A Letter to be Posted...

  

I am, at this very moment, overwhelmed with guilt, regret, and the constant torture. Such negativity of emotions is very heavy to carry. 

You, my little parrot of Mount Qaf, in whose life my life is encaged. Your connection to my soul is a mystery. You are my extension. You are all those good captions that a mother might find appealing. 

Dear Son,

Your sensitivity towards conflict is very alarming. The circulation of your blood should not allow anything to disturb it. Your brain should not allow itself to get dizzy at some rebuke. Your dainty feet and fragile heart should not tremble and panic a bit at some petty issue. You are my Salaar. Stay true to your name, which makes you a leader. A leader should not stumble, and even if he does, he carries it with grace. Let not the world see you lying half conscious. It must see you as courageous. Your mother sees in you someone audacious and fearless. My life and all the laughter of my life cannot equal the happiness I feel watching your eyes wide in some curiosity. In the same way, I felt myself half dead watching you in stress. Our equation of love cannot be explained by any logic. Such is my love for you—illogical, stereotypical, irrational, and yet it holds all the validity. 

I will definitely try to train you in such a way that in my older age, when you get to know any of my diseases, you will manage your stress and will not go blank. You would be muscular enough to hold me, and I will watch you strong. 

I never wanted to imprint any traumatic childhood memory. Today, it happened unknowingly. May you grow into a mature, wise, handsome man who would puff it off and still hold your mother as someone who tried her best to raise such a gentleman. You are the one about whom I know I would definitely feel pain until the last bone of mine would decay in the grave. 

You are special. You laid the foundation of Jannah at my feet. I hope you would forget all the flaws of my parenting and would not pass them to your kids. 

Many prayers,

Your (timid) mother.