It was just another routine OPD day

until a little boy walked in and quietly changed its rhythm.

All of five years old,he was tightly holding on to his father’s long leg—

as if letting go wasn’t an option.

His father stood tall—easily six feet two and this tiny child, barely reaching his knee,had wrapped himself around that leg with a kind of love that didn’t need words.

I smiled at the sight.

Adorable… yes.But also… something deeper.It took a fair bit of coaxing to get him to loosen his grip,

and eventually we agreed—I would examine him while he sat safely in his father’s lap.

Even then,as I checked him,

he kept turning back again and again—just to make sure

his father was still there.

That look…pure, unquestioning adoration.That small smile of reassurance—

“Papa is here.”

It lingered…..

Almost casually, I said,..”You’re a lucky man… your son loves you so much.”

He smiled. A quiet, knowing smile.

“I’m in the Army,” he said softly.

“Posted near Galwan.Got leave after many months.My boys miss me a lot…they don’t let me go when I’m home.”

He paused, almost as an afterthought—“There’s another two-year-old at home…crying because I came without him.”

And suddenly,that little hug wasn’t just adorable anymore.

It was time being held.

Moments being gathered.

Love trying… in its own innocent way…to not run out.

A few weeks later,the boy came again.This time with his mother.And his toddler brother.

No tall figure beside him.No leg to hold on to.He was quieter.A little withdrawn.The sparkle… slightly dimmed.

And in that moment,I didn’t need to ask anything.Because some of us grow up knowing this.

The waiting.

The distances.

The months that pass without touch.

For many BRATS(Born Raised And Transferred )like us. …childhood isn’t just about growing up.

It’s about waiting….

Waiting for calls that may or may not come.Waiting for leaves that get delayed.Waiting for footsteps at the door.Waiting for a hug that has to last longer than it should.

And behind every man in uniform,

there’s a family learning this art of waiting—quietly, bravely,

without ever making it about themselves.

Then came the news of Galwan standoff between India and China .

And somewhere, in the middle of everything,my mind went back

to that little boy…holding on tightly

to his father’s leg.

I prayed he was fine.There were so many brave hearts who got martyred in that stand off ..My heart sank once more 

Once more I realised that ..Some waits…don’t end.

They just stretch…into a lifetime.

So the next time you read

about a soldier being martyred,

pause…..Because beyond the headline….

there’s a child….still reaching out for a hug that won’t come,

a wife holding on to memories…

parents holding on to their son’s entire life ..

If nothing else—offer a silent prayer.

Sometimes….that’s all that reaches them.

——-Suvi’s Scribbles