A Sparrow’s Whisper: A Father’s Brushstroke Lost and Found

There was once a cherished painting in our home—two sparrows perched delicately on a tree branch, accompanied by a tender caption: “Darling, believe me, I love you.” My father had painted it with quiet affection, and though it hung modestly on our wall, it held an emotional depth that words could hardly touch. I still remember the day it vanished from our lives—borrowed by someone who removed my father’s signature and submitted it elsewhere. Stripped of its origin, it was applauded as a masterpiece. But the applause never echoed back into our home, and the painting was never returned.

Years have passed, but today, while scrolling through social media, I stumbled upon a photograph that bore a haunting resemblance to that painting. Two sparrows, the same posture, the same quiet intimacy—perhaps not painted, but captured through a lens. There was no mention of the photographer or the location, just a moment suspended in time. I couldn’t help but pair it with the same caption that once graced our lost treasure. It stirred a sense of nostalgia and gratitude—thank you, unknown photographer, for this unintentional tribute. Some memories don’t fade; they simply wait.

Frankl speaking: “What is to give light must endure burning.”

-HARISH MONGA