Blogger's diary, Father

A miracle in 2014

Within the bunch of the many wrong things that happen to us, are the right ones. And within the many right ones are the small little miracles, which are only revealed when we allow them to happen to us. 
I am a believer. A believer of miracles, fate, twisted tales, destiny and serendipities. And because I see it happen so often in the lives of the people that surround me, including mine, I don’t take these miracles for granted. 
Every time I chance on something that seems remotely close to a happy coincidence, I make a mental note. This story is one such note that I would rather write about than leave embedded in my fleshy memory.  
Dad woke up this morning, telling me he had a horrible dream. He was so terrified that he broke out into a cold sweat. 
“What was it?” I asked casually.
“You decided to go back to India.”
“Why did that scare you so bad?” I prodded. 
“The house was empty, again. I was alone. Will you leave?” he asked, just to assuage his fears.  
“Of course, not. I won’t leave without you.” 
He suddenly looked relatively calmer.
What just transpired, took me some 23 years behind. It was 1992. We were in Oman, again. And it was my first day at school. I was inside my classroom. Sitting beside me, was not another student, but dad. My hands refused to let go of his.
“I am scared,” I remember telling him, between sobs.
“Why?” If I recall, he was tearing up too. 
“I can’t sit alone here. I don’t know any of them. Don’t go,” I cried.
“I am not leaving without you,” he promised. 
And just like that, I had stopped crying. He had kept his promise. 
Mom tells me that dad called in sick at work, and stood outside my class the whole day. Thanks to the glass doors of my classroom, he passed by occasionally, without disturbing the teachers, so that I could see him. 
I wouldn’t like to draw parallels here. Because that’s not why I was reminded of this tale. I think it was more about this beautiful relationship that I shared with dad, which until last year I had been so oblivious to. 
Over the course of 2014, we’ve shared more than just a roof together. He brings me what I like – chocolates, I bring him what he does – junk food. We spoil each other and also, reprimand the other, after having done so. He tries to make me more like him – asocial, and I try to teach him the perks of being a social fly. We fight, we argue, we cry, we cook, we go for long walks – and all of it together.  
That was my small little miracle last year. The miracle was in knowing how much I loved what I had always loved. The one person – among the many – I had been taking for granted throughout. 

All this while he had kept his promise. I think it’s time I kept mine.  

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