What a beautiful idea!

My parents are visiting us in Sydney and I thought, how about saying ‘Thank you, Papa’ on Fathers Day! But on second thought, well, it is still a western concept in India, so would he be impressed? But my hubby intervened, “Having a day to honour a parent anywhere in the world is a beautiful idea!” Without a doubt this is highly consistent with the Indian attitude of respect for one’s parents, and after all, it is a special day of recognition for being a dad. Just because Indians did not necessarily invent Father’s or Mother’s Day does not mean we cannot celebrate it in our global Indian

Daddy loves me the most!

If it hadn’t been for my father, I would have never come this far in the last ten years. I am sixteen, and have been deaf and mute since birth. I am an achiever in sports and pretty determined to make it big in life. My source of inspiration is my dad. My biggest prize is the pride that’s reflected on his face every time I win a game. Somehow he absolutely knows that I am a special child and I deserve the best in life. He loves me the most, more than my brother, more than mum!

Thank you Papa, for always being my biggest strength, come what may; for making me believe in myself and all my dreams. I remember my birthday when you had bought me that wonderful life-size doll that you thought I always community. In fact, we as Indians, undoubtedly share the strongest bond with parents.

So thanks Dad, for making me the person I am today; for being proud of me even when I wasn’t the best; for teaching me the difference between right and wrong, and for always being there. You never told me how to live; you lived, and let me watch you doing it. You’re someone to look up to no matter how tall I’ve grown. And yes, if there’s anything I can give you in return it is my love. Love you, Dad.

Pragya Mehrotra

wanted, and I threw it away because I wanted a big metallic jeep like bhaiya had. I remember you skipping dinner and just going to bed quietly after picking up the doll. I also remember you going to the market the next morning and returning with a bigger and more expensive toy jeep and also a helicopter for me. I remember how everyone else would think you were spoiling me with your ever-growing love, and pampering my choices to buy kites and maanja, not dolls and chocolates. You have always told me to choose the biggest pichkari and the most expensive colours on Holi; and the biggest boxes of bombs, phuljhadis, anaars and rockets to burst on Diwali. The reality that I couldn’t hear how loud those bombs were, never discouraged you from indulging me. I always cherish how you learnt sign-language to be able communicate with your special child, just to tell her, “Ghabra mat, tu toh mera achha beta hai. Bas kabhi koi galat kaam mat karma. Hamara aashirwad hamesha tere saath hai.”(Don’t worry, you are a good child. As long as you don’t do anything very bad, my blessing will always be with you). I often sit back and wonder if I can ever thank you enough for giving me a normal life, and making me feel so special!

Countless gallons of tears, be they the Nirupa Roy variety on 70 MM or the Sita- Kaushalya variety on the idiot screen, have been dedicated to eulogise the sacred nurturing maternal instinct that supposedly underpins both family and society. Alas, the man who was always by your side when you had that usual argument with your mum, the man who lifted you on his shoulders so that you could have a better view, the man who fought his tears bravely when you finally made the big move outside the protective cocoon of his love and responsibility, was always happy to remain in the shadows - unnoticed and mostly overlooked.

Probably because he eternally acknowledged his wife’s 24/7 presence in the family, who ungrudgingly embraced all domestic accountabilities on his behalf while he was away facing the harsh, cruel world by himself.

He discussed academics, literature, politics and career choices with you, but there was always that formal distance… He was there to solve all the world’s rocket science problems for you, but simply nodded with pride when you were vindicated. He was a fountain of knowledge and patiently persisted in answering the silliest of questions it. He was never reluctant to get your bike repaired in spite of a bad day at work, so that you could win the race the next day. It was mum into whose lap you hid your head whether you were sad or happy, while he was a man of few words…yes even when you thought you had committed the gravest of mistakes - but he was never hesitant to give you a second chance. He was always there to protect you and guard you from any harm, so when you unknowingly dozed off into sound slumber after the fever had subsided, he was there by your side all night, gently stroking your head. At times, you would be put off when he stood rock still and never even held out his hands while you embraced mum tightly and wept, on homecoming. But again, he had to be the hero, and heroes don’t break down and weep.

He inspired you to be strong and have faith. He taught you integrity and to be brave and decisive in the face of dilemma. He instilled in you the value of responsibility. He urged you to rise above criticism and demonstrated the value of dignity.

And yes, you were sure that time wouldn’t weaken him. But today when you observe his wrinkled face and his grey hair, see him break into a bout of coughing when a joke is told, or hear him pant on climbing a flight of stairs, it jolts that unswerving confidence in you and makes you wonder whether he’s the same person. Today, when your child kisses her dad and gifts him with a bunch of flowers saying ‘My daddy is the best’ on Father’s Day, it makes you want to run back in time and give