Missing Acha...

Today I wish so badly that my father was alive. Nothing special happened to remind me of him. It is not his birthday or the anniversary of his passing away. It is an ordinary day. But I miss my father so much today that there is a strong ache inside. I wondered why today of all days I am drowned in memories of a father who loved his kids so much he never ever put himself first. Every little thing he earned, he set aside for his children. His difficult and often penurious childhood where even food was hard to come by did not make him a stingy soul. In fact his being poor when young made him one of the most generous people you would ever meet. 

My father loved people. He loved to feed them. He loved to make them feel better. He would never let guests walk away till their hearts and bellies were full. I have known him to give away so much just because he could not countenance another’s pain. Hardship often turns us brittle; very few of us learn to be more understanding and forgiving or even more importantly, loving when we are hurt. My father had been hurt many times by those closest to him, by their ways of taking away whatever he earned, by his being manipulated in the name of love and yet he never harboured ill-will towards anyone. How was it possible to be treated unfairly, to be run roughshod and to be used relentlessly and yet look at people with hope, love and belief? That was my dad. He believed.

It was his belief that made me think that dreams were possible. He always told me that if I wanted anything with all my heart, I would get it. He infected everyone around him with happiness. My friends still remember how loveable he was. He relished being a parent. He took joy in his children even though he was quite strict with us about most things. I used to think as a child that he could even do magic. I never thought that anything was beyond him when I was little. I see my daughter look at her dad like that with eyes full of stars and with complete faith that he will take care of her and keep her from harm. Every daughter looks up to her father as this wonderful hero who will always protect her and whom no other man can match up to. This is the beautiful bond that fathers have with their little girls.

I wish my father was here today so he could see his grandchildren grow up. I wish he could sit and chat with his only granddaughter. I wish he was around to say he was proud of me. Growing up, I never let him down. Not once, even when I lived in hostels for eight years, did I do anything that he would disapprove of. I never lied to him even in a single instance. I never had to. I always respected him. I know that his good deeds are the best legacy he could have left his children. He was never a man who could make money. But he could leave us kids with the memories of not just our family but of countless others who have stories to tell us of how he helped in some way or the other. It is my father’s grace that supports me now. With him looking out for me I feel safe. My dad will always protect me. And I miss him more than I can say…