He cares. Do you?

Articles on Father’s day

Don’t you think that the efforts that our parents make for us get muffled under the mantle of our busy competitive world?

Isn’t their concern for us is often taken as something ‘obvious’ that they are ought to do whereas our seldom deeds for them appear to be more than a small tribute?

One evening, as I returned from the office, I saw daddy compiling an important piece of document on the laptop. When I headed towards my room, he called after me saying that he needed a brief review before e-mailing it.

Having had a laborious day at the office, my expectation was to get some relaxing space at home. I feigned unpleasant expressions, whereas his prodding to help in the work persisted. Compelled by what I felt was an emotional blackmail, I took the laptop reluctantly. To be honest, the letter appeared extremely boring to a tired mind like me. So I quickly skimmed for typographical and grammatical errors to cut time. But with each passing moment, things kept getting more and more complicated until I was completely agitated.

Was there a U-turn? No chance. My impatience had overpowered. I slammed the laptop shut and flipped it on the sofa in wild anger. My dad was apparently disheartened which he voiced with great enthusiasm. Nonetheless, I stomped towards the room leaving the commotion behind until it fainted.

Later during midnight, I saw mom and dad working on the eight-page long letter by themselves.

It was a tiring task. Of course, it was. But right at this moment, a thought crossed my mind that made me realize how pathetically wrong I was.

I recalled my childhood when daddy used to help me with those illustrious chapters of literature. And then how he would scold me for not reciting the poetry, making a delicate, sensitive child like me cry. But there he was…with his hands outstretched in front of me to scratch with my small nails and vent out my anger.

During those days, he would not sleep until reciting me the story of Shravan Kumar (back then, I would pronounce it as ‘Shabban Kumar’) and king Dashratha every night.

If it were mummy to pack our lunch in the morning, dad prepared our water bottles. I swear, the visual could not be as firm in my memory if it were as simple as pouring water into the bottle but his voluntary efforts. He would crush a brick of ice with ceramic stone and shove the big crystals one by one into the small-mouthed bottle until the overflow. We never asked for that extra packet of luxury but it was his keen concern not to send us to school without the supply of cold drinking water that would remain so till the afternoon. Hardly, at that time we valued these going-out-of-way things of him which so easily came to us without ever asking for.

This includes his taking an off from office when I prodded him to watch my stage performance at the annual day function of my school. When art teacher would frequently demand crafted things for anonymous exhibitions or festival frills (which was clearly not a fair balance with studies), my dad was there as a hero to offload his little princess. In a smart artistic manner, he once crafted a colorful puppet, another time a paper plant with a cardboard vase, a mud duck, an ingenious clay kitchen set, and once a thermocol collage, as and when the situation demanded.

He, the person, whose large portion of salary went to my education and upbringing, including my whims and fancies took me to every entrance exam after school and later after college when I would fill every form not to let any opportunity pass by. How could it all be possible without him who spent three hours outside the center on almost every Sunday? Yet no complaints came about the scorching summer sun or frigid cold of winters.

I feel so small to say that whenever he did these things for me, he sacrificed immeasurable moments of relaxation. And he still does since he never forgets to prepare my fruit basket for office, or remind me of the important things which slip of my mind so easily.

An endless list of such things which he himself doesn’t remember felt immediately so bigger than his asking for my help in the letter. Yet, how easy it was for me to step back, show frustration as if those things never happened or mattered. I apologized.

I believe no one can take the place of our parents because their love is of a supreme kind. They spend the whole life worrying and working for our future, health, education, career, and marriage, without caring for the sacrifices they make for us every time every day. And it goes for all the parents who make their children feel nothing but fortunate.

Happy Birthday Daddy!