I tried remembering you today but somewhere down the reminisce, I lost track of your facial creases and the shape of your nose. Your hair came perfect along with your mouth. But no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t make a curve. I couldn’t give you a smile to that mouth - even in my head.

There’s a storm outside today, and a man outside is stuck in his car – calling someone, time and again. He is too close to my window and he is shouting. It’s his son’s birthday. Let him be. I am busy remembering you.

Tonight, when the storm ends finally, I’ll probably want your hands on my head again – Like the time you did when I was awake till 4. It put me to sleep.

I live with utmost freedom – in a room where I keep my clothes on my bed and food on the floor. There’s loud music all the time. I bring some girls home at night from the pub - I am glad you are not here. I smoke and tap the ashes wherever I like.

I want you to yell at me still.

Mom sends your pictures sometimes.
She thinks I will forget you
And I shouldn’t forget my father.
Sometimes, I think she is right to worry.

These days, I am at a loss that I don’t recall your voice anymore. I try imitating with a fake baritone but it never matches the frequency right. Maybe your voice would have changed by now, I convince myself. Maybe when I grow older, I will develop the baritone like you.
Maybe they should have had gramophones, and mom should have sent it to me along with your pictures.

The storm isn’t stopping. I am going to let the man stay here for the night. Now don’t yell at me for trusting strangers. I am going to record his voice on that phone of his and gift it to his son.

I believe he will have just the right words, like you always did.
Like every father does.