I had a dream of becoming a farmer, growing my own organic vegetables and fruits; and a beautiful garden in which flowers bloom throughout the year; of sipping high tea under the shadow of a mango tree; and walking hand-in-hand with hubby by the gorgeous pond under moonlight. I'm talking in past tense because that dream was shattered to pieces.
Flashback to year 2012. My father was building a house in his native, so he made sure to monitor the work-in progress twice or thrice a week. I had accompanied him only once or twice just to make him happy. I was against the idea of building a house in the native. First, it was very remote, 25 kilometers away from the town. Dad might have been born and brought up there, but he wasn't the same man residing in towns for almost 40 years. His lifestyle is different now and I wasn't sure he could cope up with the country life. And what about my mother? She isn't accustomed to that way of life either. Once I asked my Ammamma why she married my mother off to village that lacks basic amenities. Her answer was simple, your father has a transferable, government job, so she never has to stay there. Now his decision will impact her life drastically as well. Second, he is a retired man. This is his time to relax and enjoy, not to become a farmer. How can I not know, he is stubborn old coot much to my dismay. Now I don't wonder where did I get it from.
It was around Deepavali (festival of lights) time. Housewarming and nephew's naming ceremony was scheduled just a week later. So, one day I tagged along to watch the latest development of the housing. People were working fervently to meet the deadline. I wandered around the estate for a bit, throwing stones into the pond, hearing chirping of birds and crickets, and some phone photographing leaving my father behind with the workers. What I see when I return? My father was in work clothes, chopping the unwanted bushes and plants to make a clear walkway. I berated him for a long time about this menial job plonking my ass on a rock under a tree. He smiled and continued his work. After 30 minutes or so I started feeling guilty. What kind of a daughter I'm who sits idly while her old father does the hard labor? I picked a spare machete and started cutting the woods into pieces. It was cathartic and exhilarating in the beginning. Add another 15 minutes to it, I was completely drenched in sweat, panting like a dog, head spinning, and I couldn't feel my hand. Seeing my plight father ordered me to sit and sip some water. While I was trying to regain my composure and balance, dad resumed his activity without a break.
That is the exact zen moment where realization dawned upon me that I'm unfit to be a farmer now or forever, and my 60-year-old father can be and well at it. And he is to be blamed for my delicate and fragile strength. If he hasn't provided the cushioned life for us I would have toughened up. If he wasn't such a great father I wouldn't be this spoiled brat.
Until very recently I realized my father was not a rich man, monetarily. Why I was thinking otherwise because I got everything before I could even ask. I never went hungry in my whole life. I don't have any sad stories or struggles. I never had to lift my finger until I chose to. I always had enough money to splurge on. I never gave much thought about money, until I started working of course. My siblings and I had a very comfortable life, thanks to our parents.
Father was a central government employee. He joined the service at the tender age of 21. Though grandfather amassed a lot of agricultural lands, the constant inflow of money was scarce. Its all dependent on the rain, crops, and hardship. Father had 7 siblings, 6 younger and 1 elder. He had the responsibility to get them educated and married, which he did best to his ability. But his siblings' are like leeches, always hanging around and asking for money. I never liked them and quite vocal about my aversion. He knew they are manipulative and mean, but still let them have their way sometimes. Probably he believed in "blood is thicker than water". In addition to that he had a wife and three kids to look after. And I have to thank my mother here for running the household. She is no demanding, low maintenance, hardworking lady.
It was just 6 years before his retirement the salary got hiked when the sixth pay commission came into effect. By then we were all qualified and independent. He made sure to give me the regal wedding I neither dreamt of nor desired of. I never had to pay a single rupee for my wedding. I was lucky that way because I know some of my friends had to take wedding loan and are still repaying it, and few others' siblings shouldering the burden. I'm eternally grateful to him. And he did manage to do that with my siblings' weddings as well. Education and weddings are the two important things that eats away most of one's savings.
And he decided to built a house before retirement. Since he was a government officer we always had the quarters. The downside is we had to move once every four years. He was from old school of thoughts and believed a man has to built a home in his lifetime. So, that was done just after his retirement. He wanted to connect with his roots after many years of wanderness. He became a true farmer in every sense. For the first time I have seen many organic fruits and vegetables in his farm. Once I asked him whether he will be interested to go back to his government job? And his answer was no, he loves being farmer and he enjoyed it tremendously. He was very proud showing us around the estate. Mother used to complain about him spending most of the time in the field. Fate had different plans. Four-and-a-half years into retirement, he was taken away from everything.
I knew he was not good at financial planning, another trait I carry from him. Good thing I married a financial whiz and don't have worry about money or investments. Dad never fretted much about savings mainly because he knew he will get decent pension which will be more than enough for him and mom. He is no more, yet he made sure mom is financially independent. We were all dependent on him for many things. That realization only hit us harder when he is gone.
He was a man who made us feel safe and secure in his protective cocoon. He was a man who performed all duties and responsibilities to a T, yet never missing on living and loving life to the fullest.
You should know everything even though you wouldn't use it or apply it" was my father's pearl of advice. I know it is impossible to know everything, but it never stopped me from trying. I remember the context in which he said this. I was a lazy teenager back then. Either you would find me in a corner holding a book or plonked in front of TV. My mother never asked me to help with any chores and I was insensitive to offer any help either. On a particular evening mom was unwell and my poor father was doing the dishes. I forgot to mention I also had this habit of following my father everywhere like a puppy. Then my father asked do you know how to do dishes? I airily answered, "Why should I? I'm never going to do this kind of menial job". That is when he said the above-mentioned words. I paused for a second to get that sink in and helped him with the current task. If it was my mother I wouldn't have done so. But with my father it was different. I wanted to impress him. As I'm writing this I have realized probably he was the only person whom I wanted to impress always.
He was the person who knew how to fix everything. One thing he claimed he didn't know was cone-making that was to made Kadubu (an authentic coastal Karnataka cuisine). The process goes something like this; one has to take 4 equal, large jack fruit leaves; then pin 3 leaves together with the coconut sticks; after that take the fourth leaf and pin obliquely; next pin them all one by one at the tip of the leaves. That is how it is made. It is an art I tell you because I tried and failed many times. The last Ganesha festival we celebrated with him forced him to learn that skill as well. My sister-in-law who is sort of expert in cone-making cancelled at the last moment for reasons best known to her. My mother cannot be troubled as her hands were full. So, my father started making them one by one. He narrated an incident in which his aunt told him "never to try doing the cone-making because that is the one thing you cannot do and when you do it would be a disaster. He has told that story many times before. To my surprise he did them pretty magnificently. Now I doubt probably he was practicing them secretly. He is not available to ask that question now.
I have countless memories of him to cherish. I am only sad because I cannot create new ones.
