Anagha Subhash Nair (17)
Letter from an unborn daughter
Dear father,
We’re one day closer to the day you’ll first hold me in your arms, breathing in my milky scent and enveloping me in your love. Or so I hope. I hope we’re not a day closer to you slipping a wad of cash into the doctor’s hand, taking away the life I never lived, killing the dreams as unborn as I am.
I can’t wait to see you, father. And mother too, of course. But I’ve been holding secret conversations with mother even before she mustered up the courage to tell you about me. She knows my fear, for she felt it too, once upon a time. And she tells me every day that she’s disappointed at how things haven’t changed even after twenty-five years.
I’m excited to see the world and its wonders. I can’t wait to wear pretty dresses and be the apple of yours and mother’s eye. I know you don’t like dresses, but I promise you that you’ll wonder why when you see me in one. I can’t wait to stumble and fall, finally taking my first steps into your proud embrace. I can’t wait to experience the pains of growing up, of discovering a realm I’ll keep under lock and key until I finally grow up enough to let it you in, only to realise you’ve been with me all along. I can’t wait to have my heart broken, simply because I will have been lucky enough to fall in love. I can’t wait to spend sleepless nights studying, driven by goals as distant as you seem to me right now. I can’t wait to be the one you lean on in times of distress and despair, because I promise you that I will always be there when you need me. I know you wanted a son, but please give me a chance to show you that I can be as good as one—perhaps, even better.
Father, I hope you see me as worthy of survival. Each second paints another nuance of my character, and each step that mother takes is testimony to the pains she’s undergone to bear with my fantasies—encourage them, even. I hope you believe in me as much as I believe in myself. I will do you proud, and I promise you that one day, you will look back at the crossroads you stand at now and smile at yourself for having made the better choice. I dream of walking into an unbiased world, where every girl is given an opportunity, where every female voice is as loud as those of her male counterparts, where every bride is given the freedom to choose her own groom, and where every mother is given credit for her hardships. I know this may sound far-fetched, but this is your chance, father, to take a step in that direction. It’s not impossible. The world needs girls like me to unleash their hidden potential, and I can’t do that unless you let me. And of the many requests I will make to you during the course of our life together, here’s the first—let me live.
Yours lovingly,
Your unborn daughter
Anagha Subhash is a 17-year-old student of Chinmaya International Residential School, Coimbatore. She is currently in the second year of her IB Diploma Programme. She is an avid reader and enjoys expressing her views on a vast multitude of topics. She has been certified as a Competent Communicator by Toastmasters International and is a member of her school’s “Creative Writing” website’s editorial team. Anagha is a competent swimmer and athlete as well. She aspires to be a travel journalist and dreams of travelling the world someday.
Letter from an unborn daughter
Dear father,
We’re one day closer to the day you’ll first hold me in your arms, breathing in my milky scent and enveloping me in your love. Or so I hope. I hope we’re not a day closer to you slipping a wad of cash into the doctor’s hand, taking away the life I never lived, killing the dreams as unborn as I am.
I can’t wait to see you, father. And mother too, of course. But I’ve been holding secret conversations with mother even before she mustered up the courage to tell you about me. She knows my fear, for she felt it too, once upon a time. And she tells me every day that she’s disappointed at how things haven’t changed even after twenty-five years.
I’m excited to see the world and its wonders. I can’t wait to wear pretty dresses and be the apple of yours and mother’s eye. I know you don’t like dresses, but I promise you that you’ll wonder why when you see me in one. I can’t wait to stumble and fall, finally taking my first steps into your proud embrace. I can’t wait to experience the pains of growing up, of discovering a realm I’ll keep under lock and key until I finally grow up enough to let it you in, only to realise you’ve been with me all along. I can’t wait to have my heart broken, simply because I will have been lucky enough to fall in love. I can’t wait to spend sleepless nights studying, driven by goals as distant as you seem to me right now. I can’t wait to be the one you lean on in times of distress and despair, because I promise you that I will always be there when you need me. I know you wanted a son, but please give me a chance to show you that I can be as good as one—perhaps, even better.
Father, I hope you see me as worthy of survival. Each second paints another nuance of my character, and each step that mother takes is testimony to the pains she’s undergone to bear with my fantasies—encourage them, even. I hope you believe in me as much as I believe in myself. I will do you proud, and I promise you that one day, you will look back at the crossroads you stand at now and smile at yourself for having made the better choice. I dream of walking into an unbiased world, where every girl is given an opportunity, where every female voice is as loud as those of her male counterparts, where every bride is given the freedom to choose her own groom, and where every mother is given credit for her hardships. I know this may sound far-fetched, but this is your chance, father, to take a step in that direction. It’s not impossible. The world needs girls like me to unleash their hidden potential, and I can’t do that unless you let me. And of the many requests I will make to you during the course of our life together, here’s the first—let me live.
Yours lovingly,
Your unborn daughter
Anagha Subhash is a 17-year-old student of Chinmaya International Residential School, Coimbatore. She is currently in the second year of her IB Diploma Programme. She is an avid reader and enjoys expressing her views on a vast multitude of topics. She has been certified as a Competent Communicator by Toastmasters International and is a member of her school’s “Creative Writing” website’s editorial team. Anagha is a competent swimmer and athlete as well. She aspires to be a travel journalist and dreams of travelling the world someday.
