A man without a definition

Just tuned to a radio station,

Voice: In this auspicious occasion, here are the wishes for Father’s Day,

“My father is my superhero”

“My father is my first love”

“My father is my everything” …

I turned off the radio, it just got me thinking about what my father was.

My father was not a superhero, his face had lots of wrinkles, eyes were always full of tears, dreams were limited to survival, his costume was torn off and he did not encounter massive villains. No, he can’t be a superhero, a superhero has a handsome face, hypnotizing eyes, he does not get accompanied with people barely trying to sustain a body and his family rather he dreams of saving the world in a beautifully crafted costume.

 My father is not my first love. I have read in novels, if love is to be personified, love should be with the ideal person who took romantic dates, expressed love and fulfilled every desire. How can I love the man who is struggling to buy a meal? He definitely can’t be an ideal lover.

 My father is surely not my everything. My everything is a tin-roofed shelter, an unhealthy mother and life full of memories with my father.

 My father was a laborer. The only precious thing in my life was not any gold but only his health. My day schedule was basically nagging of the landlord, irritated voice of my mother, frustrated verbal harassment of father, getting insulted in front of the whole class because of unpaid fees in school and hardly two meals a day. Unlike laborers in movies, my father was always sober, no bad habits, no domestic violence, no adultery and no messing up with people. People tried to deviate him to put impression in his subconscious mind that having only girl child could not get any father through heaven, pressurizing him to get married again for begetting son, making him fearful of his retired age telling him nobody will look after him in old age and so on. But he never bought any of these opinions.

 However, he had a traumatic childhood so he told himself that he wanted just a child with whom he wanted to give love of which he was deprived the whole life. I remember my father saying, “I began loving your mother more after you were born thinking she was also a princess of her house, although in a house of poverty.”

Since I could not afford anything fancy as the other kid, I began feeling unfit with society. As a result, I grew shy and kept my thoughts and feelings just to myself. My achievements in academic and extracurricular activities were never appreciated by my father for which I always hated him. But one day I saw him cleaning dust from my medals, frames of certificates and putting cash prizes in a piggy bank placed under his bed. That was surreal.

 Being poor, that's how we express love, unexpressed, hidden because the world only sees the love of parents if parents buy branded technology, throw parties and boast in front of people.

 One day, my dad had swelling all over the body, we rushed him to the hospital. He was diagnosed with kidney failure. Though the price of dialysis was made free by the government but the charges for different sample tests, blood transfusion, hotel food expenses, transportation caused loss of sleep, hectic lifestyle, rushing to seek financial help from people, posting on social media for raising fund, abandonment of relatives and friends which cannot be shown in any expenses bill on this world. My father left us all alone, he escaped his life full of misery.

 When I lost my father, my world was devastated. It felt like a pillar of my house was gone. My father couldn’t see his little girl turning into a strong woman. I feel disturbed when my friends’ fathers call them to know how they were doing, my heart aches unknowingly. When the songs about father tunes on the radio, when Father’s Day approaches, it gives me a sudden chill. When my mother passed by, the neighbors had doubtful eyes on her character. Vagrant men used to tease me with uncomfortable languages. Basically, from shopkeeper to rag pickers, everyone tried to manipulate us. But during that time my father’s harsh way to teach me the reality became useful- life was not about compliments on achievements, life is a journey and a mere success is not the station of destination. Despite being poor, my father was very wise regarding the advice on life values. When I look back, everyday my father was teaching me to adapt to life situations even with whatsoever I have got.

 A father’s love is probably the most underrated thing in this world. A mother’s care is seen but a father’s concern is ignored. A mother’s effort is seen but the father’s helplessness is unseen.

Why? Because fathers are supposed to be so-called strong, inexpressive.

 After reading my story, can you justify he was a hero, or love, or everything?

 Well, my father was nothing in everything and everything in nothing, he was just a human- ordinary man, not ready to give up on struggles of life. He never considered himself as a failure, which I am absolutely proud of.

Today, someone said to a five-year old boy that the earthquake might hit the city. This boy immediately asked his relative with whom he was playing to take him back to his father. On questioning, he replied that only his dad could save him from the earthquake. I smirked listening to this. Unfortunately I don’t have a protective shield in my journey of life.

 I have realized that not everyone gets love of father; death is a sad reality of life. Every day I hear news about children losing fathers in wars, explosions, health problems and these days mainly due to Covid- 19. I cannot imagine what they have to go through now on wards.

 Now I don’t have my father physically but I see my father in my ‘mom’ as I realized a ‘father’ is made up of responsibility and love that nobody credits for. If you are listening to me, my father, never doubt a moment that despite how I behaved at times that I did not dearly love you, I did and I still do. Whether it be food preferences, mannerism, religious and political views, or any other type of behavior, genetics, the child is a living reflection of a father. Now I don’t feel doomed for not having a father physically, my father is in ‘me’.