The ‘6’ I Could Not Write: A 15-year-old Kashmiri Lad’s Love Note For His Father
When I was around five years old, my father summoned me into his room and began teaching me letters and numbers. Tracing 1, then the curves of 2, 3, and so on, I reached 6.
I remember the pencil felt alien in my small fingers, its lines twisting into something unrecognizable. I forgot how to write 6, mistakenly rendering a 9 instead.
Papa gazed into my notebook, then at me, his eyes intense. “Do you want to study, or not?” he asked, his voice low. I, a stubborn five-year-old, defiantly replied, “No.”
A sharp sting followed—a familiar reminder of the stakes involved. He slapped me several times, not out of cruelty, but from an unwavering love for me.
Papa wanted to see me accomplish all that he could not – to reach the pinnacle and surpass his achievements. The sting of the slap, though momentary, carried the weight of his lifelong aspirations for me—a burning desire for a future he never had.
Childhood Under Curfew Skies
Growing up in Trahpoo, a verdant village in Achabal, Anantnag district, my childhood was painted with the vibrant hues of Kashmir. Sadly, it was also shadowed by the stark reality of curfews.
They were not mere interruptions. For us children, the curfews constituted seismic shifts in our lives. Schools would close abruptly, sometimes for weeks or even months.
The vibrant bazaars of Anantnag would fall silent, replaced by an unsettling stillness. Our world shrank to the confines of our home. My studies, which my father valued above all else, often suffered.
Now I realize my father’s pain at these disruptions in his dreams for me. Now I realize his fears as he witnessed the erosion of academic culture caused by the constant school breaks, the lost time, the opportunities he felt were slipping away.
This Father’s Day, in a quiet moment, I understood that the ‘6’ I struggled with, and the ‘9’ I mistakenly drew, were early symbols of the grander design you hold for me
He dreamed of me reaching heights that had felt inaccessible to him, of soaring into the world beyond our valley—a world of schools that functioned the way they were supposed to and where learning was uninterrupted.
Thus, when I was in 7th grade, my father made the momentous decision that still echoes with sacrifice – he sent me to a boarding school. It was not because I was a burden; it was precisely the opposite.
It was an act of profound love, a desperate attempt to afford me the consistent education he believed I deserved, and a chance at taking flight into the world in ways he could not.
I remember the knot in my stomach as I left, but I also recall the unwavering resolve in his eyes. Papa was relinquishing a piece of his heart to secure my future.
The Unwavering Provider
From that day onward, Papa’s dedication became even more evident. He worked tirelessly and persistently, never deviating from his constant striving. Whether tending the orchard, managing the accounts, or navigating the complexities of life in Kashmir, he remained a pillar of consistency.
Every request I made—every book, every school supply, every trip home—he found a way to make it happen. He ensured I had everything I needed, and often – more than I had requested.
He rarely spoke of his hardships, consistently focusing on my progress and well-being. His calls were brief and always ended with encouragement—a quiet insistence on excelling.
Papa, you spent your life constructing bridges for me to cross—bridges you never had the opportunity to traverse yourself. You bore the weight of uncertainties so I could pursue certainties.
This Father’s Day, in a quiet moment, I understood that the ‘6’ I struggled with, and the ‘9’ I mistakenly drew, were early symbols of the grander design you hold for me.
Your tireless work, your unwavering belief, and your immense sacrifices are the bedrock of everything I am and everything I aspire to achieve. Thank you, Papa, for envisioning a future for me that was brighter than our most challenging days.
(Arfeen Angel is a student of Class 10 at Army Public School, Beas, Amritsar. His father Mr Iqbal Ahmad Wani is the Owner and Editor of Heaven Mail and Barwaqt, English and Urdu dailies published from Srinagar)
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