Letters to Duggu…Part 8

Duggu,

Happy Birthday.

I don’t really know how to start this without sounding heavier than I already feel, but here we are. Today feels strange. Heavy. Maybe because it’s the first time since 2008 that we are not meeting, or talking, or pretending to fight about what cake to buy. And the silence feels louder than any argument we ever had.

I wanted to tell you something, though. A few weeks ago, I cycled up to Khardung La. Yes, Khardung La by cycle is done and dusted. It was brutal. I cursed the road, the altitude, and my own legs. I cursed you too, for that voice in my head that always said, ‘Come on, you’re capable of pulling off this shit.’ And maybe because of that voice, I didn’t quit.

I also ran a half-marathon in Leh. Not pretty, not fast, but I finished.

And now, well, I have decided to go completely mad. A total nutcase. I have decided to do the most delusional things of all. I am going to build a 1000 crore business by 2035. Yes, you read that right. 1000 crore. Me. The man who used to forget to buy groceries even when you reminded me twice. The man who left the lights on in every room. That man.

I know it sounds impossible. It probably is. But I have made peace with being the sort of idiot who chases things too big for him. Because you always said I could. You said it like it was obvious, like it was just a fact about me I was too stupid to accept. So I am going to try. And honestly, I don’t know how, and I am yet to come up with a plan.

I don’t know what you are doing today. Maybe you are surrounded by people, maybe you are hiding from them. I hope someone brings you flowers and a good chocolate cake, even though in your head, you will complain about how stupid the cake is because it won’t be the chocolate cake from Wenger’s.

I miss you. More like how you miss a habit you can’t unlearn. Like forgetting your keys on the counter. Like checking the lock twice, even though you know you have turned it already. That’s the kind of missing you are now.

So yes, life is becoming heavy and lonely. But I am still moving. Still running. Still cycling. Still writing these stupid letters you will never read. Still carrying you in the background of everything, like an old song stuck in the mind.

Take care, Duggu. And if you ever think of me today, let it not be with anger. Let it be with the faint amusement of someone shaking her head at a man too stubborn to stop believing he can do the impossible things.

Always,

~ A

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This post was previously published on medium.com.