Father and Daughter!

I sat there holding my drink. My legs hung between the railings from the 12th of a 16 storey apartment. In the backdrop of a city with all the glitterati, lay a few common men who embraced night as it came. I pulled the glass close to my mouth and inverted it all at once. It was time for the next drink. I made my way inside the 3BHK flat which was as lavish and spacious as you'd get in this city. Before I made myself the drink, I swiftly checked upon my 6 year old daughter if she was well asleep and comfortable. She had finally slept. I took her small little hands in mine and kissed them.


My eyes, flooded, glistened as I immediately rushed to the balcony. My legs hung and a shimmer of the city to my company again.

Myra, my daughter was running high fever when she returned from school today. It sent shivers down my spine as mercury in the thermometer rose up to indicate 103 on the scale. Worse was the conversation that followed, something I had avoided all these years.

"Daddy, who is my mamma, where is she?"

"Myra?"

"Tell me Daddy, where does she live?"

She had always been an obedient daughter but today was something different. I looked into her eyes and at that very instant I knew I'd be drinking tonight. I was blankly staring at her when she shot a few more of those.

"How does she look like? Does she know me? Does she live far off from here?"

I had no answers. Today, I even failed to make her eat one bit. Very reluctantly and perhaps too hit by fever, she agreed to her father asking to take medicines. Moments after I put her to bed, I felt a sensation on my lap. I turned my gaze and it was Myra, completely drenched in tears, "Is she my mamma, Daddy?", she pointed towards the laptop screen. I went lifeless for an instant.

"Happy Mother's day Daddy". The root cause of her illness was unearthed. And for the first time, Myra saw her Daddy crying as I pulled her close to my chest. I hugged her, almost forever. She was all the life I had.

"They said their Mamma make them food and go shopping with them and take them to fairs and give them sarees to wear and dress them up like princess and hand them the cosmetics and wash their hands before having food," she continued with those as long as her breath allowed. Each part of the sentence killed me. My little angel had her first encounter with the bitter reality.

My drink proved no help today. Each time I saw Myra, I could see Aisha, my wife, who left me to give our Myra. Aisha was my queen and Myra, my princess. Today she slept crying and looks like I would too, as her words reverberate in my head.

"Happy Mother's day Daddy."