An Artist Died In Me But I am Proud To Be A Doctor, Papa

An Artist Died In Me But I am Proud To Be A Doctor, Papa

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Dear Mama & Papa,

You keep asking me why am I looking glum and why are there bags under my eyes and I keep telling you it’s because of the stress of studies. And you believe me every time. When I mention my studies, a part of me dies. Sometimes, I really want to come forward with my honest feelings and tell you the truth sitting down calmly next to you but, most of the times, I really want to scream out my frustration, curse, scream more and then break down in a sobbing mess.

To keep your dreams alive, I choked mine to death! Remember when Dad got me a doctor set as a present for taking the 1st position in exams? How proud you were, mama, when I injected Papa with a water-filled syringe to ease down the pain he faked for my sake? How did you both laugh when I twirled around in Papa’s oversized lab-coat and announced ‘I will be a doctor just like papa one day so I can save lives!” with sheer gusto? Of course, you would remember that day! Isn’t that the day you decided my future?

But then you won’t possibly remember that day when I was gifted an art set by a relative and mama made a sour face and asked what use can it be when I am not interested in art?  I ruined our home’s walls with paint and Mama was so furious that she wasted no time to throw the art set away as Papa shielded me from her wrath.



Again, you don’t remember it, right? But here’s a portion from the part of the truth, that day (and as shameless I might sound) I decided my future.

Mama, you kept asking me why I was crying at the day I was handed my diploma. So here’s another portion from the part of the truth: They weren’t tears of joy. They were tears of relief, the relief that somehow I saved my parents from shame. Now that I wonder, what shame?

“Beta aise Abu ko naraz nhi karte. Izzat ka sawal hai, dekho tumhary abbu doctor hayn aur inho ne sab ko bataya hai ke in ke beti bhi medical ke liye apply kare gy. Aisi batein mat karo, ye art ameero ke liye hai hum middle-class logo ke liye nae. Izzat dar larkiyaa medical parhte hayn, shukar karo tumhary marks ache ae warna tumhy engineering me apply karna parhta.”

And then I remember your words, Mama. I am no one to complain, my dearest parents. I love you despite everything. Despite the beatings you gave me when I refused to go to college, Mama. Despite the bitter words you threw at me for wasting your money, Papa. Don’t ask me to forgive you when I haven’t ever held a grudge against you. I don’t know what you keep apologizing for when you see me every time. I am fine and still living. And breathing. Please don’t cry. It’s okay, your dream made me stand where I am today.

But to be honest, I don’t know why my eyes moisten when I listen to the other children’s dreams and see how they are so determined to fulfill it. This little’s too big. It hurts, it aches but I am fine. Living & Breathing.

It’s fine really ( see how I keep assuring you but in reality, I am assuring myself) at least I am living my parent’s dream and parent’s know exactly what is best for their child..after all.

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