There almost seems to be something enchanting and alluring to us,humans. Our battles, our understanding and our perception of everything surrounding us seems to be myriad and yet painfully pleasant. Scurrying and fighting to live and to make our lives better seem to be the only activity that we're bred to do. Figures, facts and the lot seem to heighten our aspirations and dull our senses as we are lulled into dreary and dreadful insignificance. It is impossible to think that our very existence seems to serve only one purpose; What I took for granted is herculean to say the least. As I watched my father work,day after day, I was led to believe that it was the norm and he was happy doing what he did. His job was what he was born to do and I believed that sincerely with the naivety of an eight year old. I'm twenty six now and nothing can be further from the truth. What my old man had done for more than thirty years with a smile on his lips, I cannot fathom doing for more than thirty months and that is a gross overestimation. I realize now what is means to live for others. To smile and persevere and fight against desires so that someone else, anyone for that matter can dream and not be burdened by the hopelessness that keeps gnawing at you is true courage.

With age, I learnt to be less courageous and more bound by the diktat that society imposes on us so charmingly. Every fiber of my being revolted against what was imposed by my environment and yet there I was, with pleading eyes and folded arms accepting and approving and yet resisting. It seemed almost hopeless contradiction that I could live in the midst of people who did not care more than what happened beyond their walls and yet have such a vitriolic opinion on everything. I could hardly have disagreed more and yet was so captivated by a different thought that I was sure it had to be the right one because of the conviction that gave it voice. Growing up in a country like India, where the difference between endearment and abuse can be the difference of a syllable, you can imagine the turmoil.

All my previous banter brings me to the great and undeniable appreciation of what my old man has accomplished and continues to do so and will continue to do; through the many he has helped and also to the many whom he refused to, knowing well enough that only some need to be taught how to fish while others need that single one at some point in their journey to realize the seas they will voyage will guide them.
By toiling away and allowing me to dream, he has given me voice not only to be heard but wings that have helped me soar and see that there are no boundaries between hearts and the language of compassion is universal and easily understood. The continual defiance of his impulsive desires and needs have allowed me to be selfish. His lack of options meant that I know what having many feels like today. Yet when I ask him, "Dad, was it worth the sacrifice all along?" He smiles and tells me that he has no clue of the sacrifice I'm referring to. That is what defines many a stories I've heard and the one I've seen closely.

If I had to surmise his message, it would be Kipling that would do justice:

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!