خط جو کوئی بھی پڑھ سکتا ہے

Ayu, kamu bilang kamu takut, dan aku bilang aku juga, padahal yang pergi kamu. Ibu menyiapkan bekal untukmu seperti kamu mau berangkat sekolah, bukan ke negeri orang. Kamu tertawa, lalu menangis, lalu tertawa lagi. Sekarang setiap pagi aku melihat foto-foto yang kamu kirim: salju pertama, kereta yang selalu tepat waktu, seragam perawatmu yang kebesaran. Aku tahu kamu lelah. Aku tahu kamu rindu sambal Ibu yang pedasnya keterlaluan. Tapi aku juga tahu kamu sedang menjadi orang yang dulu hanya kamu impikan di teras ini. Pulanglah kapan saja. Teras ini selalu menunggumu.

Farah, I watched you unpack that one suitcase and I have never seen anyone braver. There was no furniture yet, so we sat on the floor with our backs against the wall and drank tea from the only two cups you owned, and you laughed, really laughed, for the first time in two years. People talk about starting over as if it were a door you walk through. It isn't. It is a kettle, and a borrowed mattress, and a Tuesday when you notice you sang in the shower. I hope you get a thousand of those Tuesdays. I'll bring more cups.

Hania, kal jo bhi number aayen, tum wohi raho gi jo aaj ho. Mein ne bhi aisi ek raat guzaari thi, chhat ke pankhe ko ghoorte hue, is yaqeen ke saath ke kaghaz ka ek tukda bata dega mein kaun hoon. Usne nahi bataya. Mein ne khud seekha, aahista aahista, ghalat moar le kar, wapas aa kar. Tumhari zindagi ek result nahi, ek lambi sadak hai, jis pe bohat se dhaabe hain, bohat si baarishein, bohat se log jo tumhe chai pilayen ge. Ab so jao. Subah mein tumhare saath screen dekhoon gi, aur jo bhi ho, wapsi pe hum jalebiyan khayen ge.

يوسف، لقد وصلت سفينتي أخيراً، وأردت أن تكون أول من يعرف. حصلت على المنحة. سأدرس الطب كما كنت تقول دائماً، يوم كنت أضحك وأقول إن الأحلام للأغنياء فقط. كنت تلتقط حجراً صغيراً وترميه في البحر وتقول: انظري، حتى الحجر الصغير يصنع دوائر. لم أفهمك يومها. أفهمك الآن. إن كنت ما زلت تجلس هناك، فاعلم أن واحدة من تلك السفن كانت لي، وأنك كنت المنارة.

Divya, the number on that screen was never the size of you. I watched you shrink in front of it in that hot little café while the man at the counter pretended not to see you cry. You thought your whole life had just been decided by a website that kept crashing. It hadn't. Ten years later you are a woman who fixes things, who rings our mother every evening, who laughs too loudly at weddings. None of that was on the marksheet. If you have a daughter one day, and she stands in front of a screen like that, tell her what I am telling you now: breathe. The screen is small. You are not.