The story
In keeping with his last wish, we donated the mortal remains to the Anatomy Department of Chennai Medical College.
The ninth day ceremonies to speed his Soul on the next leg of its journey were held on 5th Feb, 2016 at Gayathri Gnanavaapi, Chromepet. Followed by further events over the next four days.
Memory wall
77 tributes have been left in memory of Swaminathan BA.
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My dad had a lifelong love-hate relationship with the Hindi Language. He didn't learn it formally, but that didn't stop him from gaining an amazing street-smartness about the language, thanks to the years he spent in the Armed Forces, posted at Chandigarh, Ambala, .. and the hundreds of TV Serials (starting with the inimitable Buniyaad and Hum Log all the way down to Shanti!) that he consumed over the many years. Realizing its importance in the national scene, he got Mom to pursue private exams with the Dakshin Bharat Hindi Prachar Sabha, and later, got me in the same route too. Mom and I reached till Visharadh, we are proud to claim. :-) But, if there was one unfulfilled wish he left with, it would be that he couldn't get his grandson interested in the National Language. Perhaps we should blame the school, or the modern kid's resistance to the antiquated script and its illogical gender-rules, but Aditya never learnt to love the language. Dad even spent some time putting together small puzzles for Aditya to crack - hoping he could hook the "game player" gene in the kid. Here are the first four. See if you can get them all! And, here's hoping that Aditya ends up gaining a wider vocabulary and a stronger grasp of grammar in Hindi than I do! (Forgive the old man's पहली for पहेली !)
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This was his final wish. For nearly thirty years now, or perhaps more. That his mortal remains be not cremated or wasted away in fire but they be donated for furthering medical research. So, even though some orthodox oldies in the family weren't all that approving of violating the Hindu custom of not leaving anything behind and sacrificing everything to an all-consuming Fire, we went ahead and donated the body to the Chennai Medical College Anatomy Department. Come to think of it, it was way way back in 1984 that he actually sowed the seed for this final wish. Appa and I, as was our regular routine, were taking in the sights at the Exhibition Grounds near Salem Bus Stand. A medical-college-sponsored exhibition and fair was in progress. One particular stall drew a huge crowd, and there was a large queue at the entrance. A darkened room, shuttered on all sides, a big banner proclaiming - "The Human Body". We went in and learnt what all the clamour was about. There was a real human body there. A person, a real person, with his torso covered by a movable flap, and a exhibitor staff was explaining all the organs inside, how food flowed, how air was breathed, what were the bones and muscles, and so on. I had seen them in pictures many times, but seeing it lying in front of me, I learnt all about the real positions and relative sizes of the organs. Coming out, I wondered aloud to my dad, "Who is it pa? Is it not some real person? Who would give their body like this for exhibition?" And that was when my Google-before-Google-came-along told me how people donated bodies for research, and how it was so important, and how Leonardo da Vinci used to raid cemeteries to steal bodies that he could dissect and learn from, and how he would too, when the time came, want to donate his own body for medical research... The automatic tear down my left cheek when he spoke of death, stopped his lecture on its tracks and we moved on to the Cotton Candy Machine.... All pink and fluffy....
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Something got into him recently and he declared he was going to pen some neat little novellas of an autobiographical nature. Stories from growing up, kinda. I don't think he ever got around to writing them. One thing he did do though is write a two pager poem - just last month - a poem supposedly sung by TRex in praise of and occasionally complaining about the events happening day to day in the house. Written in local Chennai Tamil, he even threw in some obscenities and some bowwows for authenticity.
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For many many years, Dad's favorite soap bar was "Santoor". He used to quip about how he was misled by the advertising on the wrapper. The wrapper said, in one corner: For rich, smooth, and glowing skin! And, for the life of me, he'd say, why am I not getting a smooth and rich glow? I'm following the instructions on the wrapper verbatim..! But only later, did I explain to him that it could have a different meaning.. I said, perhaps they are saying, this soap is meant for people who HAVE rich smooth and glowing skin!!
