Page 13 - You Only Live Once [BooksLD]

How would you define ‘long’ in your life? Let us begin with the longest
night of your life. When was it? Was it when you had your board exam the
next day? Or was it the one when you could not get up because you had

partied too hard the night before? Or was it when you dreamt about the love
of your life all night?
About meeting them, finally.

How do you define long moments? Would it be in hours, or minutes?
Would it be days and days? Months, maybe?
Whatever it may be, long would mean something for you too. For me,

‘long’ has been as long as the day I was born, and might stretch to the day
when I take my last breath. Yes, that is how long it’s going to be, the
longing to meet my mother, touch her, know her, embrace her, and never let
her go.
All through my life, I kept asking Dad, ‘What happened to her?’ A child

without a mother always feels incomplete. It’s his unwillingness and
reluctance to find her that has ruined my life in several ways.
Living with him is like clinging to a damaged arm. At times, I become

the worst version of me. The fascination to not let go is huge, but the perks
of actually doing it would be amazing. I find it difficult to imagine my life
without him only until I am with him. If I let him go once and for all, I
should be able to move on.
But as I grow older, I hope that someday I will be able to forgive him.

A few years back, I found a box full of my mother’s unreleased songs in
the attic. She was a singer and songwriter. Back in the 90s, she played at
The Hippie Trail in Goa and tourists from across the world came to watch

her perform live. I carry this box with me. Within me, it’s a box full of
questions gaining weight every passing day as new questions get added to
it.
Where did she disappear? Did she not love me ever?

My dad had moved on long back. It has been 22 years since she left us. I
can calculate it exactly as I dress up in a red evening gown to attend his
21st wedding anniversary with Irena, my step mother. I could never gather
the courage to ask whether it was planned or by accident that my father

decided to tie the knot exactly a year after my mother went missing, on 1
November 1998. He married Irena in Czech Republic. I have been
struggling to establish a sense of belongingness with the country since then.