I was home with Prashanth and Hanan, watching the news of the war. Hanan was shrieking at his uncle's attempts to tickle him, almost drowning out the TV. I was about to yell at both of them, when suddenly Hanan stoppped and stared at the open doorway. I followed his gaze and saw a man in Number 1 military uniform standing there.
"Mummy, there's someone at the door!", Hanan informs me.
"No Shit, Sherlock," snaps Prashanth, who has always been gentle and sensitive, even when we were kids growing up. He continued to torment my son.
I did not recognise the man at the door, although he smiled like he recognised me. As I moved towards the door, I saw that he was accompanied by a lady, a beautiful woman also in military garb, also a stranger to me.
For some reason, I started to panic. I could see their mouths moving like they were saying something to me, but all I could hear were my sharp indrawn breaths as my panic started to mount. Blood was rushing to my knotted stomach, making a hell of a racket as it coursed through my veins. I turned to look at my brother and at Hanan, wondering why they both seemed totally unaffected by these strangers at the door.
Finally, another head appeared at the other side of the gate. I recognised the man as Uncle Pragasam, an old army cronie of my dad's. In fact, I was surprised I recognised him at all, since the last time we met, I was 6. He looked unchanged from my memory of him. Smiling, he gestured towards the lock, and I quickly unlocked the gate and let him in.
As soon as they entered, the lady officer positioned herself right next to me. Uncle Pragasam held my hand and said softly," I am sorry, girl. But your father is lost."
"Lost?", I repeated, idiotically.
"Yes, lost." Drawing a long breath, he continued," Your father was sent with his platoon to the war, but we lost contact with them after 3 days. We don't know where he is."
"You mean he is MIA?", asked Prashanth, looking smug for knowing the proper military term for our lost father's state.
Uncle Pragasam turned to him. "Yes, boy. Your father is officially MIA."
Suddenly, Hanan cries out, pointing to the TV, "Look, there's thaatha!"
And sure enough there he was, my dad, handsome and dashing in his No 3 uniform, sitting aroung a campfire with his platoonmates, a mess tin in his hand, being the life of the party that he always is. I looked closer. He looked about as old as I was as he threw his free arm around a friend, and suddenly my heart was filled with a resolute certainty.
"That's impossible!" I yelled out. "He is not in the army anymore, hasn't been for 15+ years! And he sure as hell is not this 33 year old on TV, although I admit, he did look like that. So," I draw myself up, preparing for the final blow, "how can he be MIA, when he is not 33, not in the army, and definitely not in this war!"
I look around triumphantly. Uncle Pragasam looked nonplussed. The other two officers exchanged looks that I could not really read. Could be pity, could be disbelief.
"Hmmm, maybe it wasn't your dad," he said, with great solemnity and gentleness. "But why don't you call him to find out?"
***
So was this dream just my subconscious mind telling me to call my father?
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