Loving Mama and Papa,

Salam!

The three of us are doing well, and I’m sure the two of you are great too. It’s been a few days since I have spoken to both of you, or even heard your voice. Some days ago, I had photographed a few pictures for the two of you, I thought of attaching them to this letter that I’m sending you. Every so often, I wish I could somehow meet both of you, but since that isn’t possible, I find solace in making myself happy by looking at the things you left behind. I remember how the two of you took care of your belongings, but don’t worry I am here to look after them now. Papa, do you remember the Kodak camera that you had gifted to bhai? I still keep it in my drawer, right besides Mama’s wallet. Every time I look at it, I reminisce about the time you photographed me with that same camera when I lost my first tooth. I also remember how hot it was that day.

This year in January it was my friend’s wedding. I wore your saree Mama, and everyone complimented me, telling me I looked just like you. It made me feel so good. You probably remember, ever since I was a child, I would fondly wear your sarees. Sometimes I’d drape your dupatta around me as if it were a saree, and you would scold me for doing so. Even now whenever I think of you, I wear your saree and put on red lipstick, just as you did. I don’t think there’s ever been a day that has gone by that I haven’t thought of the two of you. Sometimes I find myself unknowingly wrapped up in your memories. Papa, do you remember the Naan Khatai that you had purchased from Karachi’s Cantt Station? I have still cherished that and kept it in a plastic bag in my cupboard. After you passed away, I didn’t eat it, nor did I let anyone else eat it. Every time I look at it, I just recall how you promised me we would have it with our chai. I often click pictures of your belongings, but I never really thought of sending them to you. You should definitely see them; it’ll bring back some good old days.

It is so strange that people pass on but leave behind so many memories and things. I usually wonder what it would be like if you two were still alive; would we be living together in Karachi? Or would you both still live in Sukkur? Wherever you both are now, what must you both be doing? I’ve questioned my siblings about this too, but no one seems to answer my questions. Anyway, I have taken quite a bit of your time. I will end this letter in the hopes [sic] that we will meet again soon.

Your daughter,

Razin.