The last letter

The letter trembled in my hand, soaked at a few places. The ink was smudged here and there, but the contents of it were engraved in my memory. Each letter, each word, for I had read it a hundred times now.

‘Dear Kriti,

 I know you are never going to forgive me for this. But I couldn’t bear that hatred in your eyes. You have hated me since the day you started to make sense of the world. And I don’t blame you, because I admit that I have deserved just enough. I never valued you. For I had desired a boy, you know, to be the heir of my tattered clothes and worn out shoes. Hah!

I didn’t treat your mother well. I despised her, for she was not of our kind, much lower in rank, and I had never agreed to the marriage of your father and her. If it was not for your father’s adamancy, I would have provided you with a very beautiful mother, one worthy of our family. But your mother is not as bad as she was expected to be. She didn’t send us to an old age home, at least, for the kindness of her.

The truth is, that I never thought I would ever be able to forgive him for having brought such disgrace to the family. I may have disliked you mother and you, at first. But I started to see the change in me with time. Old age made me wiser, and I could see beyond my preconceptions. I may have been unkind to you, but my affection for you, lately, was not feigned.

I don’t intend to bore you with my blabbering, but I wish I had not committed so many unforgiveable sins that forbade you from visiting me even once, for the last time.

Lastly, the books I always locked in the closet for fear that you might pounce on them, are now freely accessible as I leave that closet unlocked for you.

I have loved you, and by god’s grace I always will, and hope that you forgive me someday, maybe till the time I return to this earth in another form.

You have made me proud, Son.

Yours (If you allow so)

Balbir Tomar’

I read it again. And I had never felt guiltier all my life. Ma repeatedly asked me to visit him at least once, papa was angry with me for being so insensitive. But I was not interested in meeting a soul so wicked to have tormented his own offspring. “People don’t change”, I had said to ma, when he had left a thousand rupee note on the table for my birthday. “Heaven knows what purpose he aims to solve with this fake generosity of his. Why, after so many years…” The words rang in my ear like the sound of an alarm clock, getting increasingly loud with every sentence, till I could take no more…

People change. I was wrong. People change with time, and for the better.

I don’t know if I will be able to forgive him, but myself-- Never.