The Silent Strength of Fathers ( part II)

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“Find what you love, and the rest will follow,” he would say, but there were times when Arun felt lost, wondering if his father truly believed in him. After a particularly disappointing report card, frustration bubbled over one evening.

“You don’t understand!” Arun had shouted, his voice thick with anger. “You want me to be someone I’m not!” The hurt in his father’s eyes was palpable, a moment of silence hanging between them like an unspoken promise.

His father took a deep breath, his voice barely above a whisper. “I want you to be happy, son. You are enough just as you are.” Those words pierced Arun’s heart, and as the tension began to fade, he realized that the love between them was often expressed through understanding rather than expectation.

The quiet moments they shared became a balm for the chaos of adolescence. Every Sunday afternoon, they would spend time together, fixing things around the house. Whether repairing a leaky faucet or building a bookshelf, Arun felt the presence of his father beside him, guiding him not just in tasks but in life. One Sunday, as they worked on a wooden bench in the backyard, Arun struggled with the hammer, frustration bubbling over.

“Why can’t I do this right?” he muttered, the weight of his emotions spilling into the air. His father placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, his eyes soft yet firm.

“Life is about learning, Arun. You won’t get it right every time, and that’s okay.” It was a simple lesson, yet profound. In that moment, Arun absorbed more than just the craft of carpentry; he learned about resilience and the quiet strength that resided in his father.

But, as life often goes, conflict was not far behind. Arun’s desire to pursue a career in the arts clashed with his father’s vision of stability and security. When he finally mustered the courage to reveal his plans, the air thickened with tension.

“Why can’t you consider something practical?” his father asked, disbelief etched on his face. Arun felt anger surge within him. “You don’t believe in me,” he retorted, the hurtful words slipping out before he could catch them.

Weeks passed, filled with silence and unresolved emotions. Arun buried himself in his art, yet the absence of his father’s support weighed heavily on his heart. One evening, as he worked on a painting, he heard a soft knock on his door. It was his father, holding a cup of tea, his expression a blend of vulnerability and hope.

“Can we talk?” he asked gently. Arun felt the barriers he had erected begin to crumble. As they sat together, the conversation unfolded slowly, each word a step toward healing.

RAJAT CHANDRA SARMAH

GUWAHATI , ASSAM , INDIA

15/11/2024