Trophy Father’s Trophy Daughter.

trophy daughters
Understand. And love.
We’re here.
And we care love. Probably it’s not enough.  But, we hope it helps. You and others.


“Dear Daddy,
Are you happy now, daddy? This is what you always wanted, isn’t it? That I be just like you? Here. You have it now. Aren’t you so goddamn proud of me? When I was younger, you were my hero. My idol. As I grew older and more perceptive, I wanted to be anything but you. But I tried so hard that, in a roundabout manner, I became exactly that. You. Strange, the way this warped world works, isn’t it?

I remember how you used to buy me peanut butter and syrup biscuits, everyday when you returned home from work. How you used to buy me candy floss or pink balloons whenever we went out. How you used to give me a piggyback ride whenever I looked at you with my puppy eyes. I was your little princess. The apple of your eyes. Yes, your business was still blooming. You were still a busy man. But you always had time for me. And mum.

Then came that fateful night.

You lost your wife. The love of your life. You drowned yourself in the sorrow of a broken heart. You became a broken man. Turning to your bottles of whiskey and your packs of cigarettes for solace. But did you stop to think what I lost? I lost mum… and also my dad. You became collateral damage. But what could a four year old turn to for solace? An empty house? Books, full of empty promises? Songs, full of sentiments I’d never understand? Sentiments I’d never get to experience.

Did you stop to think?

You wanted control over every aspect of my life. How I dress, how I do my hair. Who I associate myself with. How I fare in school.

Sorry, not every aspect of my life. Only the ones that affected your image in the society.

You didn’t bother yourself with the more minute details. What I read, what songs I listened to, what I ate, what I daydreamed about… These never concerned you.

I craved attention. Your attention. I did whatever I had to, to get it. You expect me to be all dolled up in pretty dresses and pink makeup? Sorry, not happening daddy. After all, you’ll only notice me when my jeans are torn, and my t-shirt hangs off my shoulders. I am sorry, but I cannot associate myself with the shallow, rich brats like you expect me to. The school druggie, the broken girl the bullied nerd- they are more my type. You want straight A’s, too bad. All you’ll ever get to see from me are C minuses. Get used to it, daddy.

Then came the phase when I simply stopped caring. I didn’t care whether or not you paid me any attention. Whether or not you cared. Because it was pretty evident that you didn’t. Frankly, I don’t think an overseas phone-call to check up on whether I was attending your colleague’s wife’s sister’s kitty party qualifies.

I didn’t care what I became, who I became, as long as it wasn’t you. I didn’t want success at this cost. I don’t want the people who once held any importance in my life to be this replaceable. I don’t want to be fake loving or fake caring. So, I never implied that I loved, that I cared. Never got close to anyone, lest they hurt me. Like you did. The only emotions I entertained were incredulity, bitterness and hatred. All directed towards you, daddy.

I tried so hard. I really, really did. But look where we are. I never stopped to think… We really have become the same people. Despite my best efforts- or perhaps because of it.

Neither of us are capable of love, or care, both hating each other’s guts. Both of us reduced to almost apparitions…..

And both of us so completely alone at the end of the day, only a glass tumbler filled with the reassuring brown liquid keeps us from completely losing hope.

You must be so proud of me daddy, you must be so fucking proud.”



The wall will remember you, kid.


Author: Aitijya Sarkar

You know that bright little star next to the moon? The one you've never really noticed for some reason. That's me.

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