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I have tried to translate for the first time a story that has touched my heart. Even though I had
read so many touching stories in the past, seldom have I cried reading it. The actual story in
Malayalam was written by an anonymous friend. My salutations to that anonymous friend who
has presented all his love towards his father in this beautiful story. This story holds similarity to
the lives of several great fathers who has sacrificed their lives for the betterment of his family
especially in the Middle-East which includes my father too. This translation was mainly made
for those friends of mine who are not fluent in the Malayalam language. There was no better time
to take this effort than this wonderful “Father’s day”. My dear father…. I love you and I am
sorry if I have not expressed that love to you….
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Unexpected Journey

I never wished to come to this country…. Not because I hated it. Infact I never hated this place…
moreover had the most respect and love towards it. But I never liked the lifestyle here and my
father was the sole inspiration for this thought of mine. 

My father was strict about this… that his children should not suffer in this desert. Behind this
concrete world and the admirable beauty of the city lies the horror of loneliness and isolation.
The depression that those feelings were not new to my father and probably this aspect made him
take this decision in his children’s life. 

“The only thing that should matter to you now is to study. Get all the education that you wish
and reach the top. I, your dear father, am there for everything that you need” used to be a regular
sentence in his neatly handwritten letters that we used to receive in addition to the numerous
advises, jokes, surprising information about this place. He used to write separately to my mother
and also to us. If at all a reference is required to find a good person, these letters would be more
than sufficient. It is with awe that I discovered that he managed to teach us the lessons of good
life and also taught us how to identify good things and bad things from whatever happening in
our life using this simple hand written lines. 

We both, my brother and myself, had a proud life during our education phase in life. We shared
our seats with the richer, always had the best clothes; used our own vehicles and had the best
compared to our classmates, never having inadequacy for anything. In the end, when I passed my
engineering with flying colours he asked again “Do you want to study anything else? Do you
want to go for higher degrees? I do not know much about these matters… so don’t hide anything
and tell me if you want” 

The only aspect that I didn’t like his way was his vacations. He used to come to see us only once
in two or three years. He had several reasons for that like not getting leaves; the sponsor did not
approve, cannot leave everything and come as if the entire world was in his shoulders!!!
However, the fees, money for new dress, money to make our wishes true… all came without any
break. 

Whenever he came, we used to proudly introduce him to my friends as a manager of a big

company… what else could we imagine for a father who had the entire world on his shoulders?
Friends boiled in jealousy when the bicycle gave way to scooter and then to the latest motorbike.
“Your father is really great buddy”. Yes we too agreed upon when they said it. True… the father
who loves us and who lives for us should be great… nothing below that!!! 

I was awakened from my thoughts upon the announcement that the flight is landing at Sharjah
echoed through the speakers. Balan uncle was waiting outside… sparkle in his eyes when he saw
me. He hugged me. This is not my Ganga’s child… This is my Ganga himself”… he said with
teary eyes. The reason for the sparkle in his eyes was well understood when he said that I look
just like my sweet father and he had drifted away to the past when he saw me. The pride that
surfed inside came out as a sweet smile!!! 

“You did not go for work today” casually I asked him when we were driving back from airport.
He smiled and told…. “This is my work”. He looked at my surprised face and reiterated his
statement that he has been working as a driver for the past twenty-five or so years. My first
surprise started from him. My great father had a Taxi driver as his friend… Tried to bring my
father’s broad mind into mine!!! 

Even though the air conditioner in the car was chilling, I decided to keep my blazer folded.
When I had informed that my company was sending me for a conference, he had sent money to
buy this suit reminding me its importance in high profile meetings. When this trip to Sharjah
came up as a company sponsored event, my mother persuaded me to wear this suit. “That is
where he sleeps. You should visit him in this suit. Your father would see it and he will be
happy”. My mother and father… how long did they live far apart… seeing each other once in
several years… having a separated life…. just for us!!! 

