It was my first year in primary school. Out of all my friends, I was the only one who had not watched that compulsory movie. It’s not necessary, my mother said. The second year I asked her again. She answered, it’s not necessary. The third year, I was a bit older, and I asked again, pressing for an answer. My mother still said it isn’t necessary. I got angry and demanded an explanation.
Then she told me a story, about my father. A story that made me cry at the time, although I did not know why. Maybe, maybe, maybe because I was sad of what happened to my father, what he experienced. Or maybe I was old enough to understand that we did not control our own fate. Not me, my father, not even my mother. That we could be separated at any time. Ratrikala Bhre Aditya #1965setiaphari #living1965
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