of course it is of no use to me! It could be put to use perhaps, in another life. Having finally sealed all my royalties and given them your name, I hope they will remind you of me. And yes before I take my final flight I needed to tell you something that I had not planned to, but will have to. While you were busy playing daddy dearest to my little innocent brother, devoid of all your affection, I was born again. And I gave myself a name, Soham!