Fairy Tale, But Real

Dear someone who's reading this,

Hope you're doing fine. It’s Wednesday today, but I’m still emotionally stuck on Saturday night. Life has marched on — I had a jam-packed few days after that, semester practical exams on Monday and Tuesday, rushed between cities, long bus journeys, early alarms, checked things off my calendar, yet part of my mind is still paused there, quietly replaying those few surreal minutes from Saturday.

Let me tell you what happened.
Disclaimer: this is neither a fairy tale nor a made-up bedtime story. But it could easily pass for one.

So, I was to leave for Bangalore on Saturday night. If you don’t know me well — I live in Sirsi, Karnataka. Correction: in a village tucked away 14 km from Sirsi town, deep inside the Western Ghats, nestled between tall trees and thick silence. My parents call it heaven. I call it a jungle. Fair.

Now for the weather. It had been raining cats, dogs, and possibly wild boars for three days. That’s normal here. But this time, it came with added drama, storm winds from the Arabian Sea, electricity gone, no phone signal, trees bowing like dancers mid-performance. If I had to describe the wind — imagine standing at your doorstep, but needing core strength to stay upright. That strong. No exaggeration. Add to that - no electricity and weak network. Classic.

But yeah, I had a bus to catch at 8:45 PM.

So I packed up, got ready, and by 7:50 PM, we were all in the car. Dad at the wheel, mom in the back seat, me up front. None of us said it out loud, but we were all silently praying that the car should somehow climb that messy, muddy hill without slipping. Because trust me, that stretch can be a nightmare during rains. But surprisingly, smooth ride! Not even a single skid. We looked at each other and gave a mini smile of relief, like phew!!

But just as we turned the curve, BOOM. There it was.

A huge tree. Not your regular fallen branch, this one was a monster. With thick, twisted branches that looked like arms spread out to block the road. For a second, I literally thought we had taken the wrong route because I couldn't see anything beyond it. The entire road ahead was covered. I’d say at least 8 feet high, and wide enough to block even a dream of passing through.

I glanced at the time — 7:56 PM. My hands froze. I didn’t even react, I was blank.

In a second, dad got out. No reaction, no panic. Just took the big battery torch from mom and ran back toward the house. I stepped out too, pacing around, looking at the tree like it was some ancient creature that fell asleep across our way. In my head, I had already started consoling myself: “It’s fine, you can leave tomorrow night. Don’t panic.” But let’s be real — I was panicking.

And then, as expected, mom shouted from inside the car:
“Get in! What if a cheetah comes and drags you away?!”
This has been her go-to fear for ages. No matter how many years pass, she still believes a wild animal might kidnap me. I rolled my eyes and got back in, because if not a cheetah, her shouting would definitely drag me in.

In less than five minutes, dad was back. Holding a huge sickle, the kind that looks straight out of an old mythological movie. He turned on the car headlights full bright and just got to work. No instructions, no “what do we do now?” energy, just full action mode.

And mom got out too. Started pulling off smaller twigs to clear the sides. And I just stood there watching in disbelief. Within minutes, they managed to clear a small path. Just enough for our car to squeeze through. By 8:10 PM, we were already on the move.

On the way, the bus driver called and said, “Madam, I’ll be there by 8:30 itself, not 8:45.” I just turned to dad and he gave me one look and a nod that said “Easy. We’ll make it.”

And guess what? At 8:30 PM sharp, I was on my sleeper berth. Teary-eyed, waving at them from the window. I know it sounds like a scene from a movie, but no. It was real. It was my movie.

If I imagine myself in dad’s shoes, I honestly wouldn’t have had this much patience. I would’ve yelled,
“Really? You want to go 400 kilometers in this weather for an exam? Stay home!” And honestly? I wouldn’t even be wrong. But my dad? He’s built different. He never questions. Never complains. Just makes things work. 

That night, I had a little realisation session in my head:
One — He’s punctual. Always insists on leaving early, and even that day, he made sure we left home by 7:45 PM. That’s exactly why we had enough time to even try clearing the tree.

Two — My dad works at our plantation every single day of the year, besides his job teaching at the high school. He cares for the land like he’s raising a child — patiently, carefully. That’s where he gets his stamina, and more than that, he just knows the knack. He’s too clever.

Three — He has the best collection of tools. A wide, wild range. From all kinds of screwdrivers to those big, hoarse-sounding machines. So many tools, I don’t even know their names.

I got to learn so much from him that night. I didn’t speak much, just sat there silently, watching, taking mental notes like a student sitting in the front row of life. Never once has my dad questioned my choices. The moment I say I want something, his answer is always a simple, steady “yes.” There’s never been space for “no.” Ain’t I lucky? That night, he wasn’t just my dad, he was a superman. And I looked at him the way a little girl listens wide-eyed to a fairy tale, only this time… the hero had stepped out of the story and into real life, right in front of me.

Say hi to my superhero, my dad. He’ll probably wave back, once he’s back from working in the plantation he loves like it’s his second home.