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A Tale of Choosing a Perfect Gift for Father’s Day

“Sometimes I think my Papa is an accordion. When he looks at me and smiles and breathes, I hear the notes”

I remember when my Abbu gifted me this book on my birthday as birthday gift and now it has become his proxy. He is a heart specialist and his real self stays with the patients in this wrath of virus. I realize the sensitivity but a daughter who has only her father has scales heavier than altruism.

In two weeks will be Father’s day and I am still finding the needle in haystack. I wanted to do something for the one who is doing anything and everything for everyone. Every-time I ask him what he needs it goes like.

“Abbu what do you want for father’s day?”

“you don’t need to get me a toffa my love”

I am rummaging through the sites for gifts when I hear splashing waters from the basin. I see him haphazardly and disheveled with eye bags and his white coat in medals of blood stains and dust from the day. I reminisce my childhood when he smelt of grasses and oak rather medicines and blood. I remember him playing the accordion and myself dancing. I barely see him now as he leave home before dawn and return after midnight, sometimes I never see him for weeks. He stays at the hospital, treating and aiding who are in the claws of coronavirus.

“what is a toffa what is not a toffa?” I  say a daft to my friend over a call. He sends me a link via WhatsApp saying it will end my quest.

On 20th June a knackered cardiologist finds a parcel from toffa4u on his desk. As he turns each beautifully crafted page of the handmade gift, his exhausted eyes are brimming with tears. “Happy Father’s day Abbu” I say standing at the door watching him. He beckons me and I hug him as we look at the pictures encased in this flap album. The pictures of him playing accordion and me dancing in the courtyard, him holding me while I endeavor to touch the bellows, each page blowing past days to life.

Handmade gifts are something which touch the strings of heart because they nurture sentiments that remain unsaid. I cannot think of any other way than this to thank my Abbu.

I rejoice in my father’s smile. A smile delivered by a toffa4u.com.

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