My dad is my Meiyazhagan

If you’ve watched Meiyazhagan (a Tamil movie), you’ll understand what I’m about to share. The film beautifully explores nostalgia, family, and friendships. And last week, I had my very own Meiyazhagan moment when Dad visited me.

I live in Dad’s hometown, and he gets excited whenever there’s a local event. It’s his favorite place, but work and responsibilities often keep him away. Last week, the Vinayaka temple here held a special event—the very temple Dad helped build when he was a teenager. He still tells endless stories about how they pooled funds and made it happen, and he cherishes those memories deeply.

This time, he arrived with a ton of luggage—including a big bag of drumsticks he wanted to donate for the temple’s annadhanam. He could have just sent money, but he carried that heavy bag all the way here. That effort itself felt so genuine.

As he unpacked, Mom called and said jokingly, “Make sure you place the pickles and the things I sent for him outside the bag…otherwise, you’ll just return with them again—I know you!” Classic mom banter.

I had a Teams call, so I went back to my desk. Meanwhile, Dad started searching for something. Turns out, he was looking for the stationery box he’d bought for me on his last visit. He carefully took out new stationery items from his bag, sharpened the pencils, and even added a stapler, placing everything neatly in the box. “I thought this might be helpful for you,” he said. The kid in me squealed with joy—because honestly, that’s the sweetest gift anyone can give.

Work-from-home may eat into quality time, but one perk is the afternoon nap. Dad too lay down beside me. When we woke up, he saw over ten missed calls from Mom. He immediately called her back. She complained about him not answering, and he replied, “I had my phone on silent, I didn’t want to disturb him while he was napping.” My heart melted. To have someone respect your quiet time like that—it’s bliss.

Later, we stepped into the garden to plant a drumstick stem. If plants could talk, mine would probably abuse me for being such a careless gardener (while weeds would give me a standing ovation). Dad dug the soil with the combat boots Mom sent, while I stood there like his little princess. I showed him another plant he’d brought earlier that had grown surprisingly well. He was shocked and delighted, immediately calling Mom to share his joy.

Watching Dad cook is like watching a movie. I once even made a short YouTube video about it. This time, I asked him to make my favorite—scrambled eggs. He treated it like a work of art, sprinkling pepper as if he was adding stars to the dish. By the end of it, he was drenched in sweat but smiling with pride. Meanwhile, I made chapatis and even experimented with an egg paratha stuffed with his curry—sometimes my recipes are sensible, sometimes… not so much.

Dad even extended his hand to feed me the first bite—a gesture that never used to come naturally to him. After years of convincing him how much it means, he finally does it. Watching him overcome his shyness just to make me happy—it’s funny, but also deeply heartwarming.

Post-dinner, while I rushed back to another meeting, Dad found the forgotten fruits in my fridge and started peeling a pomegranate while scrolling through his daily dose of (mis)information. I joined him, and as always, one topic was enough for him to launch into endless stories. My nephew’s a big fan of these stories too.

Lately, life has been full-blown adulting. After working 12-14 hours, I wanted to crash, but I had to lock the gate, close the doors, check the stove, turn off the lights, and fill the water bottles. But with Dad around, it felt lighter. He took care of locking the gate that night. Just crossing one thing off my to-do list felt like such a blessing.

These days, my relationship with my parents is wrapped in nostalgia. Until your 30s, you grow under their influence. Then suddenly, you’re married, handling responsibilities, and becoming someone else’s support system. The same parents who were your safety net slowly turn into your most treasured memories.

As the day ended, I crashed onto bed, and Dad gently massaged my forehead. “Shall I apply camphor oil?” he asked. I quickly nodded yes. Resting my head on his lap, I thought about taking a selfie—but stopped myself. Photos freeze the moment, but words stretch it into imagination. And I wanted this memory to live in words, not pixels.

Oh wait—did I mention what Meiyazhagan means? It translates to “a man with a beautiful soul.” And here’s to the Meiyazhagans in all our lives.