The Perfect Present: A Story of Paternal Love | Thursday Tale No. 11

  Sometimes, the most meaningful gifts aren’t found in stores or wrapped in shiny paper; they’re shaped in moments of love, sacrifice, and quiet devotion. 

  The Perfect Present tells the tender story of a father’s heartfelt quest to create the ideal birthday gift for his little girl, whose very life is nothing short of a miracle.

The Perfect Present

Photo by Cottonbro Studio on Pexels.

  Ten more days, and it would be Nila’s birthday. She would turn the most anticipated age — five years old. 

  Nila was born with complications, so they had said, “She would not survive till five; if she did, she would live to see old age, but even then, she’ll reach all her developmental stages late. She'll recognize faces only at three, smile at four, and utter her first word only at five.” 

  So her parents, Divya and Suresh, poured their finances, time, and care into checkups, treatments, and therapy to make her healthy enough to live comfortably. 

  On Nila’s part, her body was so receptive to their care, that by three-and-a-half years she was running around the house, filling it with her laughter and her granny-like talks. At the proper age, she was able to recite stories, nursery rhymes and mathematical tables from 1-10, and sing her favourite songs. She had impeccable oratory skills, at such a young age, that her uncles often commented that she would grow up to be an advocate. On the health front, the last time she had a seizure was about eight months ago, and mild medication had worked well on her. 

  This had given them some hope. 

  But, despite all the light, there was some apprehension; anything could happen, anytime. So they ensured that every day was a celebration; every day nothing less than the best for Nila. 

  From infancy, they had given her everything her eyes had landed on: cars, dolls, light sabers, the transforming Cinderella dress and the glass shoes, a tree house in the centre of her bedroom, and the banana pudding that was imported every month from a deli in the remote corner of Thailand. 

  “She had asked for a second cup, which means she must have loved it a lot, right? See, she eats it with the same enthusiasm as last summer,” was how Suresh reasoned it to his family. Although none of his family members conceded his reason, including Divya — who held a completely different view on this matter — they allowed him to express his love for his daughter in his own manner and pace.

  Both, Divya and Suresh, approached the perturbation differently, at different times; they balanced each other out. When Divya was pulled by the gravity of post-partum depression, Suresh held her in the apple of his eye and cradled her back to hope and delight, even through his work and financial responsibilities. Similarly, when Divya wanted to return to work after her maternity leave, he stepped up to stay home and care for Nila. Divya too quit her career at her peak to be the stay at home parent instead, when Suresh was offered an irrefutably, highly advantageous promotion, as the zonal manager of the metropolis. They both managed financial, familial, and personal responsibilities with as good discernment as humanely possible.

  Recently, Divya had also taken the care of keeping her husband from spiraling into the devout-dad-on-a-maniac-search for the best of everything for his offspring.

  It was unlikely that they had no disagreements, but they managed it with constant communication, reassurance, and grace, working through the issue rather than around them, for each other’s sake, and Nila's.

  In relation to all the thoughtful, and sometimes, excessive goodness her universe was filled with — in order to shield her from the foreboding medical predictions, Nila seldom demanded any of the luxuries she was bestowed with. She was pretty content with whatever her family provided. She seldom threw tantrums, and always held the sense and sensibility Divya and Suresh imparted at different points of their chaotic lives. She was less fussy during her treatments, she ate food and doses of medicine even when her appetite was low, she spent hours listening to grandpa’s tales when mum was running an errand, she played with her aunts and uncles, or sat with her imagination of distant lands and magical friends like Olaf and Genie.

  So when she turned four, Divya decided to resume her career, and share their growing financial responsibility. Through everything, her parents always ensured to spend quality time with Nila, never missing a day of their weekly beach outings, family camps, and their daily bedtime story.   

  But for several days now, Suresh had been missing story time, coming home late, and sneaking around the house like a mouse stealing a piece of cheese. He was not there in bed, dozing off to her non-stop babbling, nor did he sing with her their ritualistic lullaby, nor drive her to the beach. Nila noticed his footsteps, but never followed him, nor cried and asked for him. She just knew that something had changed.

  All the while, the only thing that occupied Suresh’s body, mind and soul was the “perfect present” for his daughter’s birthday. 

  It had been twenty days since he had begun looking for something special, something memorable, something meaningful, something perfect. So everyday, after 5 p.m., he got off work, and headed straight to gift stores across the city. He looked for dolls that could walk, talk, dance; for toy vehicles that could fly; functional kitchen sets, doctor sets, doll houses; plushies the size of palm to that of several yards. But everything he saw — everything under the sky that was produced for kids — was already piled up in Nila’s playroom, and no store nor gift could fit what he was seeking for. In fact, he himself did not know what he wanted to present her, except that it had to be the most special thing in the world. He also looked for jewels from around the world that could adorn his princess, but what significance would it hold to her? Metal and stone? He thought of taking her on a tour, but he knew that she was not fond of travelling far. He thought of having her dressed as all the Disney princesses, but those were executed the previous years. So he thought and thought for days and nights but made little progress in the direction of his desire. 

