The Keys in the Gita

• Ravi Ila Bhatt

Ishaan stood outside the glass facade of the high-end automobile showroom in Ahmedabad, his eyes glued to the gleaming, custom-matte black Royal Enfield Continental GT 650. Ishaan knew his father, a hardworking but traditional retired government officer, had the savings to afford it. For months, Ishaan dropped subtle hints, sent reel links on WhatsApp, and openly talked about how much he wanted that specific bike for his graduation.
Finally, the morning of his graduation convocation arrived. Before they left for the university, his father, Mr. Sharma, called Ishaan into the quiet sanctuary of his small study.
Mr. Sharma looked at his son with eyes full of warmth and pride. He adjusted the collar of Ishaan’s convocation gown. "Ishaan, beta," his father said softly, his voice thick with emotion. "You have worked so hard these past four years. I am incredibly proud of the young man you’ve become, and I love you more than words can say."
With a gentle smile, Mr. Sharma handed Ishaan a beautifully wrapped rectangular box, tied with a golden ribbon.
Ishaan’s heart hammered against his ribs. This is it, he thought, expecting the heavy weight of a bike key or a premium riding jacket. He tore off the wrapping paper eagerly. Inside sat a pristine, premium edition of the Bhagavad Gita, bound in a rich, embossed midnight-blue leather cover with gold-leaf lettering.
The excitement evaporated instantly, replaced by a wave of hot, blinding anger. Ishaan felt humiliated. A holy book? For graduation?
In a raised, shaking voice, he snapped, "With all the money you’ve saved, Papa, you just bought me a book?"
Without letting his father speak, Ishaan slammed the Gita onto the study table, stormed out of the house. He left the house and reached to Bengaluru to start a corporate job, cutting off all ties with his family.
Years flew by like a blur. Ishaan buried himself in India’s bustling tech startup scene. Through sheer grit, he became a highly successful software architect and started his own family. Yet, a quiet guilt always lingered in the back of his mind. He kept promising himself that on Coming Birthday of his Father, he would finally book a flight back to Delhi, look his aging father in the eye, and apologize.
Before that day could come, Ishaan received a devastating phone call from a distant uncle. His father had suffered a sudden, fatal cardiac arrest.
When Ishaan finally stepped back into his childhood home, the silence was deafening. The rooms felt smaller, frozen in time. Overcome with deep regret and suffocating sadness, he sat down at his father’s old study table to organize the legal documents.
There, resting carefully on the top shelf, completely untouched and exactly where he had slammed it down a decade ago, was the midnight-blue leather-bound Bhagavad Gita.
Tears finally spilled down Ishaan's cheeks. He reached out and picked up the book. As he gently opened the cover to turn the crisp pages, a small, sealed white envelope that had been taped to the back cover fluttered out and landed on the desk.
Inside the envelope was a sleek, silver key fob bearing the unmistakable logo of Royal Enfield. Tucked behind the key was a laminated receipt from the dealership, dated exactly on the morning of his graduation day. Stamped across the top in bold, red ink were three words: "PAID IN FULL." Attached was a tiny post-it note in his father's neat handwriting: "May this guide your soul, and may the road ahead bring you joy. Ride safe, my son."
Ishaan collapsed against the desk, weeping uncontrollably, weeping for a love he had completely misunderstood.
Moral
Never let a moment of unchecked anger destroy a lifetime of love; pause and look closer before you react, because regret is a very heavy burden to carry.