Evolving Perceptions: A Father’s Hidden Love

Happy Father’s Day

I know I’m late, at least by two days. Honestly, this should have been done long ago, but perhaps there’s always a right moment to express what you’ve wanted to say for so long.

Firstly, Happy Father’s Day to all fathers and their beloved daughters. (Okay,much loved sons too.)

No, I’m not here to write an emotional post, but it’s certainly a personal, joyous, and nostalgic one. Consider this my humble Happy Father’s Day Blog, written from the heart and full of gratitude. It’s not just a post—it’s a tribute to A Father’s Hidden Love that reveals itself in countless silent ways.

Looking back, I never saw my father in my childhood as a loving person. He loved kids, that I knew. But I always thought all those kids were not us. He was strict, and he was someone we were genuinely scared of. My brother and I, the eldest of four siblings, always kept a respectful distance, striving to be on our best behavior around him. He was our compass for proper behavior.

Memories of childhood with father

Yet, intertwined with this strictness are vivid Memories of childhood with father. The joyrides on his motorbike, Rajdoot, when we were small, even after spending long and tiring days on the farms. We eagerly awaited his return so he could take us on those joyrides. This was before we understood the strict father beneath the man who carried us on his shoulders and rode with us on his beloved bike. By the time we understood that, we were already quite fearful of him, hesitant to be around him unnecessarily.

He made sure to take all four of us to buy school uniforms, bags, books, pencils, and pens at the start of each academic year, taking an interest in what we preferred. We were, of course, too scared to express our choices. Yet, he repeated this year after year, making it a ritual we looked forward to. He took us to choose crackers before Diwali and pichkaris before Holi, not to forget filling those pichkaris with water when we were busy playing colors and didn’t want to waste time on such trivial matters.

Not only did he make us tag along with him for buying books and notebooks, but he also took the time to cover them during the busy monsoon farming season, which clashed with school openings. He made sure to visit the nearest city annually with us to shop, eat, and visit a theater to watch a film. We were happy and overjoyed with these outings, never asking for more, partly out of the joy and satisfaction they brought, but also out of fear of the scoldings we often received.

In all this, we rarely conversed much. We were appropriately intimidated, sometimes solely by his presence, unaware that we were creating memories of childhood with father we’d cherish for a lifetime. We saw him as a strict father, not unlike the patriarchs in old Hindi movies.

What I never understood was how he took my opinions on matters I did not understand, when giving any opinion in front of him was a tough task in itself. He would encourage us to read newspapers and discuss matters of importance in front of us. It is only in the reflection of the past that I realize how this helped me in building my self-esteem, confidence, and forming my own opinions, and of course, giving them freely. 

Impact of father on daughter’s life

Coming from a middle-class, conservative Marwadi community and raised in a small town in the 50s and 60s, it was quite  progressive of him and surprising for us,  when he stressed the importance of financial independence to us three sisters as we were growing up. He was very sure that females had to be self-dependent economically to progress in life. He took great interest in our studies and how we performed there. He made sure that we got the best that was available in terms of what we learnt. He was happy when we were praised, as I am sure most fathers are.

This brings me to the impact of father on daughter’s life. His belief in our potential, even when unspoken, shaped our ambitions and gave us strength. He became the force driving our flight, with our mother as the wind beneath our wings. 

He allowed me the space to disagree, even when it led to heated confrontations over my refusal to study the course , he wished me to take. Looking back, I realize now, how it was him who equipped me to stand up to him. The strength came from him, supported by our mother. Though I won the battle, I now know each of my victories was his.

There is no doubt that he had a major father figure influence on career choice. By encouraging free thought and decision-making—even if it led to conflicts—he ensured that our careers were chosen by conviction, not compulsion. My father is the bedrock upon which our life stands. The rock has mellowed down with age. What has not mellowed is the twinkle in his eye each time we meet, and the joy in his voice each time we talk. He still remains our compass for proper conduct in life.

A Father’s Hidden Love

As a person, he is more than a finest of fathers to his children. He is a leader. A philosopher. A phoenix who has risen from the ashes, a granddad taking joy in being with the grandkids, a patriarch of a joint family, and elder brother of loving siblings, a man who knows when to relinquish control and pass it on to the next person. A man immensely wise. But this post is not about that multifaceted man.

This post is about A Father’s Hidden Love, the father who gave his all to raise his children and succeeded.