“We never truly know the love of our parents until we become parents ourselves.”  ~~ Henry Ward Beecher

Growing up,  I didn’t hear the words ” I love you”.  Even so I never doubted for a single a moment that I was loved.  My family was not very vocal, affection was shown by action not words.  My parents were orthodox  in the sense that they valued culture and traditional, but modern enough to let us be.  I was given the freedom to pursue what I wished and I knew the boundaries;  I was “a good Indian girl “.

I still don’t know the full extent of sacrifices that they made for us , and doubt I ever will . “That’s just what parents do, nothing special ” my father would say to me. It was special, but I was too selfish to see it then. Trust is equivalent to love ; they trusted me and I trusted their judgment. It was an anchor in my life, keeping me safe.

When I got married and moved to the other side of the world, I missed that anchor. I was with going with the man I loved, and yet somewhere in my deepest psyche a shard of glass pierced my veil of confidence; I wanted that security and warmth, and I realised that  no one truly loves you unconditionally the way that your parents do.


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