The Present

"It's okay, son, you don't have to buy it. We'll adjust it with someone else's order," the empathetic shopkeeper offered Kanan a way out. He knew Kanan was short of money, and considering the times, those glasses were too expensive for him. The 20-year-old gave the proposal a thought but then decided against it.

"No, uncle, I'll take it," he said, offering him the last few 500 rupee notes he had left.

By the time Kanan reached his home, it had gotten dark outside. He walked straight to his dad's room and placed the box at his desk. Unsure of what to do next, he sank into the chair nearby and unwrapped the gift. Inside were the glasses he had ordered as a Father's Day present. Kanan picked them up in his hands, feeling the cold outline of their metallic frame and wondered how his dad might have reacted looking at them. He would have smiled, beaming with happiness and pride, he thought.

The boy, who had no family left, sat there for several minutes, consumed in both grief and fear, for he was all alone and with no means to sustain himself or his college. It was then that his eyes fell on the envelope that came in the morning his dad had suffered a stroke. Curious, he tore it open.

"Provident Fund Cleared," the letter read at the top.

Kanan's eyes welled up as a faint smile swept across his face. His retired father, who had run from pillar to post for years to clear his funds stuck with a bankrupt firm, had finally won. The amount wasn't enormous, but it was enough to pay for his upcoming semester.

Kanan looked back at his father's new glasses resting on his desk. At that moment, he knew that he had nothing to fear. His dad was still with him. He was watching over him through his new glasses.