Weekend Story-The Hand That Wasn’t There

For months, Aditya had been trying to find his first job.

One evening, he came home unusually quiet. At dinner, his father asked how the interview had gone.

“I didn’t get it.”

His father nodded. “Something will come.”

That irritated Aditya more than it should have.

Later that evening, he finally said, “You know what bothers me? You know so many people. One phone call from you and at least someone would give me a chance.”

His father looked at him but said nothing.

“I sometimes wonder why you won’t do for me what any father would.”

That one hurt.

His father went inside and returned with an old photograph.

Aditya was perhaps two in it, taking an uncertain step.

“For weeks, you refused to walk unless you held my finger,” his father said.

“What happened?”

“You fell. Cried terribly. Got up. Fell again.”

His father smiled.

“Within a month, we couldn’t catch you.”

He handed Aditya the photograph.

“I know I can make that phone call. And perhaps one day I will. But there are things I can do that will make your life easier, and things I can refuse to do that may make you stronger.”

Aditya looked at the photograph again.

His father was right there beside him.

Close enough to catch him if he fell.

But far enough away to let him walk.