A truly rich man is the one whose children run into his arms when his hands are empty. I think I heard this in the vernacular when I was something of a tot. The words magnify in my mind’s eye as they resound with their truth. The amazing Wordsworth said, “Father! To God himself we cannot give a holier name.” Supposedly poor gentlemen often leave the richest inheritance to their children. Their rigorous discipline is dripping with their love and concern. The stern scoldings, the tight stinging slaps that only a father can terrorize a child with, are the ‘amrit,’ the nectar that nurtures and nourishes their future. The travails and tumults of life can be faced head-on if you have had a down-to-earth childhood. The morning ritual, riding pillion behind a two-wheeler, with the dad chatting lovingly, asking the child about her day, is a school by itself. It’s a bond of steel. It chains the child forever to the father with a loving aura, invisible and potent. No ride in a Mercedes or Maybach with a driver can bring a child close to a dad as much as the famous “quality time” can.
The little scraps of wisdom that dads inadvertently impart to their progeny leave deep imprints that kids carry in their hearts as empowering weapons of self-confidence. Fathers ignite passions and ambitions. They pump confidence with their encouraging vibes and infuse grit and determination into timorous hearts. When God made a dad’s heart, even He was unaware that He was creating a masterpiece. The largesse imparted from these holy precincts is unmatchable. The sacrifice of dads often goes unheard and unsung like desert flowers. They are the rock-solid wall that stays unceremoniously and invisibly in the background.
Not surprisingly, dads react differently to the demands of their sons and daughters. ‘The pat of butter on a hot frying pan’ simile is perfect to describe a dad melting instantly at the cow’s eyes made by his daughter to wangle out some cash or favour from a ‘mushy as butter’ dad. Often wily wives employ their daughters to wheedle out something from the husband. Daughters always and every time score over wives, any day! Her daddy’s princess has to leave the nest someday, and many a time have I seen dads wiping tears from bleeding eyes, surreptitiously standing in corners. As the swan glides away on the lakes of a new life, the dad pretends he has a cold or that there is a speck in his eye while he nurses his wounded heart. The big strong dad becomes jelly and putty, rolled into one, as the baby girl is no more a fledgling. She sashays down the aisle bedecked in her jewels and finery, leaving a vacant spot which was hers alone…”baabul meriyaan guddiyaan tere ghar reh gayyian” (Dad, I left behind my dolls in your house).
When I see the steely glint of obstinacy in my frail father’s eyes, I marvel at the lessons that I learned at his feet. The reams of Urdu literature which he poured into my tender ears; the spellings of bombastic English words; the Gurbani from the holy book as I sat with him in his prayers; the capitals and union territories that no teacher could have taught better than him. I bow in reverence to the spirit of fathers all over the world for their silent but titanic presence in the lives of their children. They are the stalwarts who kill the monsters and demons in their kids’ lives… “mere walid tera shukriya. jo zindagi ka inaam hai, sab tera hi muqaam hai …mera zehen teri soch se munawwar hai ..meri aqeedaton ke aansu qabool kar, meri har khata bhool kar, meri manzilon ka pata bata, mere walid tera shukriya.”
Lily Swarn, International Beat Poet Laureate for India in 2023-2024 and recipient of Caesar Vallejo Award for literary excellence by UHE, is an internationally acclaimed, multilingual poet, novelist, essayist, columnist, gold medalist, university colour holder, radio show host, and Peace and Humanity ambassador. She and has over 70 international and national awards including the Chandigarh Sahitya Akademi award. Her poetry is translated into 21 languages. She can be reached at [email protected]

Lily Swarn