The car passed the concrete jungles and was running through an empty area of the city, both
sides with endless sand-dunes. Remembered the travels in interior India where development was
something unheard of. The second surprise started there. I was always expecting that the great
Gangadharan, my father, used to live in a posh apartment inside the city. But this place did not
even have the shades of that expectation. So many small cottages in a line made with wood… all
single room cottages that were made without any planning!!! 

I was insisting on not staying in the company sponsored hotel, just to live where my father used
to live… where he spent most of his life even if it was for a couple of days. But what I am
witnessing here was nowhere near my wildest expectations and beliefs. “Come, these are our
palaces… They call it caravans”, Balan uncle laughed and pointed it to those lined cottages 

There were boats lying in the area that looked like a sea shore… in different colours... probably
fishing boats. We passed a couple of caravans and reached in front of a small garden beautifully
set up besides a caravan. “This is where we used to stay… your father and me. Now, I am alone
here” His voice trembled when he said that. 

Inside, there were two cots on each side of that small room with a television kept on a rack in the
middle. Underneath was a very old Toshiba cassette player with Mehdi Hassan’s, Ghulam Ali’s
and Yesudas’ cassettes stacked carefully. Balan uncle switched on a kettle that was lying in a
corner of the room. I sat on one of the cot with a numb feeling. 
“That was your father’s cot” uncle said pointing at the cot on which I sat. Couldn’t control the
tears that pumped out of the eyes… Cried aloud… Wanted to throw away the blazer that I had
kept folded in my hands. Words did not come out when I hugged Balan uncle and cried out so
loudly. Pointing at the long Arab dress on the wall, Balan uncle said that they were the ones used
by my father when he used to go in the boat. Hugged that dress which was slightly soiled, it had
the smell of sea rather than that of my Father. “I did not keep it away… I could feel Ganaga’s
presence when it is hanging there” Balan uncle continued. 

I wished that I had known… that my father was sacrificing his life…never complaining his
difficulties and not letting know anybody his life in these caravans and fishing boats… He was a
candle… an incense stick… that spreads light and smell as it is getting over!!! My father, whom
I know now, was standing tall and high against the father that I used to know... A man who can
be compared to an ocean of love… a mountain of care. Tears flowed out with more force despite
my best ways to stop it. 

“He wanted to come back after your studies… were dreaming about a life with his wife and
children… we always shared our dreams…“ Balan uncle continued, “The heart attack happened
in the boat and he fell into the sea… could find his body only after two days… by then….”.
“Stop uncle…. Please stop… I cannot hear anymore”, I cried from within not able to listen to
whatever he was saying. Probably he sensed it… he too became silent. Kissed the long dress that
was in my hands… and whispered “You defeated us with your love my dear and great father”!!! 

Balan uncle pulled out a trunk box from under the cot and said that it was my father’s box which
he wished to open several times but couldn’t. Remembered what my mother had told when I left
home… “that all his belongings could be lying there, try to send everything if it is possible…
even if it is expensive”… My mother… she couldn’t see her husband… wishing to see his
belongings at least!!! Opened the box with care to find a photograph of the little Krishna…
surrounding it was several of our photographs taken on different birthdays…mother’s photo near
to that… several letters neatly wound with a rubber-band… couple of dresses, medicines,
prescriptions and… and…nothing else!!! 

“Oh mother… my father has not left any belongings here…. all the belongings of my father are
there… in our small village… in the form of mother…. In the form of the two sons… in the form
of a house and the land”. I murmured while hugging the soiled dress more vigorously amid
uncontrollable tears… then folded and kept it in the bag. 

Back in the car. It moved slowly through the empty roads into a public graveyard…. There he
is…. Sleeping with heartbeats echoing the love for us… There he is… sleeping irritated without
being able to be with us… holding on to the true symbols that drank his sweat… I stand before
you, my dear father… bless us accepting our love as the only offerings!!!!