Watching Zakir Khan’s “Papa Yaar” on Netflix, made me reflect on something we often question: why is a father’s love often remains an unspoken chapter? why does Mother’s Day seem to receive so much more attention, emotion and celebration, while Father’s Day often passes with far less fanfare? A mother’s sacrifices become stories, her tears become poetry, and her affection becomes the language of love itself. A father may make equally significant sacrifices, yet his love is often measured in responsibilities fulfilled, bills paid and problems silently solved. Perhaps mothers are remembered for how they make us feel, while fathers are remembered for what they do. And somewhere between the two, a father’s emotional world gets lost.
Perhaps the reason goes back generations. Many fathers were raised to believe that vulnerability was weakness and that their role was to be strong, dependable and silent. They learnt to express love through provision and protection, not words or embraces. They may have carried their own unmet emotional needs into fatherhood, repeating patterns they never consciously chose. We celebrate the mother who says, “I love you,” but rarely wonder whether the father who never says it was ever taught how ? This is not to diminish a mother’s contribution, but to ask why we have made one parent’s emotional expression more visible than the other’s?
Perhaps a father’s silence becomes more than his limitation; it becomes the place where a child develops beliefs about worthiness, approval and affection. Whether we understand this through karma, childhood experiences or generational conditioning, the exploration invites us to look beyond behaviour and examine the emotional meaning we have attached to it. Of course, spiritual interpretations are possibilities for reflection, not proof that suffering was destined or deserved.
Perhaps we glorify mothers because their love is more readily expressed, while we overlook fathers whose love arrives disguised as duty. But understanding a father’s silence should not mean romanticising emotional absence, just as appreciating a mother should not require placing her on a pedestal. Both are human beings, with their own wounds, strengths and limitations. Maybe the real shift begins when we allow ourselves to see both parents beyond the roles society has assigned them.
Papa, yaar… perhaps the question is not why fathers love less, but why we have learnt to recognise their love less easily. And perhaps the karmic lesson, if we choose to see it that way, is to bring awareness to what has remained unspoken—not only to understand our fathers, but to ensure that the next generation does not have to spend a lifetime decoding the love it deserves to hear.