My father, forever my hero!

Hello lovely friends,

This week, I share with you a Guest Post written by a dear friend, Maninder. In June we all celebrate Fathers, but they are forever part of who we are. In this moving tribute Maninder fondly remembers her wonderful dad.

Thank heavens for the little girls, they grow up everyday. Thank heavens for the little girls, they grow up in such a delightful way – words written by my father.

A father is one person a daughter loves the most, for she knows he is the one man who will love her unconditionally. My father was/is that man. It has been years since my father, whom we call Papa, left us for his heavenly abode.  To this day, my eyes fill with tears when I talk about him. 

Whenever I feel sad, I sit and read his letters written to me over the years. They make me laugh, they make me cry but without fail they bring peace and joy to my heart.

My father studied in Lahore, Pakistan (prior to the India/Pakistan partition). He was a very ambitious man. In those days, coming from a farming family, though gazette agriculturists to continue with higher studies, was not an easy move. He did his undergrad with accounting major and completed his Masters degree in English. After securing a job with Esso in their compliance department he married my beautiful mom.

Together they made Chandigarh (a beautiful city in North India) their permanent home and raised their three children here.

I am amazed at his deep thinking ability and love for his three daughters. He did not have a son. In our culture, back in the day, it was looked upon as an incomplete family. Male child was considered important to continue the family legacy and look after the ageing parents. He never let this societal belief make us feel inferior in any way.

He would take us for swimming lessons, skating, dance practices, and painting classes. He encouraged us to go to camps and outstation excursions, etc. We were not deprived of anything that was in his capacity. 

My father was an excellent writer. A man of few words, he preferred to share his love and sentiments via letters. When my sisters and I got married and moved to Canada his long, detailed letters became an integral part of our precious bond.

He missed us so much and wrote in one of his letters, “if he had known the pranks of separation would be so painful, he would have delayed our marriages”.

In the same letter goes on to make an observation while sitting and writing this letter to me in the back veranda. He says he noticed crows flying, perhaps back to their homes after a day’s work and he wrote, “But when will my Babli (my nickname at home) come home”. 

He said how he wished he could write letters like Nehru wrote to Indira (Nehru, the first Prime Minister of independent India and Prime Minister Indira Gandhi’s dad was known for the letter he wrote to her while he was in jail). But he joked how he is not as good as Nehru and I am definitely better than Indira. Ah! Only a father could say something like this. 

In his letters, he would tell me all about his days, his activities and interactions. The letters made me feel that I was there, and we are having a conversation.

He never moved anything around the house after we left home. He he said everything reminded him of us. A teddy bear minus an arm; Mills and Boons novels with owner’s name written on the fly leaf, etc. were all kept intact for sentimental reasons.

The day I got my driver’s license in Canada he recited chupai path (a prayer for my safety). What a beautiful feeling to know someone cares so much.

There are so many sweet memories that I vividly remember. One of my birthdays, my mother was out of town and Papa wanted to ensure I did not feel her absence. It was a routine for many years that at 5.15pm, the gate opened, and papa came home from his office. On the day of my birthday, it was 6pm and no sign of papa anywhere. We got worried. In those days there were no mobile phones. We called his office to find out if he was still there. His receptionist said he had left the office the usual time. This was alarming for us.

Finally Papa walked in door with a wrapped gift in his hand. He had gone to pick up a gift and cake for me. Just in time for winter, he bought me a cream and yellow sweater and we all happily celebrated my birthday.

In our house, birthdays were celebrated with great deal and we made sure we did not miss dates for sending greeting cards to each other.

My father absolutely adored my son who studied in India for a while. He would routinely send me his progress reports from school.

He was so involved in our lives (though gave us our own space). He chose the name Posy (a bunch of beautiful flowers) for my eldest daughter. Delayed in transit, I received his letter after I had already named her Namrita. But for many years, I wrote Posy on her birthday cakes. After 10 years, I gave birth to my youngest daughter Prianka and without a second thought I nicknamed her Posy. But sadly papa was not alive to know how much I loved the name he had so fondly chosen for my daughter.

Now that I am a parent of three wonderful children and two beautiful grandchildren, I always wish that my children one day can cherish the time spent with me as I cherished the time spent with my father. I miss my Papa and how I wish we had more time together but perhaps this is a pause until we meet again.