For what I am today, daddy, I owe you everything. My education, manners, my nature and my entire life. If there is anything in this world I could do to repay you, it could be only through my love.

“I love you the most, Daddy” I wrote in my diary.

Every new relationship has something in the offering. Human mind races towards such relationships. After all, we live and lead our life, loving and wanting to be loved. And we never foresee the impending disasters cos of our choice that’ll break ‘em down forever.

Two relationships have changed the face of my life.

Girls are always attached to their dads. I am one typical example. From the faintest memories I could recollect, I remember being clutched to his chest with his arms as my cradle. I played with his hairs and his spectacles, occasionally would slap across his cheeks with those little fingers of mine or kick in his belly only to see him smile.

I never remember him raising his hand against me for any possible reason. That day when he was hammering a nail into the wall when I scared him from behind, he accidentally hurt his thumb which bled profusely, made me cry. As my mom dressed his wound, I looked from behind the curtains when he beckoned me and made me sit on his lap, wiping the tears off my rosy cheeks, I knew nothing more in this world can be a substitute for his love towards me.

The day when I contracted the contagious chicken pox as a kid, I still remember him sitting next to me spending all those sleepless nights just to see that I was comfortable and unafraid of being alone.

All those days when I clutched to him from the rear on his scooter as he drove me to school, all those days when he fed me with his hands when I wouldn’t eat even as my mom gave up on my tomboyishness, and all those days of joy, anger, gloom and other emotions for which he always bore the brunt, and all those days when he danced with me shaking his old bones for the contentment of his daughter, they are priceless. Lucky am I to be born to him, the exemplar of a parent.

I love you the most daddy. For me, the word daddy isn’t just a word. It’s a soul that constantly cared and loved me from the minute I started to breathe.

And then it was him, Sanjeev. I met him during my post graduation. Acquaintance developed into friendship and finally into love. If anyone could love me as much as my dad, it was him alone.

Though I may not give a proper reason for loving Sanjeev, but if love happens without a reason or a condition, I know I loved him.
Knowing my dad and that he would respect my choicest guy, I promised to marry Sanjeev. We dreamt of a beautiful life ahead of us. I considered myself lucky to be loved by two men. But happiness is always transient.

The man whom I’ve always admired in my life and towards whom my love was unrelenting, dint approve me of my love. He spoke of various socioeconomic and psychological factors though convincingly.

Momma who loved me equally well, seemed to infuse the same more effectively, “You are hurting daddy a lot. His love for you is keeping him mum. Daddy has been taking care of you for a long time. He knows whats good for you. Forget Sanjeev.”

It was hard for me to understand why he stood firmly on his ground. Later on, in Momma’s words, I came to know that Sanjeev’s parents weren’t interested in our marriage. Daddy was such a gentleman that he even tried to convince them but to no avail. And now, he doesn’t want me to walk into a home that’s unwelcoming me.

The fact that Daddy was being hurt ‘cos of me, pained me. ‘Hurting daddy?’ momma’s voice echoed in my mind. I could do anything for his happiness. Anything. Couldn’t I?

But the damage was already done. I’ve been so much attached to Sanjeev, in fact addicted to him. The very thought of being separated from him made me cry, something to which I was never introduced. The pain was inexplicable cos it was happening for the first time.

Nothing else mattered. If it rained, or the sun shone or the tide gushed, I was surrounded by vast emptiness. I spent most of my time in the bedroom. Lost in his thoughts. I looked at the teddy bear that ridiculed my loneliness. The chocolate wrappers that I’d treasured crinkled ballads of bereavement. The tree that blossomed love will remain bereft of it forever. The footprints of his love on the sands of time will be erased. The air that was filled with the fragrance of his love is now jejune.

But even in those days of pain, my dad stood by my side.

Sanjeev loved his parents too. But he too was emotionally attached to me. And it was equally difficult for him.

“How am I supposed to live without you if you leave me? I tried to wipe the tears off your beautiful cheeks and wanted to share your happiness but I dint know that I was thrusting a knife deep into my heart. I am deeply wounded and I will continue to walk in those thoughts still bleeding. My heart’s weeping for you. But you can’t see it. My soul bellows your name. But you can’t hear it...,” he cried over the phone.

“I may be healed one day. One day, I will forget everything. The reason, He gives us a heart with a memory and memories are lost in time, people call it healing. But I wish I were never healed for I don’t want my greatest feeling of love to be lost in that process of healing,” and he started weeping bitterly.

And finally the time’s come for me to make a choice. The choice that I am going to make will devastate one of them.

I never questioned the credibility of my dad’s effort to convince Sanjeev’s parents, I never asked Sanjeev too. Even if it were false, I never wanted my daddy to feel embarrassed infront of me, atleast.

I suffered in pain mutely. Occasionally, dad would inquire, but a smile across my face would put him away for the time being.

Sanjeev was broken. He was given no choice but accept.

I opened my diary and wrote.

‘I love Sanjeev. I like the way he talks to me. I like the fact that when he says something he really means it. I like the fact that I can tell when he’s teasing or telling the truth…’ I quoted Gabby from ‘The choice’ in my own words.

He was some one with whom I was most comfortable with. His memories, his words invaded my thoughts reminiscing that he’s been never separated from me. He wasn’t a memory to be erased. He wasn’t a part of my life to be dumped. He was my life. He was me.

Days, weeks, months and perhaps years later, there won’t be a passing moment without me thinking of him.

One day, I called him over the mobile. “Sanjeev, Can I walk with you to all the places we have been to, for one last time,” I said in a quivering voice.

I opened the last page of my diary again and “I love you the most, Sanju…” I rewrote.