Chapter 5: “Unke Papa Aate Hain…”
It was Saturday evening. The neighborhood park was unusually crowded. Children ran across the grass chasing footballs. Mothers sat on benches discussing homework and tuition schedules. Fathers pushed swings, adjusted bicycle seats and pretended not to be tired. The golden light of sunset spread softly across the playground.
Kabir stood near the cricket pitch, holding his bat.
“Mumma, fast ball daalna!”
Neha laughed.
“Main fast ball nahi daal sakti.”
Kabir grinned.
“Try toh karo.”
She threw the ball. It bounced twice before reaching him. Kabir hit it anyway and ran dramatically between imaginary wickets.
“Four!”
A few children nearby laughed. Neha clapped.
“Very good!”
After some time, Kabir joined a group of boys playing together. Neha sat on a bench, watching from a distance. Her office bag rested beside her. Her hair was tied hastily. The tiredness on her face was softened by the simple joy of seeing Kabir laugh freely.
One by one, fathers began joining the game.
“Come on, boys!”
“Good shot!”
“Catch it!”
They bowled faster, fielded better and celebrated every run as if it were an international match. Kabir stood among them, smiling. But every few minutes, his eyes drifted toward Neha.
When the game ended, Kabir walked back slowly. Bat hanging from one hand. Grass stains on his knees. His expression quieter than usual. Neha handed him his water bottle.
“Thak gaye?”
He shook his head. Then sat beside her for a moment, neither spoke.
“Mumma…”
“Haan?”
Kabir traced circles in the dust with his shoe. “Rohan ke papa usko bowling sikha rahe the.”
“Haan.” “Aur Aditya ke papa usko cycle chalana sikha rahe the.”
Neha listened.
Kabir’s voice became softer. “Unke papa aate hain…”
The words were simple. No complaint. No tears. Just an observation. And somehow, that hurt more.
Neha looked at him.
His eyes were fixed on the ground. He wasn’t asking for an explanation. He was trying to understand his own life.
She moved closer. “Kabir…”
He didn’t look up. “Mujhe pata hai.”
A long pause.
Then Kabir asked the question that had been growing silently inside him. “Papa hote toh mujhe cricket better sikhaate?”
Neha felt her throat tighten. The evening sounds continued around them.
Children laughing.
Swings creaking.
Someone calling out for ice cream.
And in the middle of all that ordinary life, her world became very still. She took the bat from his hand and placed it gently beside the bench. Then she turned toward him.
“Shayad.”
Kabir finally looked up. Neha smiled softly. “Lekin ek baat bataun?” Kabir nodded.
“Papa tum par bahut proud hote.”
“Sach?”
“Bilkul.”
He thought about this for a moment. Then asked— “Aur aap?”
Neha brushed a strand of hair away from his forehead. “Main toh already proud hoon.”
Kabir leaned against her shoulder. The same way he used to when he was smaller.
“Mumma…”
“Haan?”
“Aap bowling thodi better kar sakte ho.”
Neha laughed through the tightness in her chest. “Kal se practice shuru.”
Kabir smiled. “Pakka?”
“Pakka.”
They sat there until the park lights turned on. Watching other families gather their children. Watching fathers lift tired kids onto their shoulders. Watching life continue in all its different forms.
As they walked home, Kabir slipped his hand into hers. A familiar gesture.
Warm. Trusting. Certain.
“Mumma…”
“Haan?”
“Aap do logon ka kaam karte ho na?”
Neha looked at him. “Shayad.”
Kabir squeezed her hand. “Phir toh aap super hero ho.”
That night, after Kabir fell asleep, Neha stood near the window for a long time. The city outside was quiet. She thought about all the things she could not give him. And all the things she was trying to become. Sometimes, children notice what is missing. But if they are loved deeply enough… They also begin to notice what remains.
And that evening, Kabir stopped comparing what he didn’t have… and started seeing who had always been there.
If you've ever felt pressured by society while raising a child alone, read:
Log Kya Kahenge – A Story About Society’s Judgment and a Single Mother’s Strength
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