There is nothing wrong in hoping, maybe someday, the creator of all, rethinks to edit the final cut! I have lived like this, so far. Pandemic had just hit, and the world was in disbelief and was declining the facts which turned out to be a fatal reality soon. Amidst all this, I was following my passion with just a 3 ply mask to encounter the devil. A microphone and my camera person, we were doing ground reporting. Many lost their jobs, and the news of fraudulent calls took pace. We covered a bit, but COVID-19 was the all time big.

I opened the envelope and slid out the letter, read it and put it back on the fridge, where it was lying earlier. The letter was wrongly delivered at our home and myself being a child of 12 years was curious to read and so I indulged. After I finished reading, I also wrote a reply, took it with me to school and asked my school peon to post it for me, to the address mentioned on the wrongly delivered letter. To my surprise, a reply arrived! Yes, I did write the reply again, and received another also. This continued for some 2 years and then suddenly the replies from the other side were abandoned. I didn’t bother and continued to write replies on every Friday to the never received replies for the next many years to come, with the thought, maybe someday. I am not sure why, but I enjoyed writing, looking for new ways to improve and then reading them as if I have received them from the other end and then again writing a reply, to complete the circle.

One day, when I was covering on COVID-19, I got a call and rushed home. Papa was sitting on the sofa with his head held in palms. We have been looted of a huge amount, just a call and then a sms, mom said in my ear. I didn’t say anything and let the tide settle back. It was a Friday, I had to write a reply, went to my room, arranged my table and held the pen.

He was a retired soldier, and did not let any situation took over him, discipline never left him, while standing straight, he always had a solution for almost everything and, If he didn’t, he would just raise his hand towards the sky and smile, but this time I have seen him spending many sleepless nights. While working late nights, I peeped into his room and saw him gazing at his bank pass book for hours. I was asking myself if he was down with courage, is he ok? The man who raised me was silent for more than 2 weeks. My courage roots from him, so it was passively affecting me, where is my soldier?

I decided to stay with family and started working remotely as a content writer for many technical websites before I started working with Deasilex. While working late nights, I thought to create a journal of all the works I have undertaken, as a part of this job, I started collecting letters to the unknown, some of them were still on paper, so while digitizing, I got to read them again, it took me to the journey of my own faded thoughts. One night while ruffling through those pieces of papers, for the next 4 hours, I lost the moment I was living in and laughed. The courage, the hope, the optimism, the belief in almighty, the appeal towards positivity in all those papers, startled me. I have written them, I told myself, this is what I have earned, this is what makes and defines me, this is what is living in me and this cant be taken away, this is the portion of me lying on pieces of papers, my deja vu journey came to an end with the sound of the door opening to terrace, papa must have gone for a smoke, I saw the clouds of smoke from my window. I quickly went to his room to check his bank passbook and balance amount after the loot. I pulled it out from underneath his pillow and opened it. There was a family photograph in it from one of my birthdays, in which me and Papa were laughing with mouths wide open. I wrote another letter to the never received reply, maybe someday!