Dad, I wish you were poor...

Dear Dad,

I remember; I was about 3 years old when you were working in a factory in the town. We were living in the city outskirts: the place that connected fields of the village with the buildings of the town. There was a stream near our one-room house where mom would wash clothes and vessels and another branch of an unknown river where you would take me, sometimes on your shoulders and sometimes on your back every Sunday to bathe, to swim, to have fun. I would wait for you every evening, for you would bring me some small surprises – a balloon, a cotton candy, a thumb-sized plastic doll, a bubble maker and so on. At night, you would tell me a new story making your arm my pillow. Every story had a princess. Every princess in the stories was me!

Dad, I wish you were poor like that even now.

My memory is so vivid; I was 5-years old. We shifted to the town. I had seen only my friend’s house with a separate room to cook, to live and to sleep. Now, even we had such a big house. There was a blue bike parked in front of our house. You had lifted me in your arms, made me sit on that and said ‘Let’s go on a jolly ride!’ I was so excited to know it was ours! When I woke up the next day, you were not in the house and mom told me that you had gone to your new office. I was waiting for you in the evening expecting a surprise to tell you about a new friend I had got and the games we had played. The evening became dusk. Poor dusk soon turned into night. I was almost sleeping when mom sensed the sound of a jeep, your company vehicle dropping you. You kissed on my forehead; I was sleepy and you were tired. I don’t know if princesses in the story had also slept. The next day, mom convinced me that you were working so hard for us and it takes time as your office jeep has to drop other people before you. But the days were still happy. You would take me on your bike outside every Sunday to a water park, to a movie, to an ice cream parlour and so on. And every Sunday was like Sundae, so sweet and melted so soon. I was wishing, how wonderful if calendars had only Sundays!

Dad, I wish you were poor.

One day, you came home early, closed my eyes from behind. I sensed it was you, but the surprise you brought was beyond my imagination. When you opened my eyes in the courtyard, there was a red car standing! More than the excitement of going in the car, I was happy thinking that you would come early from your office every day. And you did, for some days. But my happiness didn’t last for long. Life kept on moving from satisfaction to comforts, comforts to luxury. We moved to our own new house. A separate bedroom with a soft pillow on the bed, a small swimming pool in the backyard, a room with a big screen for watching movies. The house had everything, except you. You moved to a different place for your job. My evenings lost their excitement and my nights lost their imaginations.

Dad, I wish you were poor, not to go so far. I wish I remained innocent, not to understand all these.

No car could ever give the luxury of the ride on your shoulders and back. No pillow could ever put me to sleep as softly as your arm. I don’t know where princesses got lost in theatres. Water in the swimming pool had no life like the flowing river you used to take me to. Now, unfortunately, I have grown up. I know you can’t give me the same ride on your shoulders; you can’t surprise me every evening. I am happy that you did whatever any loving father could do. Nevertheless, like other fathers, even you could not escape the wrong calls of life. Merciless time did its job. You kept moving on. As I grew up, you kept giving me what you wanted to give, not what I needed to receive. When I look back, sometimes..

I wish you were poor.