I come from a family of sensitive men and strong women. A win over patriarchy? Maybe. 

But also a reflection of fractured mental health systems. Men feel the emotions - rage, sadness, anger, depression, fear. Women absorb it, fix it. Or atleast that was the case with her parents. 

Once I fell into the same rhythm too. But I learned to adapt. Throwing myself into my studies and work, all leading up to the biggest moment of my career.

I stared at the screen...my colleagues peering eagerly in excitement. 

3-4 months back this promotion was all I wanted. Stepping into a new role, I loved the rush of mastering a new stream.

It felt like what you are supposed to do at 25...Be a career woman, take the corporate world by storm. Be independent, be smart. 

For so long, I was driven to do better, be better...but for what? 

The pursuit of knowledge or to not feel less within?

I had been waiting, had been preparing for this promotion for months. 

But now that it was all here - all I felt was emptiness. My very first promotion, it meant nothing when my mum instead of congratulating me, shakily said..."Your dad had a dream he was killing himself."

This moment…it broke something in me. 

Maybe somewhere I knew that my family had changed forever. This grief I felt, I thought couldn’t I survive with. Over time, I learned to live with it. And even name it. 

I call it, “perpetual grief”. A grief that you feel over and over again. One moment my dad is there, everything is the same, and the next it’s not. 


A loss I mourn deeply. For my family and myself.

I am no longer just the daughter now, I have to be a caregiver. 

Few months later, when I dared to move away for work for a while. I remember talking to my mother on the phone, folding my laundry but absentmindedly wrinkling the shirt and folding it again as I felt the frustration and tiredness in her voice. 

“It’s so difficult to deal with him. He is unwilling to do anything or focus on anything. He just keeps asking me the same thing. Uff!

He even said that he feels like ending it all….”

I couldn't respond for a minute. My mum, unfazed, carried on. 

She wasn’t being unsympathetic but taking care of my dad day in and day out had worn her out emotionally. So much so, she barely had the mental strength to deal with her own father passing away. 

I hated that she had to take it all alone. Though I admired the way she managed to hold on to her own identity, hobbies, and passion too. Even in a dessert, no one can stop a social butterfly from blooming. It was still unfair that her entire adult life was caught up in the ebbs and flows of my father’s mental illness. A challenge no one prepared her for. One she adapted to her, thanks to her own resilience. 

It’s because of everything she went through, that she wants the best for her daughters. I knew my family wanted me to do well and focus on myself. I knew it was the practical thing too. Going home the very next day, I remembered how Papa would excitedly greet me at the door with a big smile and arms open for a big hug. 

He would always say, “Bacha aagaya, aagaya - my child is home”. 

Now, he didn’t even get up from the bed and could barely manage a smile. 

His phone pinged, a client called and he cleared his tone and spoke calmly, “ Yes, Sudhir ji, the order is on the way, I have confirmed with the factory, it will be dispatched soon...”

I was amazed how he could focus and engage with work even in the depths of despair when I haven’t been able to concentrate on my own tasks at all since yesterday. 

I guess it comes from going through financial difficulties early in his life. Being the breadwinner of the family, he always felt responsible for giving his family a comfortable life. Now, the duct tape was coming off the hasty repairs and the cracks are weeping. 

My dad calls me Khushi meaning happiness but I don’t know how to help him and my family find theirs.