the world's greatest lie

I went to the post office, with my creme envelope addressed in cursive licked shut.

I asked the old man for a stamp of 2 aanas.

“To Where, beta?” he asked.

“Heaven.” I said.

“Heaven Garden Society?”

“No. Just heaven.”

He chuckled like I had made a sexist “Indian woman belongs in the kitchen” joke.

He suddenly didn't find it funny anymore when he saw the cursive letters on the delicate paper, which laughed at him instead. “Heaven.”

The paper chuckled like I made an “Indian men will never learn.” joke.

He looked back at his peers who were also perplexed by this. They couldn't decide whether to make another sexist joke about Indian women and their IQs or quit their jobs, they were simply not paid enough for this.

He finally gathered the cursive letters of his voice, “But beta, how do you know this person isn't in hell?”

The office broke out in the typical middle aged men tired of their life type of laughter, which lightened the mood, but you could still whiff the strain in the air. 

I let out a breath of irritation. And took a breath of courage.

“I'm writing to my father. My father who always had a story to tell, and jokes that only he would laugh at. Who loved stringing his words into colourful garlands, his sentences. Who believed everyone who loves, is to be loved, and everyone who doesn’t, is to be loved too. Who would often fall asleep on the creaking mahogany living room sofa with a book on his chest, and let the words against his heart speak to him. Who would steal the sweets tucked away safely in the cupboard next to the puja. And laugh nervously when caught. 

They have a special place for people who stole sweets in heaven, Uncle.”

You could hear the most manliest man in the room, with a moustache that grew long and thick, curved at the ends, tall and broad shouldered, who usually had a stern look on his face, weeping like a little girl. This time I laughed at my own sexist joke.

I walked out of the office, hopped on my cycle, and stopped to look back at the room full of men, who were still trying to wrap their heads around the cloud of grief I left, but only they were smiling.

Smiling in pain, for me. Smiling in nostalgia for their own fathers that they once lost. Smiling in love, for me. For leaving them grateful, after years of feelings of nothingness. 

What did you dream about last night?

What is your favorite color?

Do you feel more connected to the moon or the sun?

Have you ever wished on a shooting star?

Name a movie that makes you genuinely laugh.

When’s the last time you felt like you were floating?

What do you enjoy daydreaming about most?

Do you believe in guardian angels?

What’s a smell that reminds you of home?

What is something (or someone) you’re in love with?

Describe the memory of the last time you felt true happiness.

Name a song that makes you feel ethereal.

What’s your ideal summer aesthetic?

Talk about one of your most cherished childhood memories.

Talk about something exciting or good that happened to you this year.

Where do you feel most at home?

What is something you own that is important to you? What makes it so important?

Do you believe dreams have meanings or are they completely random?

Do you believe in love at first sight?

What’s the sweetest thing someone has done for you?

Do you believe in mermaids?

What do you like most about nature?

What’s your zodiac sign? Do you think you fit the general characteristics of that sign?

Are you more of a hopeless romantic or realist?

What’s a song that gives off good vibes anytime you listen to it?

Do you usually remember your dreams?

Have you ever written a love letter?

Name a book you don’t mind reading over and over.

Do you collect anything? And what are some hobbies you have?