A letter to mom

Dear Mom,

This is probably the fifth mail in a row that I am starting with these words - I am sorry for such a delay in replying. I hope you understand the way things are run here. After a fortnight, I am down in my base and have a bed to sleep in. It was lovely reading your letter - I would have probably read it a hundred times till now. So, those new red roses have come out really well is it. I would love to see them as soon as possible. And, it's a pity - what happened to Uncle Richard. Do let him know that my wishes are with him. I do hope he gets well soon.

Nothing much from my end - A few more troops landed here yesterday. Most of those guys were with me in our flights to Iraq - I am really glad that I have someone to talk to now. You should meet these chaps - each one is in a league of his own. Extremely brilliant characters - I wonder what they are doing here. Of course, I shouldn't be talking -for I have not the slightest idea what I am doing here.

I hate to crib darling - but this war is really getting on my nerves now. Everyday, I wake up with a feeling of dread ,asking myself whether my university fees is worth so much blood and gore. Yesterday, as I was walking by the streets, I saw this little cute girl standing and playing with a toy. I thought of buying her a toffee or something - just as I walked close to her, her mom rushed out of the house grabbed her hand and spit on my face. What hit me was that I wasn't even irritated at what she did - I felt I deserved it. I apologised to them, left the toffees on the doorstep and left.

I have read that the greatest punishment for a man is not to be happy with himself. It's now that I understand what that really feels like. Ever since we bombed that apartment, I have been having these nightmares where dead iraqi mothers come with half burnt flesh to our door steps in detroit and ask me why I did this to them. Little emaciated kids with empty sockets parade around with AK47s claiming revenge and I stand amidst all this mess, my hands red with blood trying to run away, but stumbling onto one grave after the other till I lose all hope scream out loud and wake up.

You know what scares me - I see my friends who have lost all regard for life. They don't give a damn about killing someone or blowing a truck. I am scared that I would become like that one day, that I would kill my soul in this war and come back as someone I would hate to be.

One more important thing - I would have preferred telling you about this in person. Christina is pregnant - I am sure you must be terribly disappointed and I am really sorry for having hurt you. But you know what mom - deep down, I don't feel any regret. A couple of months ago, a news like this would have freaked me out. But today - my first feeling is this. After soaking my hands in the blood of so many harmless souls, it's exhilarating to be able to create a life. I don't have the heart to ask her to kill the baby and hence be responsible for another murder. On the otherhand, I really want her to have the baby - my baby. Probably in a couple of weeks, hopefully by christmas, I should be back. Once I am there - I would talk to her dad and ask for her hand. I am sure he wouldn't be too keen in getting us married so early, and so wouldn't you. But, trust me - I am completely confident that this is the best thing to do. I have asked her to talk to her dad about this. So, he must be knocking on our doors not with the best of spirits. Just trust me on this - and convince him to get us married.

I can hear what you say mom - that there are practical difficulties, that my academics would go for a toss and that fatherhood has its own set of challenges. But trust me, if I can face a war, for reasons I feel completely unjustified, I can sure as hell face a life with the ones I love.

It's getting too dark outside and I have to report on duty 5 in the morning. I better catch some sleep now. You take care darling - and keep writing. That's the only thing that helps me walk unscathed in this road to perdition.

Love you lots mom.

- Me.