I walk into the sea

Dearest D,

I write to you with such mixed emotions. On one hand I want to acknowledge your importance in my life for the last 20 years and on the other I just want to apologize for the state you are in today. I know it probably wasn’t my fault but somehow it was my responsibility to ensure that you are cared for, after Dad gave you to me.

I distinctly remember the day Dad had got you home from the showroom. Mom and I were restlessly waiting on the terrace for you to arrive in our lives, though for entirely different reasons! Arrive you did and with such aplomb! Your beautiful shiny red exterior was only a fraction of what you would come to hold inside you, in the years to come. Countless arguments, my favourite songs, apprehensions about a new place, eagerness of a new adventure, ice cold silences and a lifetime full of laughter – everything I feel and I know, is still trapped inside you.

Everyone needs a witness to their lives – to remember what you forget and to remind where you came from. You have been a witness to my life and a companion too. No matter where we went, you came with us. You have seen me from the time I would lie down straight on the rear seat and sleep (which, well, I still can!), to the time when I learnt to drive you and now, when I can understand every pulse of you. They called you small, delicate and a pushover. But nobody saw the spirit and the nerves of steel that you possess. Through thick forests, dangerous turns, dense fog, miles and miles of heated road, merciless showers and hours of non-stop travel – you strode through everything without once letting us down. If there was any surety in the world, it was you.

I had been thinking of expressing my love for you for many days. I kept telling myself that I’d do it the day you turn 20 (on 27^th Aug, to be precise). But as is human nature, it is only a tragedy that shakes you out of your stupor and hits you in the face. Maybe we deserve that too. So, today, when you have taken such a bad hit and somehow, still saved me from harm, I want to thank you for being there. I have never had a permanent home but you are the closest to that. You’ll probably recover from this but I know I can never replace Dad. And I don’t want to.

In the name of everything that is precious to us, I ask you to hang on for just a little while longer. No matter how many better cars come and go in our lives, you’ll always be me and my family’s favourite car in the world.

Love,
L.