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A Poem by Dr. Srinivasa Raghavan, Vellore
When I first held you, my tiny boy,
The world stood still — a moment of joy.
Your fingers curled around my own,
And love bloomed deep, fierce, and unknown.
Each coo, each sigh, each sleepy gaze,
Lit up my nights, my working days.
I dreamt of games, of schoolyard cheer,
Of milestones marching year by year.
But life had plans that I couldn’t elope —
And thus began my walk on the tightrope.
When the doctor spoke of red flags and fears,
I brushed it aside, refused to hear.
Denial wrapped me in its quiet disguise —
How little I knew you, I realized.
But truth has a way of breaking through,
So I chose to learn, to see what’s true.
I watched you close — your silent plea,
Your world so near, yet far from me.
You smiled at the toy, not at my face,
You tugged my hand toward your chosen place.
You never pointed, nor met my eyes —
Life was a puzzle, a wordless cry.
And from that day, my son, I knew my scope —
To walk beside you, forever on this tightrope.
Each night I scrolled through endless streams,
Research and remedies, hopes and dreams.
Every word a promise, every claim a snare,
Sorting truth from noise — despair from care.
Relatives asked with a knowing grin,
“What’s wrong with him? What did you do within?”
I smiled, I nodded, I bit my tongue,
Their whispers clung where pain had hung.
Between shielding you from their curious eyes,
And seeking help where true hope lies —
That’s when I learned, with heart and hope,
A father’s love means walking the tightrope.
I am an Indian father — I am not to cry,
Nor show the tremor that shakes my sky.
I’m not to feed or soothe or play,
My role, they say, is to “find the way.”
But my heart rebelled — I could not feign,
I picked you up, I danced in rain.
I wiped your mother’s tears when no one saw,
Broke every unspoken, stifling law.
When marriage itself stood on the brink, I knew —
Family is everything — that truth broke through.
Being the man the world defined was suffocating,
But being your dad, and your mom’s strength — liberating.
Between being the “man” they wished to see,
And helping your mother just be free —
Each day I lived, with love as my trope,
Learning the art of walking the tightrope.
Now I feed you, bathe you, tell your tales,
Watch your eyes light up, follow your trails.
I become your clown, your jester, your sun,
For a fleeting glance — my prize hard-won.
Those smiles, those moments — brief yet deep,
Are treasures my heart will always keep.
I may not be the father they define,
But I’m proud, my son, that you are mine.
Between work and home, joy and hope,
I’ve found my rhythm — upon this tightrope.
So here I stand, still balancing tight,
Between duty and love, between shadow and light.
I have balanced well, thus far, I pray —
God, grant me strength to find my way.
Let my steps not falter, let my spirit stay afloat in hope,
Steady and true upon the sway of life’s tightrope
A Developmental Pediatrician, still learning from every child and family he meets. An observer of life’s quiet, everyday moments that often go unnoticed. A poet who gathers these fragments and gently turns them into words.