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(This note below, came in from Suresh Anna, Bangalore. A sample of his pearly-script (that he graciously attributes to my Dad's perseverance) is attached above!) This happened sometime in the mid-70s. He was at that time a terror - known for his bad temper. It was always his way or the highway. We were a huge joint family of 11 occupying a two bedroom flat (12/8) in Besant Nagar, Madras. He was running an Electrical Sales and Service Shop in Lattice Bridge Road, Adyar, in the name of Vetri Electrical Traders. Every night when he returned home the first thing he did was to ask me to show my handwriting notebook. I was expected to write at least 1 page in English and 1 page in Tamil, which was relaxed to at least 1 line in English and 1 line in Tamil during times when i was ill. (It didn't matter that I was sick of it all the time!!) On one such occasion, I had not fulfilled my obligation (for good reason or not) and Chithappa lost his cool. High decibel shouting followed demanding why I did not comply, along with some threats or actual thrashing - which, I don't remember. My dad who probably was happy about Chithappa's intentions about my developing a good handwriting, usually left it between the two of us to settle. However, on that fateful occasion, dad felt it fit to support my excuse. All hell broke loose ending in Chithappa stepping out of our home and finding residence somewhere close by. That was the first time he made me grieve by parting. For quite some time after that I lived with a feeling of guilt for having been instrumental in my close friend leaving home. He sensed this very soon and on several occasions consoled me saying that it was not because of me that he stepped out. We remained thick friends as ever and I did spend a lot of time with him in G5 BENCO, Besant Nagar, where he had moved. Then after some time came the second parting - his moving to Salem for good. Once again there was grief all around that he was parting but also happiness that he was starting a new and perhaps more successful life in a new place. I remember that night very clearly. All his belongings were packed and loaded on to a truck and he was ready to occupy the seat beside the driver. I was full of tears and uncontrolled sobbing. He gave me a huge bear hug and his parting words - just before he got in beside the driver- were "I'll miss you, son...". Now, as I write this, he has handed me a third and final parting in the physical form. I have no other words to say but these... I miss you DAD!! I have now come to realise that the soul never departs and he will always be with us. So I sign off with that great feeling knowing that his blessings will always be with us.
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This was perhaps the last time we captured him smiling and healthy. Raji Akka had visited on the day after Pongal, Jan 2016, and this is his favorite pose on his favorite thrown in his favorite room wearing his favorite shorts watching his favorite program on TV interrupted by his favorite daughter.
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This appeared in the Family-Newspaper that I used to run for the extended family network, way back in the previous century! :-) I still remember the look on my English Teacher's face! My Dad has passed on without once telling me if I have at least come close to his level of mastery of the language. :-(
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When this solitary wedding photograph was taken, more than five decades ago, my mom had already been "dating" my Dad (or, as my Dad so lovingly put it, he had been 'courting' her!) for a dozen years already! No death can take away a bouquet of memories, a life full of adventures and challenges, compromises and fightbacks. My Dad never foresaw his death, or so it seems. He always looked at himself as energetic, alert, and still a long way to go before dying. That's perhaps why I find that my parents haven't even had the basic "What if" discussions about "Life After". And, that's perhaps why I find that my Mom has been able to "Seize The Day" and "Live The Moment", and hoard only happy memories decade after decade. Chewing cud takes time. And, I hope my Mom blesses us with her presence long enough for us to relive all those happy moments as dinnertime stories and long-drives-in-the-car narrations. Here's to you, Mom. And, here's to the Best Friend I've ever had!
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Of all the people known to him directly, with whom he has spent considerable time, only TWO people have been completely cocooned away from his occasional bad temper. Aditya (his grandson) and Radha (his daughter-in-law). He treated Radha almost reverently from Day One, And Adi was the pampered grandkid who could do no wrong. So much so that the old man would complain to me when I used the same time-tested tactics on Adi that Dad himself used on me for the better part of 15 years!
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Everything he wore these days had an irremovable smell of siddhanathan vibhoothi. And 'worse', if it's a big day for me or for Aditya, we get liberal dollops of it on to our shirt sides and necks thanks to his elaborate aalinganam..!
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I used to derive morbid and possessive pleasure that I'm the only living soul around that he'd allow to touch his freshly matted down hair - I could tousle it anytime I want any way I want. He used to apply a strange mixture of oil and water and spend nearly fifteen minutes correcting his hair and perfecting the split bar-straight and evenly parted.
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He had this secret agenda of wanting to make me 'tallest physically' among the seven of us cousins. During vacations, we would have coded language to stand next to the others strategically so he could stand up, come level and check who's taller! Sukanya Akka was the hardest to beat, I think.
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This is the last opportunity I got, to feature in a photograph along with Atthaan. Venue - Abode Valley, dining table. Date - June 2015. - B Nagarajan.
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This group-photo was taken in 1974. The little newborn is Priya Nagarajan. Far right, (always considering himself right!?), is Vittal Atthaan. The trousered boy with the unkempt hair is yours truly.
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My Dad talking about his Dad and Uncle, and their trysts with soft porn! :-)
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He had taken ill many times in his childhood, and the dedication to diet that his parents and uncle/aunts showed, he hardly shared. :-) In this video, he tells us the horror stories of how he used to secretly violate all diet restrictions, even when faced with deadly diseases like typhoid.
