Sumedh and Rekha were an ambitious couple. They saw how well their NRI friends were living abroad and began looking for similar opportunities.
Sumedh worked in research, so he applied for positions outside India and received a job offer in Canada. Rekha had several years of IT experience in India and was confident she could find work too. With a sense of excitement and hope, they packed up their lives and moved to Canada. Soon after settling in, Rekha found an IT job, and they enjoyed the comfortable lifestyle they had imagined.
Two years later, their daughter Nyra was born on a spring morning. Her small cry filled their apartment with hope. Rekha’s mother flew in from India to support her, filling the kitchen with the aroma of spices and the soft chatter of lullabies. Sumedh, meanwhile, buried himself in postdoctoral research – publishing papers, securing patents and updating his blog late into the night. He was brilliant and respected, but he didn’t make time for his family.
Rekha and her mother handled everything for Nyra. Rekha loved seeing Nyra smile and take her first steps across the living room. Sumedh would look up from his laptop, say “She’s growing,” and return to his work. After six months, Rekha’s mother had to go back to India. Rekha’s maternity leave ended at the same time. She started working remotely again. Taking care of Nyra while working from home was exhausting.
Sumedh could have worked from home too, but he chose to go to the office every day. He liked the routine of commuting and the quiet of his lab. He came home around seven in the evening. By then, Rekha had spent the entire day working, cooking and looking after Nyra.
When she asked him to watch their daughter for a while, he shrugged. He thought looking after children was a mother’s job because that was what he had seen growing up.
After two months, Rekha decided she needed help. She thought about putting Nyra in daycare, but she worried. A friend told her that one teacher often looks after six to eight children.
We struggle with just one, Rekha thought. How can they look after so many?
Rekha visited several daycares. One smelled like disinfectant and was very quiet. A child sat in the corner with a runny nose. Rekha felt uneasy and left.
Neighbours suggested a centre called KinderCare, just a short walk from her building.
When she visited, the walls were covered with children’s drawings, and teachers were on the floor with the kids. The director spoke warmly about their daily routines. For the first time, Rekha felt relieved. She decided to enrol Nyra there. This would also make drop-offs and pickups easier for her.
On Nyra’s first day, Rekha wrapped her in a warm coat against the February cold. Her heart was heavy, and tears filled her eyes. Sumedh stayed home to work. Nyra cried when Rekha handed her over. This happened for three days.
On the fourth day, Nyra stopped crying. At last, Rekha could breathe and work for a few hours without interruption.
At home, Sumedh did not change. He lived under the same roof but seemed far away. Children do not understand roles; they just want love. Nyra would knock on her father’s study door and say, “Hi, Daddy!” He would glance at his computer and say, “Not now. I’m busy.”
Time flew, and Nyra turned four. Rekha baked a chocolate cake and decorated it with pink icing. Neighbours came over, and Nyra blew out the candles. Sumedh arrived late and took a phone call while she opened presents.
One day, Nyra tugged on her mother’s sleeve and said, “My friend Diksha’s dad picks her up every day. Why has my dad never picked me up?” Rekha had no answer.
Another day, Nyra asked quietly, “Mom, does Dad love me? I’m scared to go to him. He always sends me away because he’s working.”
Rekha hugged her and said, “You are loved,” wishing she could do more.
Nyra started school. In May, her teacher asked the children to write notes to their fathers for Father’s Day. Other kids wrote, “Love you, Daddy,” “Thank you for chocolates,” and “Thank you for ice cream.”
Nyra wrote one word: “Busy.” That was the only word she connected with her father. She couldn’t think of a happy memory with him.
Sumedh kept earning titles and publications. He had a good salary and a comfortable life. But he didn’t see how much not showing love hurt his child. When he saw Nyra’s note – “Busy” – he laughed for a moment, then fell silent. For the first time, he sensed what he had missed.
Children don’t remember degrees or job titles. They remember hugs, smiles and time spent together. Being there for your child is not optional. Parenting is not only about providing things; it is about building a bond. A child’s heart grows with warmth, not wealth. In the end, the memories you leave in your child’s heart matter far more than any achievement.
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