My father retired in 2016, following the social script that had been etched in our minds since birth: retire at 60, settle into a quiet life. What we hadn’t realized then was the intricate dance of human behavior, the constant yearning for a moving goalpost that defines our life’s journey. Without much resistance, Father surrendered to the timeline, retiring at 60 and returning to his native India.

His story had unfolded like this: He migrated to the Gulf region at 19, pouring 40 years of his life into a land that now felt foreign. Did he forget to live? Was that all there was to life? I, his son, curate his story from my fragmented memories and perspective, knowing it might be biased, but hoping to capture the essence of who he is.

Growing up, he was a distant figure, a Santa Claus who visited once a year. Did we miss him? Did we wonder about the fathers at school lunches, the fathers who tucked us in at night? Would our childhood have been different with him around?

Now, five years into his Indian life, we talk frequently. It was through these conversations that I discovered his unexpected passion for feline companions. He started with one rescued cat, but a year later, a careless trip to the garbage can ended the cat’s life, left under a car’s wheels. He didn’t express his grief; it seemed unmanly, a trait ingrained in him by his own upbringing.

Once, as a child, he’d excitedly shared his desire to join a school picnic. His father, instead of offering encouragement, kicked him to the ground. This, it seemed, was his way of expressing disapproval, an environment devoid of openness and connection, fueled by blame and judgment.

I believe this stifled upbringing shaped him, trapping his emotions within. Had he learned to share his feelings, perhaps someone would have shown him the power of introspection, of exploring inner landscapes with and without others, thereby forging a deeper self-awareness, the pinnacle of intelligence.

His second chance came in the form of a stray cat who gave birth to three adorable kittens. One day, he witnessed a chilling scene: a ferocious outsider attacking one of the kittens while the mother watched listlessly. This betrayal of maternal instinct disgusted him, and he released the mother back into the streets.

Then came the morning mist, two wet, shivering kittens peeking out of a plastic bag. His heart ached, but memories of the past made him hesitate. Halfway home, the image of those vulnerable creatures gnawed at him. He returned, kneeling to scoop them up with gentle hands, offering warmth and shelter. This time, fear became caution. He built a cozy cage, monitored their every move, ensuring their safety. He nourished them not just with food, but with meticulous care.

In these quiet moments of tending to his new feline family, I sense a shift within him. Perhaps, even through the lens of animal care, he finally allows himself to be vulnerable, to recognize the depth of character that resides not just within humans, but in all living beings.