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Have you guys had the experience of listening to him read out a story? One of my favourites from childhood was Sohrab and Rustam. A son and dad kinda warfare tragedy story. He made me cry - just listening to the emotional tugs. In fact, so etched are the moments, I remember what new English words I learnt from THAT SPECIFIC STORY!
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Even today, I wouldn't have been able to beat him in a தெரிந்த புராணம் தெரியாத கதை quiz. The stories and sub stories and sub sub stories he knew from the forgotten nooks and dimly-lit crannies of the great religious literature of Hinduism is the stuff of legend.
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Many of you might not know this, but this is a ritual at home that's been going on for nearly seven years now. Every birthday of every family member - they get agenumberthousandrupees cheque! So, for example, Radha got 43000 last December! We used to joke - what'd happen when we got older? Will the pension department of the Indian Air Force keep pace with the growing need? This and frequent donations to Veda paatashaalaas and Anaath Aashrams were the only drains on his monthly pension.
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The year was 2011. Many times had an "AirShow" by the Indian Air Force come and gone across many cities, over the years. We had even missed one right at our backdoor - in Chennai. Bent on reliving it at least just once more, Dad made it a point to alert me about this upcoming event months in advance. We booked the tickets, made the travel arrangements, dropped him off at the train station (sending him off alone after a long long time!) and arranged for his pick up by Suresh Anna at Bangalore. The next three days, according to him, were unadulterated heaven! Not only did he get to spend hours on end, watching an Air Show live at long last, but he also got (and gave) a lot of pleasure regaling old childhood memories to Suresh Anna, who even candidly recorded some bits of it! Thank you Anna! You made his day!
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Awesome Anna ! It's a really beautiful tribute to your beloved dad, our 'Vittal Athan'. Two things I particularly like so far are the 'Shorad & Rustam' story and your recollection of his final wish. I for one still remember that story - as my dad too have made me cry when reading that story. You are truly a great son for a great dad !
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Worship of female deities known as Ammans has been a Dravidian culture from time immemorial. Pragadhambal is one such Amman with her abode at Thirugokarnam near Pudukkottai. The Vijaya nagar Emperor who was ruling over Pudukkottai lost one impartant document. All his efforts to trace it were futile. Then he prayed to Pragadhambal Amman for its restoration. The Amman granted his wish and the lost document was found. The king was very happy and to express his gratitude he embossed Pragadambal’s picture on one side of a coin of Araikasu denomination and distributed the coins to his subjects during festive occasions. In those days the Araikasu coins were designed in a semi circular shape. The Amman from then onwards came to be known as “ARAIKASU AMMAN” and people started to pray Her for the recovery of lost / misplaced items. There is a Lakshmi Kubera Temple in Rathinamangalam, where the marriage of Lord Kubera is performed annually. During one such celebration, a very costly and valuable ornament of Sri Lakshmi was lost and could not be found. The Managing Trustee of that temple prayed to Araikasu Amman and promised to build a Peedam for Her if the lost ornament could be traced. It was to his surprise that he could see the ornament within the temple and as vowed, he built a Peedam for ARAIKASU AMMAN in Rathinamangalam it self very near to the Lakshmi Kubera Temple in gratitude and for the benefit of every one. Now the Peedam has become very popular not only in Tamilnadu, but also in other parts of the country and devotees throng this Peedam to seek blessings and restoration of lost / misplaced items or to thank Her for her benevolence in restoring their lost items. Number of instances have been reported about Araikasu Amman’s answers to the prayers of benefitted people like restoration of lost / misplaced items, recovery of lost money, Marriages, Child Births, Reunion of family members and many more. ----- Now, that's from the About Page of the famous Araikkaasu Amman Temple Website. I was rummaging through Dad's Godly-Goodies, and I chanced upon a picture.. Mom, who was riding along, exclaimed with a shriek of surprise! "Hey, this is the Araikkaasu Amman picture! I need this one! Have been searching for this for so long! Was even asking Dad for many years now! Wonder where he had kept it all along! If we have misplaced something or lost something, we just need to pray to this Goddess, and set apart a 1 rupee coin, and voila, you'll get what you are looking for!" I didn't point out to her the interesting irony in the situation. What do we do if we have lost the Araikkaasu Amman Picture itself? Hmm..!
