Beyond the pages of literature, poetry, short stories, and novels; are the fathers who work all their lives.
Without a promised paradise beneath their feet, they create heaven for those dependent on them. Day in and out.
Sometimes, while settling their siblings and their children, they remain unsettled all their lives. Without a hint of complaint. Because men don’t cry. They improvise. They pretend. And they work. A little longer.
There are times when they listen to wishes and demands while nothing in their pockets.
There are times when they are out going shopping with empty wallets.
Other times, they delay things until the next salary.
Sometimes, they keep on looking at the petrol bar in their vehicles, as if it would burn less if stared.
Sometimes, they are fired from their job. That alone is an intense trauma.
Sometimes, they are not fired but abused. And blamed. And insulted.
They face ugly realities. Harshness. Rent-seeking and bribes.
Of course you don’t know that. Because they won’t tell you how the food on the table was earned. With sweat and insult.
They don’t know how to make ends meet, yet they do. For you.
They don’t know how to deal with the police, yet they do. For you.
They don’t know how to handle court matters, yet they do. For you.
Loans. For you.
Other times, even after fulfilling their obligations, they have to rebuild the lives of their divorced and separated children. They have to pretend for longer. They have to act for longer. Even after the end credits have rolled.
They rarely retire. 60s. 70s. Working. Sometimes, they die while making ends meet and pretending they’re doing just fine.
In the end, if retired, they’ll be found somewhere in the corner of the house. Alone perhaps because the world they created has moved on. Here and there. Everywhere.
These fathers then create another world. A lonely one. Where they pray, and walk, and keep an old, withered hand over the children even when continents away.
And then one day, they depart. Without a tear. Without a sound. As if they never existed.
Then we remember them. In the digital world. Wishing to die early so we meet them again. Telling the world what should have been told one-on-one. With a hug. A walk. A talk. And some political disagreements.
To all the Dads, Papas, Abus, Daddies, Babas, and Fathers out there – above us and among us – living and flying. Happy Father’s Day.
