A Tale of Fathers and Aeroplanes
1 min read

A Tale of Fathers and Aeroplanes

A Tale of Fathers and Aeroplanes

"Look at my plane, Dad. One day I'll fly far away," said 3-year-old me playing with a paper aeroplane.
"Won't you take me with you?" asked my dad.
"No, Dad, don't you see? there is only one seat!"


A few years later, my dad made my dream come true.

He bought us flight tickets for a vacation in Shimla. At that time, flights were damn expensive in India. But my dad worked day and night and saved enough. I couldn't stop smiling the day we boarded the flight to New Delhi. I finally flew.

10 years later,  I saw tears in his eyes.

I was about to board the flight to Spain to do my MBA. I was excited to start this new adventure — a new country, a new lifestyle, a promising career. But never had I seen him so sad. "What's the matter, dad?" I asked.

"Nothing, son. I'm happy for you. But I'm afraid I am not going to see you much around."

And he was right.

Although I tried, I could never visit my parents as often as I wanted. Neither could they — long flights, health issues, visas and paperwork.
He broke his arm in an accident — I couldn't go as I had exams.
He almost got blind — I was busy with the strategic roadmap of my company.
My grandfather died — I wasn't there to console him.
My parents are terrified by this damn coronavirus — And I can't hold their hands and say, "It's okay. We can deal with it."

As I'm writing this tale of a son's failure, I feel a sudden tug at my sleeve.

"Papa, Look! I'm going to fly far, far away,"says my 3-year-old son holding his wooden aeroplane.