Skip to main content

On The Father's Day

We like to believe love to be just and uniform. But it isn't. We do not love all the people. We also do not love those we love, equally, at all the time. There is some kind of gradation in love and we love different people differently. It may depend on our general outlook and the way we look at various relationships at one point of time. There are some relationships which emerges out of nowhere and overwhelms our being and all the other relationships.

Fatherhood has been one such love for me. Before we had my daughter, six years back, I never could have imagining myself of such a love. In love, one person loves and the another allows to be loved- that is what Somerset Maugham wrote and I had read him when I was quite young. Not only Maugham, whatever was left was further sealed by the man called Nietzsche. I loved, I loved with vigor, with an angry, audacious passion, but I never could give my last inch into the love that I had begotten into, ever. 

Some relations begin much earlier than the object of love actually arrive on the scene. That is the purest of love, for it transcends, shape, size and color and even gender. Fatherhood and love for progeny isn't something that descends suddenly when you hear the first cries of the child. The child lives in your mind. That is the embryo which men are blessed with, in the mind. We are seldom aware of the child that breathes in our consciousness, unknown to us. But our entire life, love that we fall in and out of, propels us to our child. At least that is the way it was for me. I wrote somewhere earlier, Fatherhood is not an accident of nature. One can be a father without embracing fatherhood, which is a pity. On the other hand one can embody fatherhood without biologically bearing a progeny. Fatherhood means many things, benevolence, grace, love and essentially a conscious strive towards being a better man than one is, at this moment, at any moment. 

It wasn't on 16th of May 2008 that I became a father, it wasn't even on 27th of August,
2007 that I became a father. On 27th of August, I had first heard you there, the quick heart beats as if you were scared of coming into the world, with all its ugliness. And I could only mutter assurances and offer promises of the grand beauty of life which survives all its squalid sadness.I did see you sometime in December 2007, resting your face on your palm with the grace of a ballerina on the monitor of Ultra-sound. I somehow felt as if you smiled at me, and felt deep in the debt of your mother for giving me something so wonderful. I had no clue if you were a boy or a girl at that time, though I did hope that if you could be a girl, it would be really very nice. I do not know why, thought it would round-off the rough edges that I had, bring out the softness from my heart, long as dead. I remember, walking into the nursery on 16th of May and saw along the walls all those little creatures lying with tubes running in their tiny arms. I saw you and saw you throwing those tiny arms in the air as if trying to catch some butterflies, with your eyes covered under the shade. I thought to myself and prayed if this girl throwing her tiny arms were mine. I had walked to you, and fearfully, I had turned the plastic bracelet to read "B/o (Baby of) Seema Suryesh" and I let a prayer for your mother leave my lips and wisp to the heavens for this magic she had created. That night, I held you in my arms and slept, for the first time holding you, but I did not become father that day. I had become father long time back when I softly had looked into your mother's eyes and imagined how our kid would be. I became father long time back when I started looking at myself with your eyes and tried to judge myself. 


You came into my house and made it a home. Through the day, you would sweep off all the silences and fill the evenings with music. You would welcome your mother and me at home every evening when we would walk in back from the work. You woke me up to the magical things in my heart and my mind and prodded me to write them. It is you that I write for, so that you may know all those brightly colored, happy things when I am long gone. It is for you only that I run in mornings so that I am healthy enough to play with you without burdening you when I grow old. I teach myself Nietzsche for I could learn solitude without letting it weigh heavy on your conscience when you want to be lighter and fly high in the world. Fatherhood overwhelms all my other relations. Everything revolves around being your father, and that is a secret that I would not want you to know. I do not want to spoil you today and obligate you tomorrow. In you, I discover a love that does not want to possess, a love that wants to prepare you for a flight above the ordinary and let you fly. What kind of love is this that does not want anything? I am happy in your happiness and I remember you through your forgetful youth. I treasure your Father's day card which you left for me the day you left for the grand-parents and I love poems for every day I am without you, here. I know, in your innocent playfulness, you might not even remember me, but that doesn't make me love you any less (Sanskriti visits her grandparents at this time). I will love you always. I am planning to write something only for you, which I will at the soonest. In the meantime, I will teach you to go beyond me, and yourself. Striving to be extraordinary, that is what you are meant to be, beyond the school report cards, beyond the scales on which the world will time and again, attempt to measure you. I love you, my child and that is your innocent gift for me on this Father's day. You urge me to write, to run and to be a better man than I ever thought I could possibly be. That is what fatherhood is to me.

(The post is shared and published on www.Yowoto.com)
4 comments

Popular posts from this blog

A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man- James Joyce- Book Review

Amazon Link 
Some books are an act of education; they cannot be read in haste, cannot be understood in one read. James Joyce’s A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man gives one such feeling.
It is a coming of age story of Stephen Dedalus. Nothing extraordinary about that. But then there a rich, slowly flowing lost river of philosophy which moves beneath the surface, turning an ordinary story of a boy growing up, encountering questions about faith, religion and sex, into an exceptional, extraordinary and engaging story. The story moves along the timeline, much in the manner of Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse, where the writer is seemingly a passive narrator. Further, while this book is more of a philosophical essay wrapped around a story, Ms. Woolf’s book, on the other hand, is rather a Story primarily, with a philosophical touch. This book is blatantly philosophical, dwelling into the dangerous territory of religion and how a growing mind looks at God. It begins with his school, whe…

Bahubali 2- The Conclusion- Movie Review

We are living in an extremely cause-heavy world where causes - real and imagined cloud our minds. I saw this in the case of the movie - Beauty and The Beast. There the quarrel of the social commentators was that it explored the gay angle of one of the characters only briefly, only fleetingly. There can be nothing more absurd than that. You are demanding more from an artist than possibly he can offer. Art is a profession of lonely persuasion, and it serves the purpose its creator desires it to serve. Nothing more and nothing less. It is sad and unfortunates that the liberals, which in Indian context largely translates to Leftists, insists that art is nothing but a vehicle that should be provided to them for their political agendas and narratives to ride on. It is like insisting that the reference to the Negroes in the "The Great Gatsby" should have been expanded to cover racism in detail. The brief episode was merely to substantiate the character and nothing more. Just as cre…

Resurrecting Hinduism- Without Embarrassment

I have been pondering about the sense of despondency, the sense of shame which has been imposed on the Hindu thoughts in Indian society. Every act of faith has to be explained, justified. When partition happened, Muslims fought and obtained an independent Nation, while the other large chunk of population, which, in spite of numerical supremacy, was subjugated for centuries, got India. In line with inherent openness and flexibility of Hinduism, India became a secular nation. This is a matter of pride, since it acknowledged the basic secular nature of Sanatan Dharm. However, as things would evolve, vested political interests considered India as unfinished agenda standing in the path of a religious empire being built world-wide. Through a well-calculated intellectual conspiracy of neglect and vilification, it came to a stage that modern Hindus where embarrassed of their religion and apologetic of their faith. This neglect also resulted in the religion being left to the guardianship of un…