Write something on Father’s Day. This is the simple prompt I got from my senior, for the day of celebrating Fathers internationally is about to arrive. So here I am, with my laptop to tell you about the big day for Fathers.
For those born in the 90s or early 20s, the image of their father, growing old but young at heart pops into the head. Words like responsibility, protection, guiding, and security come to mind when one thinks about defining one’s father. But how exactly am I supposed to describe my father or fathers in general?
I belong to a country where the pinnacle of fatherhood is gods. Shiva is a father, with a complex yet nurturing relationship with his son Ganesha, and an equally interesting one with his second son, Karttikeya, who was raised by six mothers and went on to impart the meaning of Om to his all-knowing father.
Ganesha - the Elephant Headed GodKarttikeya: The Celibate Warrior
It is also a country that witnessed Vasudeva, the father who walked fearlessly in a storm and into the raging waves of Yamuna to safely take his new-born son Krishna to the village of Nanda, who then raised him as his own, with such love that the child was named Nandalala (the son of Nanda) endearingly by his people.
The Story of Krishna’s Birth from Srimad Bhagavata Purana
Not to forget Janak, the king of Mithila who long before feminism and women empowerment were known to the world, raised Sita as a skilled in every aspect of life, that only Purushottama (the perfect man) Rama was her equal.
In front of the magical and legendary tales of divine fathers and their children, my father, with his lovable and simultaneously irksome persona, braving the ravages of time and life, burdened by the borning activities of the world seems just so, simple.
And yet, as I grow and make my place in the world, there are certain things, gifts if you must, that I received from my father that seem nothing short of magical.
So, if I have to write something on Father’s Day, I would like to remember these gems that I received from my father- they might not be as awe-inspiring as Shiva giving Ganesha a new head but they certainly have made me the person I am today.
People have emotional support animals, I have emotional support books. Everywhere I go, I have to have two to three books in my bag no matter how short the trip. The stacks of books in my room keep rising and with it rises the frustration of my mother who has to maintain them and pack them every time we move to a new place.
But she forgets that the real culprit behind my habit of incessantly hoarding books and a way-too-strong attachment to books is my father. When I was in the early days of my school years, he would bring me children’s magazines every month and once we had collected enough, he would have them bound together so that I have an annual collection of all the editions.
I proudly possess some of those heavy-duty bindings to date. As I grew up, going to a bookstore or book fair with my father became a festive occasion, with both of us skimming through the pages of new books and picking the best ones, victoriously taking them home to flaunt them in front of our family.
I see so many people talking about reading books today as the “cool new thing”, social media swarming with posts romanticizing reading and readers and I can not help but thank my father, for introducing me to this world of knowledge, a gift that keeps giving.
Another thing that is in vogue in the present day is the discussion on the marvelous history and heritage of India. It seems like the world has finally woken up to the ancient civilization and its unparalleled culture. International icons, politicians, writers, artists, everybody is talking about India, its art, crafts and artisans.
For me, this awakening happened long back, in the company of my father. I remember every school vacation becoming extra special when my father declared that we were taking a trip to some historical city or monument nearby. Packing our bags, we would get on a train or in our car, and off we went.
Throughout the journey, he would encourage me to learn about each place we took a halt. When we reached our destination, he would get a local guide and plan an extensive tour of all the important locations around.
From the sublime Somnath temple to the magnificent Kailashnath temple of Ellora, from the banks of Hoogly near Dakshineshwara Temple to the Ghat of Ganga in Kashi, and from the fort of Golconda to the Lal Qila of Delhi, every monument has been on the receiving end of the inquisitiveness of me and my father, with him leading me to every nook and cranny of the places, as both of us with child-like awe discovered the tales of Indian culture.
With me taking history as my field of study and pursuing higher studies in the field, the tables have now turned, as my father now turns to me with his insightful questions.
I do not think he knew that culture and heritage would go on to become the trendiest of trends, but I know today that if I am able to understand and appreciate art and culture with all my heart, it is all because of him, the person who is always ready to take hour-long detours to visit that one “hidden-gem” in any heritage town.
This I am sure he regrets the most (cause of all the high-paying jobs that writers get so easily), but it is the one that I cherish the most. After all, I am able to come up with thousands of words every day because one fine day when I was expressing my joy and love for a writer, my father told me- “You can write too, you know.”
He must be joking, I thought to myself, but of course he was not. The same evening, I received the gift of a diary and a fine-looking pen (that I did not use because it looked way too expensive) with the instructions that I must write a page every day. What it would be about when I write, was left up to me.
And write I did. The freedom of saying what you think, in your own space, at your own time- a dream for any professional writer, was experienced by me, even before I knew I would take writing as a career.
From there began my life as a writer, with poems, short stories, and essays following one after the other, each page read and still kept safe in one of the files with my father.
I am still learning the craft and when a reader is generous enough to appreciate my writing, I cannot help but remember the diary, the pen, and the words- “You can write too, you know.” Now I know!
“Pitru Devo Bhava”- the father is equivalent to gods, is a verse from the Hindu text- Taittiriya Upanishad. When I look at my father, there is nothing God-like in his appearance. No golden crown, extra hands, powerful weapons, nothing extra-terrestrial about him.
But the scriptures also say we are all created by God. If that is the case, looking at my life today, I am certain that it was created by my father. And how can you say anything about the person who has made you who you are, who has protected you but also let you be free and discover the world on your own, what can you say about the person who has created you?
Your email address will not be published *
Email a Friend
Manage Wishlist