  On the twentieth day, he realised that he only had ten more days, and that he had no other option than to take things into his own hands. 

  That evening, soon after work, he drove into the garage, lifted the shutter and stepped into the workshop he had abandoned soon after Nila’s birth. He had put minute details into building every brick and corner of that workshop. It had every do-it-yourself tool one can ever imagine. He locked himself there that night, promising Divya that this spree would be over within a week, and requested her to cover for him in Nila’s presence. Divya obliged despite being against him losing his energy and sleep over a simple birthday present. She had suggested a few present ideas, none of which he liked. So she let him be. 

  So finally, at night he unwrapped the cloth off the sitar, strummed its strings, tuned it, strummed it again, and tried playing the tune of the lullaby. The tune and the lyrics were conceived the moment that followed Divya’s pregnancy announcement. He had scribbled out the tune, but had not gotten a chance, as better as the night and the occasion to record it. So he always hummed and sang it to Nila from the time she was in the womb. Perhaps, that’s the reason Nila was enchanted by it, and couldn’t sleep without listening to him sing it along with her.

  They say, if you stop practicing music, you return to square one, and it seemed to have been true in Suresh’s case. So he reworked his way from note one, to Todi all night and dozed off. 

  The next day, he rummaged through his drawers in search of the paper on which he had noted down the lullaby, and after no luck, he scribbled for hours to reconstruct the tune from his memory into actual notions. Then he practiced his fingers to the notes, and finally succeeded in his endeavour of recording the piece. But he was far from done. He had wanted to present it to Nila in a non-digital form. 

  The following days, he ordered a block of sheesham wood; sawed, carved, sanded, and varnished it into a hand-size box with a compartment in the lid. He also cut out a strip of carbon steel, forged it into a cylinder, soldered it, polished it, and embossed it with pins to pluck the tune. He assembled the zinc alloy base, the vibration plate, the cylinder, and the gear set, and the hand-crank into a tiny music box with Nila’s name and portrait sculpted onto it. 

  When the box was done, and he showed it to Divya, who was half proud and half worried about the product of his frenzy, there were only three days left. Now, all that he was left to do was design the opal pendant, place it in the compartment of the music box. And stitch her the gown he had been working on alongside all the creation. 

  He stitched the gown in two days, began working on the pendant, and requested Divya to overlook the party arrangement which he had hired an event managing team to do. 

  Their backyard was cleared, chairs arranged, backdrop frames hoisted, curtains hung, fairy lights lit, and all the decorations pinned to their respective places. The cake, goodies and dinner arrived. And the guests too. Nila was dressed up in the lilac gown, which was assembled frill by frill, layer by layer, cut by cut into a piece that was stitched only for her, with a dedication no words can label. She wore a sweet little tiara, and held a tiny wand, looking exactly like a fairy from the fairytales her father read to her every night. But through all of this, her father was not at sight. He had wished her the first thing in the morning, but it was over a call. 

  Despite greeting their guest, and seeking their blessings, and laughing through the tickles and tricks of her aunts and uncles, Nila’s eyes only sought for her dad. After waiting for a long time, when the sun began to set, and the guest began to grow restless, Nila finally asked, “Mumma, where is papa? Call him please!” 

  Divya, who had checked for him in his workshop, and had not found him, and had tried reaching him via call several times already, rang him for the thirty-seventh time. Still no response. His parents complained how he had not informed any of them and had just disappeared. They insisted they proceed cutting the cake.

  “He is a grown man. He’ll be back soon.”

  Reluctantly, Divya walked Nila to the stage, and encouraged her to cut the cake. Nila, still looking for her papa, picked the knife, blew out the candle, made a wish, “Let papa come here fast,” and cut the cake. In the clamour of the birthday chorus, as the laughter and celebration intensified, Suresh was riding back home, in a cab, holding a huge plush Olaf, holding the music box with the pendant in its hand. His right foot kept tapping, wishing the cab to whizz home to his Nila. 

  He put aside the fatigue from the challenges of the day, which began with the breaking of the black opal when it was being forged onto the metal frame. Next, it followed into his search for a jewel as close to the value and size of the broken gem, only to end with a ₹50 citrine stone he had brought from a roadside astrologer’s stall decades ago when he used to believe in sun signs and good luck charms. He fixed it in the hollow of the pendant’s frame, only to be notified that the doll he had ordered would be delayed by three days. Then he rode all the way to the godown to buy the same toy he had ordered. While driving back, his car ran out of fuel, forcing him to take a cab rather than find a petrol pump, and get further delayed. 

  Finally, when the cab pulled in, and he walked to the backyard pulling along the plushie and looking at the several missed calls, the cake was being carried away for serving, and the photo session commenced. 

  Nila, whose senses identified her father’s scent, gait and physique the moment he stepped in, ran towards him, leaving everyone behind in relief and playful indignance. Suresh, held out the gift and his arms. She held him tightly. 

  He asked, “Paapa, do you not want to see your gift?” 

  Nila did not respond. She continued to hold onto him tightly, making up for the beach days, family camps, and story time spent away from him. 

- Mercy Rebonica