Red Shirt

Why do I feel closer when I wear his shirt? It drowns my insecurities and makes me feel like his girl. Away from all the pain. It doesn’t fit me. Its very loose and comes down to my thighs. It is faded red in colour but not in memories. The smell of him has dried up with changing seasons but I can’t find it in my heart to throw it away. It’s common to see a girl wear her mother’s wedding dress or saree but I love wearing my dad’s red shirt. It makes me feel that only miles are between us but I know we are in each other’s thoughts day to day.

Part of my existence and making my every day worth the pain just to hear his voice melt my sorrows away.

Maybe it’s a fact that I still enjoy slipping into his shoes with his helmet and his heavy backpack over my shoulders. Imagine a 20 year girl doing it. Ironic but it makes me feel special. I probably will continue to do it no matter what. I remember how my dad used to comb my hair and do his famous snake bindi on my forehead. From teaching me how to tie my shoes laces to teaching me to riding his motar bike. Sometimes I wish I was a little girl who used to sit with her father on the tank and go on exploring wilderness of night life. But those days are gone as his bike is broke. I more I get old the more I miss my childhood.

The sound of his horn makes me rush towards the gate to welcome him with a smiling face. No matter how tired the day was he gives me that smile which I long for everyday.

When I come home he makes sure I don’t travel back alone. He says I should be a independent woman traveling home but when I go back from home he doesn’t let me travel alone. He says I am his princess. He has to travel 48 hours continuous and even goes back to work the very next day. I know his age and health doesn’t cooporative with him but I can’t see him worried.

We are a different type of co-valent bonds. I proudly call him my Daddy. My only super hero I believe in.