Dear Dada,
I came to this house with a purpose. I had no desire for love, friendship or family. If I knew one thing, it was revenge. Revenge for you. Revenge against P.K. Mittal and his clan for murdering you. Walking into this house broke a piece of me I didn’t know I had left. My eyes bled tears of anguish every night and the pain my heart endured, seeing the Mittal family living so happily in a house made of money which should have been yours, cannot be explained in words. Every chime of laughter in their family reminded me only of the countless laughs they had snatched from you, dada, by ending your life so brutally. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you dada. I’m sorry.
P.K. Mittal was killed yesterday. If there’s one thing I regret, it is only that I couldn’t be the one to experience the joy of killing him. But I suppose destiny works in strange ways. The same Mittal who killed you and thousands of others to secure a future for himself and his family was killed by his own son. It’s almost laughable. What’s even funnier is that Kabir came to the Ashok Sharma house begging me for a place to stay. The pleasure I felt in my heart, hearing him say those words to me made me believe that perhaps I really had succeeded in my motive for entering this house. I don’t hate him dada. I don’t hate Kabir. I just hate his last name. He’s a Mittal. He has the same blood as P.K. Mittal…dirty and tarnished. He can never be good. He can never do anyone good. Call it prejudiced, but I can’t help but feel irked by him. He says he will take the house back, dada. I won’t let him do it. This house is yours and it will forever be yours. This should have been our house dada. You, me, Ishaani and ma…all together, living happily. But there’s something missing. I thought I could be happy in this house, dada, knowing I was responsible for driving them to homelessness. I SHOULD be happy. I know this. This is exactly what I wanted from the start.
Then why am I not happy? I feel more alone now than ever before, dada, even when I was living a lie…even when I was living with the Mittal family. Every corner of this house reminds me of the Mittals. It reminds me what we lost and what they had. It’s like living in my own, personal hell, constantly being reminded of the worst parts of my life. But I can’t let them win, dada. This is what they deserve. To be homeless… on the streets. The worst thing is, I am certain that even in this state of homelessness, they are happier than I am. Because they are together, as a family – something I never had. Kabir has someone’s lap to rest his head on at night. He has a mother to cook him food, love him, tell him that things will work out. Who do I have? And so,even though Kabir barely has money to afford a roof over his head and I have enough money to last an entire lifetime and then some, he is still wealthier than me.
But this is what I wanted from the start. I never craved a family. P.K. Mittal is dead and this house is now ours. The Mittals are destroyed. That's all that matters.
I am happy, dada. I promise you, I am happy. I will be happy.
I am happy.
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