There are several types of love stories in this world. I had the opportunity to be witness to a simple, strong one - perhaps stuff that legends are made of - the love story of my parents which now remains as a warm memory with the passing away of my father in early April.

My dad was 24yrs old when he was married, my mom was 18. He had a salary of Rs 50 per month and 6 mouths to feed. My mom’s trousseau consisted of two sarees she wore for her wedding and two sarees for everyday use. On weekends when they were just married my dad would cycle her to a little park in Udupi, where they would entertain themselves with boiled peanuts and ice candy. They were content and willingly stretched to make ends meet.

I don’t remember a single instance where my dad raised his voice on us children or my mom. He would always express his displeasure by stating in a flat tone that he was saddened by our behavior. He and mum had a pretty mature way of discussing their view points out. Dad would never sound patronizing or belittle the views of my mum. He would involve her in all decision making and truly listen to her take. Perhaps all the open communication was the foundation of their strong marriage.

 After their near fatal road accident in 2003, my mom stood as a rock by my dad, goading him on to become the person he used to be – my dad had severe brain trauma and was in coma for two months. My mom’s unflinching belief that he would get back to driving on the roads, kept pushing my dad to work hard on becoming better. His left side had been left paralyzed by the stroke. With regular exercise and physiotherapy and my mom being an active member of his cheer squad, dad got back to literally standing on his own feet.

 In the last few years with the passing on of several of their peers a cloud of insecurity had grown around them. Owing his brain trauma, dad could not make decisions and had no short term memory. He was dependent on mom for deciding on whether he should get up from the dining table and wash his hands for instance. There was one thing he was sure of though – that he loved mom dearly and that she was the medium through which God was helping him survive. To every visitor he had he would proudly exclaim, how the unending faith his wife had, had helped him to come close to being normal.

 When I visited them the last few times, they would say that they prayed that they should die together. My dad would get emotional and tell my mom that if ever she died before him, she should leave a pill or something behind, so he could consume it and join her. To him there was no life without her.

 When he collapsed on that sad Friday, she ran to his side – began to gently beat his chest. She desperately tried to keep him going with mouth to mouth resuscitation. She kept blowing in to his mouth, till the ambulance came and put him on oxygen. He held her hand tight and looked into her eyes almost as if he were sorry to go and then as he lay looking into her eyes, God carried him home.

 The truth about our lives is that our parents are the only ones who love us no matter what we do, no matter how we look. They are proud of us and look out for us always. God uses our parents as the medium to keep us taken care of. He protects and guides us through them. I am thankful to God, for having blessed me with the best of the tribe.

 Thank you daddy, my daddy is bestest!

T