Perhaps we only fully grasp the vastness of the word ‘father’ when time runs out. When we leave childhood behind or reach a life burdened with responsibilities. Many realize this even later, upon losing their fathers. By then, all that’s left is regret and reminiscing. This distance or the intrusion of gray hues into a sweet relationship is often attributed to the ‘generation gap.’
I’m fortunate. My father has overcome this generation gap. Like any other father, mine is ordinary. Yet, he’s different. He never imposed his opinions. He explained things with reason. He taught me right from wrong in his own way.
Growing up in a village, I knew from my friends’ experiences that fathers were strict disciplinarians. Playing outdoors meant being on constant alert, lest father caught you. During meals, the sudden arrival of a father would lead to a halt, or one would somehow manage to escape. Even in many affluent families, this was a familiar scene. When a schoolteacher father would break his son’s cricket bat and forbid him from playing, calling him a ‘spoiled brat,’ my educated father would buy a new bat and ball. He would even give me extra money to buy candies and drinks for my friends. I was never a good player, not even good enough to make it to the best eleven. But having my own bat and ball secured my place. It was my father’s generosity. I often joke, “I was the only legally sanctioned player in the area.”
While my friends were forbidden from playing, sneaking out to the field and constantly looking over their shoulders, I played fearlessly.
There was no hiding, no deception in my life. Not in any sphere. When my friends were forbidden from attending pujas, fairs, or circuses, my father would encourage me to go. He would give me extra money to spend at fairs with my friends. He encouraged my creativity. ‘How will you know yourself without seeing the world?’ My father’s words fueled my curiosity about everything. I must say, he created a unique environment for a lazy person like me from a young age.
Whenever I hear contemporary writers talk about their obstacles, I immediately offer my devotion at the feet of my parents. From childhood, they had given me such beautiful logical freedom. When I was in the ninth grade, I asked my father for money to attend a literary program in Madaripur. He simply asked, ‘Can you find your way there?’ During college, I went to Atarshi in Faridpur. I had no acquaintances. Yet, my parents had no objections. My father said, ‘Whatever you do, study well. And don’t do anything that people will criticize. I trust your conscience.’ I have cherished that trust of my father. I do so as much as I can.
