-The Mother's day book - Finally, the time has come. Just one more night to pass, and then, tomorrow morning he is going to be an eighteen. I’ve waited too long for this day, and I'm sure, he’s been waiting too. This time, I am going to gift him the Porsche everyone’s talking about. A special car, for a special boy. Something he had always yearned for, although he never made any demands – the deferential boy he is. After all he is going to be an adult, and that’s not something that comes every day. I know, it’s not that he’ll grow up just in a day or anything. Just that, I’ve waited so long for him to truly be my son and have no second thoughts about it. Ever since he was a little boy, he has always been a very understanding and obedient child. When other kids of his age were busy playing and loitering around after school, he used to be home before me, make coffee for his tired mother and lend a hand in all the household pish-posh. I know he had to grow up too early, and to ask for such maturity at such a young age wasn’t my idea of parenting either but hey, that did him more good than bad, I am certain. He will make the best use of anything given to him. I’ve raised him that way. For the better or worse, the courts have fixed tomorrow to hearing Kunal's final decision. With whom he would rather spend rest of his life for the court to rule its final decision. At least then, my son and I will be able to stay together in peace. At least then, I would be spared the bother of having to rush to the courts every couple of weeks, tiring myself and adding more detriments to my work schedule. For heaven's sake, no longer I would have to be mute to seeing that wicked and ignominious man's face here and there. Finally, Kunal and I would be free to leave this shed so close to that man and settle in Dubai. How dare he expect my son to live with him, his swinging moods and bizarre lifestyle! He's insane. It was enough to drive me crazy just a year into marriage. And he wants to raise a child. He wishes… Of course, Kunal will pick me. -The Father's day book- The day I was in wait of has finally arrived. Kunal, the one beautiful thing that always eluded me, is turning eighteen tomorrow. I’m overjoyed for reasons I cannot fathom. Twitching my fingers in anticipation of this moment for ever and a day; meeting him on the weekends and on off-days never having the joy of sharing with him a father talk when he so wanted on. I’ve been unhappily robbed of my being a father. Chaperoned visits, a stranger no less – Oh the words I wish to throw at that horrid, horrid woman. Just some more time with my son, is it too much to ask? Never was I once satiated by the feeling of being there for my son when he needed me. Never. I just want to have a father-son relationship. I am convinced that he too, yearns for the same. I know he couldn't bear to live with that selfish woman any longer. He just needs to break the monotony of living in that huge bungalow with nothing save the blatantly empty walls staring at him all day, making him feel more miserable than his mother ever could. There's no doubt he would rather stay with me. He is going to be given a window sized portrait this time, for his birthday. He loves my paintings. Of all the honors and awards I’ve got my son’s appreciation and admiration is the biggest! The giant wooden frame rejuvenating his lost charm with that enrapturing mystical smile taking root in my boy’s face again. I know just the place for it - the empty front wall of his would-be bedroom. He will be elated. From this day forth, there will be footsteps and voices of another human being in this empty house. I can even talk to someone about how my days fly, just like my gentle brush strokes did once talk to the canvas. I shall no longer be forlorn. My son is coming home. -The Son's day book- So, the day has finally come, huh? Oh boy! it is my birthday tomorrow! My eighteenth birthday! Isn't that great? But hey, wait. Why am I not happy then? I remember my friends being over the moon the day they turned eighteen, then what is it that's choking me from the inside; letting me feel an intense sense of apprehensive fear —a fear of losing one of two people, who are responsible for my being. The fear that this loss can never be recovered and that I would never be able to bridge this abyss, is making my nerves turn to ice, the blood being drained out from my already tattered body, and that my nostrils are no longer allowing me to inhale, asking me to lie down, forever. Because, come tomorrow, it’s either Mom or Dad. But not both! There is no wrong answer here. It’s just one or the other. That’s what’s making this all the more difficult. How am I supposed to forget those nights when even after an entire day's hectic schedule, Maa never neglected to ask whether I had my meals, and that how was my day, always assuring that I get the best for everything? How am I to let my Dad live alone, for another decade or two, who never forgot to meet me with my favourite banana split and made sure I had the best moments every time we met on weekends? Birthday Gift? Sure! Please gift me that tomorrow never comes. Gift me that I don't have to make the choice between the two of them, because no one can choose between breath and blood. Yes please, this would be my most treasured birthday gift. My eighteenth birthday gift.