To The Man Who Loved and Lived-Part 11

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It has been four years since I've lost my father. Without my knowledge I go to depression around September 22. If anybody can hate a date this will be mine. I talked to my mother and brothers knowing they are hurting equally and going through the same emotions. According to Hindu calendar his Punyatithi (anniversary) falls this month. Due to the force majeure we all had to do it separately this year. I'm not someone who believes in these rituals, but did nonetheless to keep my mother at peace. So, did the siblings. I heard from little birds that someone commenting we don't love our father because we don't celebrate the anniversary in grand scale. I just laughed at the gossip. 

One had to know me, siblings, mother and father to understand what kind of relationship we share. The people who really know us get the family dynamics. Others, not much.

Losing my father left a permanent whole in my heart. None of the happy news will be the same that I cannot share with him. And difficult time will be bit stretching without him in my corner. He was my go-to man. He was the go-getter. Though I've started writing this blog when he was alive, not confident enough to share this with him. Or probably I didn't want my parents to get into my head. Now, even if I want to I could not. He would be proud of his little girl running three blogs meticulously. And maybe secretly admiring himself for passing on that writing gene.

I constantly talk to my father when I'm alone. He would not reply back obviously. For others this charade may sound psychotic, but it gives me a sense of assurance. I still can hear his bashful voice calling my pet names.

I wonder what he would have done in this pandemic. He would not have restricted himself from visiting town for buying the necessities. Isolating himself would not have been an issue since he would be busy farming. But he would have worried himself sick about his children (son-in-law and daughters-in-law) and grandchildren.

My heart aches for him to be part of our ordinary life, the happy, sad, and everyday milestones. I'm still angry at the universe for taking him away so soon. Not a single day passes without thinking about him or talking about him.

To The Man Who Loved and Lived-Part 9

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During one summer holidays I get an idea to get my nose pierced. I wracked my brain trying to remember what triggered that idea. Nobody was talking about it at home. Nobody was very particular about getting one done either. I requested, cried, begged, and threatened my mother, Ammamma, aunt P and aunt B to no avail. I even skipped a day's meal as a protest. Have you noticed how they ganged up against a little kid? They were all so cruel. How could they dismiss my wish as if it was the least important thing in the world?

I was waiting for the arrival of my father the next week as he had to attend a family function. After hugging and exchanging pleasantries I pleaded my case. The rival team was quick to explain what transpired between us and how my behavior was unladylike. Now he was caught between the devil and the deep blue sea. He tried to convince me by saying I was too young for that. I was 9 at the time. Tears poured down my cheeks like a river escaping the dam.  For me it would have been a defeat against adversaries, only it didn't. My father told me to get dressed immediately as we are going get the nose piercing done. My mother and Ammamma chided him for turning me into a total brat. He smiled through the entire charade without uttering a word.

Again, those weren't the days of big jewellery showrooms. It was two hours journey to-and-fro from our place to Taluk headquarters. We had our family goldsmith who designed gold as per our preferences. It took him less than a minute to prick the nose. I had just one teardrop throughout the process much to the astonishment of the goldsmith. I was even rewarded with an ice cream to bravely enduring the painful procedure. I had spring in my step while walking towards home and everybody welcomed us with a cheer.

I took off the nose ring at 21. For most young girls that is the age to get their nose pierced. I've this habit of doing everything in reverse order. When my father asked why I don't have nose ring, my answer was I don't like it anymore. He didn't preach or lecture me about it unlike my mother. If I can think now my father let me get away with almost everything. He gave us a lot of leeway to make our own decisions, but for a few, which he thought he knew better. Though a disciplinarian he was a cool dad to have around. Since we all three turned out hardworking, kind, and well-rounded human beings it is safe to say he was indeed a great parent. And that void nobody can fill. The pain of losing him is still intense even after two years.  It is just that we have learned to live with it.

To The Man Who Loved and Lived-Part 8

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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.

To The Man Who Loved and Lived-Part 7

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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.

To The Man Who Loved and Lived-Part 6

Almost 12 years ago I was doing interns in Bangalore. Three months into the city and I could travel length and breadth without any glitch or worry. It was the novelty of knowing the place. when I first came here I was wide-eyed, naive and scared like many others. My father was relatively street smart, however, he could not maneuver and get hold of the place. He would have done it if he stayed here for a long period of time. But my parents' visit was never more than a week. During one of those visits he expressed his wish to see Vidhana Soudha, High Court, and Lal bagh. I have taken off on that day and decided to explore as I hadn't seen those places myself. My mother refused the moment we started discussing how do we go about that. She is a kind of person who fails to understand why anybody will leave the comfort of home to roam around in dust on a wintry day.

Father and I left the home around 8 0'clock. I had the monthly bus pass and bought a Day-Pass for him paying around 70 INR. In BMTC buses women sit in front and men at the back. I told my father in clear words not to get down anywhere. If the stop comes I will come to him and we will get down together. He got the window seat and clearly enjoying the view. However, that didn't stop me from turning back and looking at him to make sure he is still there. I'm raised to be a paranoid. One more thing common between my father and I are we both love window seats. During childhood he used to let me have the window seat while traveling. Once I realized his preference about that I let him have. Both of us like watching the world go by. According to me it is a sin to sleep while traveling especially during the day. You don't know what and all you have missed in those moments. I digress.

After getting down in majestic, we took another bus to Vidhana Souda. Once we got there we walked on the pavement side-by-side, he telling me many stories about politics and high profile cases of his time. He bought Bhelpuri for me and tea for himself from the street vendor. We never had camera-phones back then, so there wasn't any photos to capture those moments. Somewhere during that time he announced we will go to Lal Bhag some other day and today we will just sit in a bus and travel in-and-around Bangalore, which we did till early evening. I still don't know whether he had gone to Lal Bhag in later years.

He had this child-like curiosity. Though he was resistant to changes slowly and steadily he accepted them nonetheless. He was all ears when we tell a tale about something or other. The one thing he was not good at was sharing his worries. He kept all his stress, agitation bottled up inside. He never wanted us to stress over anything. And basically he was secretive. I wonder if those concealed emotions and tensions over a lengthy period of time could have killed him. It is sad he never realized his children are grown up enough to shoulder his emotional baggage. How I wish we could really have a hearty conversation now, not just talk.