
14/07/2025
I reflected on the dream I had last night, and I felt the need to share it with you, maybe for comfort, maybe for clarity, or maybe because it felt so real, so needed.
My father visited me in my dream.
He was alive, just as I remember him. Strong, warm, quiet in his presence but full of purpose. We were standing in a house that I owned, one with a swimming pool and wide-open space. It felt like peace. It felt like home.
He didnāt say much, but his intentions were clear: he wanted to plant a garden full of vegetables. It wasnāt just about gardening, it was about life, nourishment, roots, and growth. It felt like it is his way of telling me: āYouāre building something beautiful. Letās keep it growing.ā
Even in my dreams, he is still teaching me. Still reminding me of the value of patience, of tending to what matters, of keeping things simple and grounded. He havenāt stopped being my father, not even now.
The past few days have been quite heavy for me, especially with my motherās health issues. We havenāt been seeing eye to eye when it comes to her health. I try to understand her, but itās hard when I see her hurting and yet unable to fully accept whatās happening. It weighs on me more than I know how to explain.
But then came this dream. With everything thatās happening, his presence felt like more than just memory. It felt like reassurance. A quiet way of telling me that everything will be alright, that Iām not alone in this, and that he is still with us, gently guiding us through it all.
I miss him in ways that words will never fully explain. But in that dream, I felt his presence not as absence, but as blessing, a quiet nudge that he is still with me, still proud, still planting hope where I stand.
Thank you, Papa. For everything you gave me, for everything youāre still giving, beyond time, beyond space, beyond this life. ~Your Tata