Letter 97 He Wanted to Treat His Mother Like a Queen — And So Did I

 Letter 97

Date: 9th July 2025
Dear Mamma,

Yesterday, I came across a YouTube short — just about a minute long — but it shook me to my core. It was probably from a Pakistani news anchor interviewing people on the street. The question was simple: “Tell us a wish that you know can never be fulfilled.” I thought people would say things like becoming a Bollywood star or the President of the United States — and many did.

But then came a man, maybe in his late forties or early fifties, and what he said made me freeze. He said, “My biggest wish is to take care of my mother like a queen. But when she was alive, I didn’t have the means. And now, when I finally have the money, she is no longer here.” The screen cut to black with a soft, tragic sound. That moment… it stayed with me. Tears rolled down my cheeks instantly, and they haven’t really stopped since.

Because Mamma, his pain is mine too — only difference is, you’re still alive. And still, I feel like that helpless man. I am in a land that calls itself safe, but how safe is a land where I can’t have you? What kind of security is this, where the person I love most in the world is a continent away, aging without my hands there to hold hers?

I keep imagining a life that might never be mine — a simple, peaceful life where we live together under one roof. I wake up and prepare breakfast for you and Papa. I make sure the tea is exactly how you like it. Nandan and Tejas run around the house, laughing and fighting. You tell them to quiet down, but with that soft smile you always have. We go to the park in the evening, maybe stop by the sabziwala to pick some fresh bhindi or karela. We return home, and I massage your feet while you tell me how your day went. I want to take you to every doctor’s appointment, just like I did before. I want to ask 50 questions and write down every medicine you need — just like old times.

But reality feels so far from this dream. Sometimes I wonder if the word kismat is just another word for helplessness. What kind of fate separates a daughter who wants nothing more than to serve her mother like a queen? What kind of destiny keeps breaking the same heart again and again and again?

Mamma, I don’t even have the money to change things. I don’t have the freedom to move, or even the power to promise you that “one day, things will get better.” Because even that hope feels like a lie some days. I’m slowly becoming someone I don’t recognize — hopeless, tired, shrinking from within.

People around me talk about careers, property, vacations, goals. I only have one wish. One desire that never leaves me. To live a small life, near you. To care for you in all the ways you once cared for me.

I want to be there when you feel lonely. I want to be the one to sit beside you when you don’t feel well. I want to light diyas together on Diwali. I want to lay your shawl on your shoulders when it gets cold. I want to help you walk when your knees hurt, just like you once carried me when I was too tired to take a single step.

I know life is uncertain. I know maybe I’ll never have the money or the permission or the time. But what hurts most is not what I can’t do, Mamma. It’s what I could do, if only I had the chance.

Maybe one day, someone will hear my story the way I heard that man’s — and maybe they’ll cry for me too. But I hope, before that happens, life gives me just one chance to change this ending.

Till then, I carry you in every breath. You are not my memory. You are my living, breathing heart. And I am nothing without my heart.

I love you, Mamma. Always. In this life and the next.

Your daughter,
[Your Name]