Note: This is the second and concluding part of the story. Do check out the story so far in Part 1 so you are up to date :) I hear a tentative knock on the door. And then a question, softly: āBaba, are you asleep?ā āNo. Come in,ā I call out and my daughter walks in. It is late in the night. Dinner is long over. And my daughter has come to see me. My daughter, who is the most like me of my three children ā the only one I had wanted to be there when I returned home today with the auto driver, but was not there because she was visiting a friend in a different city. My daughter, who is my only true source of happiness. My daughter ā the only one who loves me for who I am, and not for the locked box I keep in the safe in my closet. My daughter, who lives with us because she has never married. She has vitiligo, you see. Sometimes I feel, I have failed her there. Because even though she has always been beautiful to me, even with the white patches ...
Seeing the extraordinary in the ordinary