Nikita Biswas
19/UMTA/103
To Amir,
They say home is where the heart is. The gnawing pain of having to let go of your home, of losing your sense of belonging to war, is unimaginable, even after what has happened in Kabul.
Does the snow in your driveway, in a land far away from your Baba's mansion, ever feel the same as it did back in Kabul, with Hassan?
What do you do, when home is a person? A full-fledged, walking embodiment of it? Worse yet, what do you do when you lose him to a dirty, politicized war?
Do you remember the fact that you and Hassan had fed from the same breast and how there is a certain kinship between such people? Under the same roof, you spoke your first words. Yours was Baba and his was your name. Amir.
How do you answer such relentless love, that transcends everything and now stands as a blatant insinuation of your pitfalls?
Hassan was everything that was missing in you. A personification of sheer innocence, that somehow made its way through all the unforgiving nights into your dreams and continued to haunt you incessantly for the rest of your life. That's the thing about such immense goodness: Every inch of it seems like a mockery of your selfishness and makes you look like a self-righteous b - - d. I can understand.
Amir, do not be under the impression that I idolise you, because then you'd be utterly disappointed. I dislike you-- for all the times you let Hassan down. For the time you intentionally read out wrong words from the Shahnama only to give him a taste of his inadequacies. Every single excruciatingly long second you spent hiding in that alley, allowing Hassan to become the currency that you used to buy your position as Baba's beloved. These are infractions for life.
Forgiveness is the greatest revenge. It was a while before I could even so much as grapple with the gravity of the statement. I know how desperately you wanted Hassan to hurl that pomegranate at you and how helplessly you sought respite. Years later, it came your way in the form of an ugly altercation with Assef to rescue Sohrab, resulting in broken ribs and torn jaws. You deserved it. And you were healed. Finally.
I can hate you all I want because somewhere deep down, there's an Amir lurking right behind the flimsy facade of my heart; that hatred seeps right back into me. At the same time, I feel glad that you found your atonement. I couldn't hold back my tears when you saved and brought Sohrab back home. Your nephew.
I truly believe that the echo of these words would continue to resonate endlessly in the empty halls of my mind, just like how I'm sure it does with you:
"For you, a thousand times over."
From,
An obsessed reader.
Awesome Nikita!