I had just been bereaved of my beloved father. I could see no future. All I could hear around me were cries, and then more of those mourning, sobbing and crying. My life in a moment was pushed into a gulf of darkness which simply didn’t seem to end. Every time I would even try to shut my eyes, I would end up into tears. That was the worst I had been through.

To calm down my Maa, I told her, “Your son is right here and he will not give you a chance to complain.” I added that “I will become the best person that papa wanted me to become, and I will become very successful.” I did utter those words. But, from within I didn’t know if it was ever going to happen.

I was afraid for the first time. There had been times when I felt like I was afraid or doomed. But, all of those petty instances of my life seemed puny and tiny in front of this mammoth pain that had hit my mother and me. Saying those words was not easy for me, as my shield, my hero was not around anymore.

That was a day. That was 24th of June 2014.

On 11th of August 2014 I joined college, and a new chapter of my life had begun. I was still struggling to move on from the appalling tragedy that had lambasted over us. Almost every day I would cry when alone, and I would try to talk to him in my mind, but to no avail. For some reason, I just had this feeling that he may not be physically around, but is still present with me every single minute.

So, I kept asking him questions that were bothering me. I would write my thoughts, problems and issues. I would read them to my father. I was simply not ready to accept that my father was going to leave me just like that. I just kept telling myself that maybe his soul is lost in this world, but will come back to me as soon as he finds me, and then he will answer my queries and help me find ways to extrude out the affliction that was bringing me down every now and then.

So, days kept passing as I kept writing down my thoughts and reading them to my Papa almost every day. The tears which used to roll down my eyes back then had begun to cease now. But, the internal pain was still not giving me a way to move ahead. Every passing day my wait for my father’s reply was only increasing day after another.

I wanted him to show me the path which I should follow. I wanted him to guide me about what is most important for me to do. I wanted him to tell me how I could keep Maa the happiest. I wanted him to tell me all that he wanted me to become and achieve, so that I can move on that path.

About two months later, I had begun to calm and the pain was also deviating. I was much more focused on my life and studies. I was taking steps to improve my speaking skills, technical and programming knowhow and much more. Owing to the recent habit of writing I had also begun a blog where I would write articles of sundry topics.

I was moving ahead in life. Then, one day I observed something. Something that amazed me. My handwriting was no more what it used to be almost 2-3 months earlier. It had completely changed. It was my father’s handwriting. I know that this may sound surreal to the reader, but this is the truth that changed my life. So, while it may sound like a lie to the reader, its my truth, my power.

I observed that I had begun to write in the same hand writing that my father used to practice. I felt that my father had come back to me and he was answering all my questions and problems with words that come out of my own hands. I had been wondering for quite a few days, why do I always feel an urge to write all the time, and then I realized that it was my father who wished to talk to me using my words, pen and paper as a medium.

And, that’s how I kept falling in love with writing, and every passing day my father has driven me into directions and avenues that I am ever grateful for. This habit of writing that brought back my father to me and has become the root cause for everything good that has happened in my life since that day of June.

My father and I still talk the same way. I feel that all the thoughts that I write or type out today are a direct narrative of whatever my father wishes to convey to me. And, that’s why I believe that every time I write, I have a smiling face, and am always brimming with excitement, joy and thrill. I never know about the very next sentence that I am just about to type. It just comes out as I type. For, me it’s the words of my father, and its empowering for me.

It is because of this reincarnation of my father in the form of this inanimate habit of writing that it has become my priority and my passion. It has become the most loved thing that I do every day of my life, doesn’t matters even if I have an exam the next day which I am totally unprepared for like tomorrow when I have my MBSD semester examination.

My writing is the essence of my father that I am never going to let go off, as it is this great thing that has brought me back my beloved father from the dead.

That’s the greatest truth of my life. And, that keeps me writing.