The Old Way

"Daddy! I wore a pink frock to school today," read Nikki’s letter. Followed by a rough crayon drawing of a smiling little girl with curly hair in a pink frock.

She wrote to him often, in fewer words and elaborate drawings. Drawings of her box of crayons, her school ground, her dancing friends and the gold trophy she had won at the painting competition.

Years went by silently. Colonel Pradhan got retired and is back home now. His daughter Nikki went to London to study law. And I am where I had been all this long. On the side walk, across the Pradhan Bungalow.

"Wait for my email daddy!" was all what her last letter said. The colors were missing, the drawings were gone and I knew that something had changed.

I heard about letters being typed and emailed away. I saw Nikki growing up and going away.
My presence and aging, however, went largely unnoticed.

Yesterday was different. Colonel Pradhan was up unusually early. I saw him as he walked towards me slowly. A walking stick in one hand and a letter in another.

"Nikki! I found an old box of crayons in your drawer yesterday. And I remembered, writing a letter, the old way!" read his letter. Followed by a rough sketch of an old man with his walking stick standing besides me-an old letterbox.