Remembering you, Daddyji

Dear Daddyji,
Namaste!
I genuinely hope you're doing good. It's been four years now. You must be a three-year-old motu baby by now. I wonder, a girl or a boy.

I'm sure you annoy your mommy a lot. You used to annoy Badima a lot, remember? She misses those silly little fights with you. You always wanted to watch a news channel, and she always had all the babajis in the world shouting at the top of their voices on your T.V. who'd say "chhodo ye moh-maya. iss jagat mein kya rakkha hai??" and how you'd love to switch to "jaaniye humse iss duniya ki saari khabarein, sabse pehle, sabse tez!!" Then, she'd always want the A.C. on for the entire night, and you'd fight for the remote control when you'd feel cold at night. Badima would shout back throwing a sheet at you and your cute little feet would struggle opening it the whole night. Remember?

I hope you don't fuss much about eating food. You were very fond of junk food. Samosas, Dal ke laddoo, gulab jamuns. Your all-time favorite. You never liked the normal sabji-roti and all that. You were diabetic, sadly. But I wonder if it was all that sad for you, because you always made your way to them. Slowing dragging the plate on the dining table towards you. Then you'd break a tiny piece from the biggest piece. You'd later grab it all in your hands, excusing yourself "itne se kya ho jaayega??" Such a baby you were, always!

I'm sure you love to love everyone around you. And you love to be loved. I'm sure you never cry when a stranger picks you up. I know you love to be pampered. And I know you can only love people in turn. You've always loved us. Whenever there was Mumma scolding us for anything, we always knew you'd be the safest shelter. Your laps were our softest pillows. Your letting us comb your scanty hair, made us feel proud hair-dressers. How you'd just sit smiling with 2 cute pony-tails, with both your hands folded, nicely resting on your every-bulging tummy.

I can also guess that you'd grow up to be strong, hard-working, intelligent, and a patient man. You had brought up your younger siblings like your own children, at such a young age. Taking care of their needs, you did all you could for each one of them, knowing you had no inherited-wealth to support you and your family after you lost everything there in Lahore. All you had with you was your packet of all your degrees, and your zeal to live life with a high head, giving it all it could ask of you, as a mere metric-pass student. Working hard and struggling to settle here in India only made you even stronger. The head remained high to know you'd given birth to a son, whose as zealous as you, as hard-working as you, and as tender-heartened as you. You've hence been a proud father, my father has made sure never to let you down.

Your qualities are the wealth we inherit, more than anything else Daddy. We feel proud of you and everything in you.

We miss you.

We hope that you get all you desire and deserve in this life. We hope you always see the best in this world. We hope you're happy, always.