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About 25-or-so-years ago, I sent my Dad a handcrafted Happy Birthday Greeting. It was structured as a fictional story from "30 years ago". He has been preserving it all these years. Dug it out when rummaging in the forgotten dumps in the trunks under the cot. Thing is, when I was a toddler in the family, my dad had already taken voluntary retirement from the Armed Forces, and had chosen to be a "home maker Dad". He took care of me and my everything, while Mom brought the loaves in. Here's the text of the card:- Frontispiece:- My penwork of my Dad's likeness. Medal pinned to shirt says - Best Father Of Century Award Inner page left:- I really appreciate the hard work you've put into being a great Dad! (Of course, the fact that I'm a great kid must've helped!) Inner page right:- That was about 30 years ago! A young, handsome, intelligent, chivalrous, noble gentleman was at the crossroads, wanting to take the right direction to a glorious career. (Refer picture!) - He could have been a relay runner, but it was all touch and go! - He could have been a great angler, but it just wasn't his line! - He could have been a great sailor, but he didn't want to be all at sea! - He could have been an ace tailor, but it just didn't suit him! - He could have been a professor of statistics, but probably he didn't like it! - He could have been a great mountaineer, but there were too many ups and downs! - He could have been a natural painter, but his was already a colorful personality! - He could have been a great writer, but words never made justice to his thoughts! - He actually became a jig driller, but you know, he got bored! - He could have become a pro photographer, and he is thinking of it still! So, you know what he did?! He took up a career as a FATHER! Thanks a lot, Pop, for that decision! And, by the way...., Happy Birthday To You!
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எனக்கு நினைவு தெரிஞ்சு we have moved home 14 times. And when I get to his place and start packing his things, he would fondly show his Air Force peaked cap double-wrapped in waterproof foil and paper! In fact, those are the only times he himself has looked at them. But nevertheless, it needed to be taken care of and shifted with care! He was a hoarder, a pack rat, things from the past mattered to him a lot. Shown in picture - all the stuff in his room neatly packed into cartons, to be unloaded and re-categorized and set up, before the King arrived to his new palace! (This was in 2011)
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He demonstrated brand loyalty even before it became a term in vogue, thrown around casually. His perfume? Only Atthar. His after-shave? Only Aqua Velva. His banians? Only Bison Interlock. His footwear? Only Twin Elephants brand chappals available handmade in a small family-run shop behind Maari Amman Koil in Salem. Over the years, the things he wore and sported about him, almost became a part of him - like Karna's armour and ear-studs. One defined the other. And, today, one reminds me of the other.
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How to hunt a tiger! - Part 2
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Last week, I received my first "pay-hike" after my Dad's passing away. The mind wandered back to those times. The times I used to announce the good news with a pack of sweets and a bowl of his favorite icecream. The advice he used to give me - invariably - every time I talked to him about work and money. How Job Satisfaction was the more important aspect in a career, much more than any "monetary benefits". And the advice he always followed it up with - it was always important to Live Within One's Means. How a person earning a few thousands a month is definitely richer and happier if he spends just half of it when compared to a person earning lakhs but ends up spending in lakhs too. It took a while for me to actually start earning - I was working at a Research Lab at IIT, at a time when my colleagues had gone on and taken up cushy jobs already. So, when, finally, at long last, I got my first "Research Grant Stipend", I sent it to Dad with a letter attached. Had stuck a copy of it on my room's wall and it stayed there for many many years. Here is a photograb of that happy interaction. Dear Appa and Amma, With a sincere thanks to the Almighty God for recognising me for what I am worth, With a hopeful wish that this is just a humble beginning and a sure sign of brighter days around the corner, With a straight-from-the-heart prayer that this and any future personal financial encouragements do not make me any more individualistic and independent than I already am, With a personal expression of faith in the greater powers of discretion that lie within you, With a heartfelt thanks to you both for having made all this possible, through trials, tribulations, and sacrifices galore, And with an ordered request that you consider this but your own money to be dealt with as you would most want to, I dedicate this Wad, my first humble bread for the Family, to me in a roundabout way, Because I am dedicating this to you both who in turn are dedicated to me!!! With Emotions overflowing from a big jar of Love and Affection, This is your Loving Son, D. Rajendran Date: 14th July 1993 Time: 11-40 p.m. Place: Madras - 36
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Two of the greatest stories that he narrated to me (long after he had regaled many audiences multiple times in the past already) are the stories of - Tarzan and - Count Dracula I don't know if he believed in these himself, but so convincing were the yarns that for a long long long time, I'd try swinging through overhead grills and doing the Tarzan cry, and the full moon always scared the living daylights out of me and I'd refuse to go get a chair from the other room if it wasn't well lit.
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What you see in this picture is one-third of one-third of his book-collection. Well-read person. Always-reading person too. I'm a book collector myself, but even I was exasperated one day. Shot at him point blank - you simply don't have the time dad. Even if you read every day of your life from today on, you can't finish all this you've collected. And you have this TV demon to fight with too. And he would say two things: - that this was his bequest to his son and grandson, stuff he left behind, in his memory. - and he'd say, he reads everything when the need arises, while watching TV in parallel. I even did the thing of leaving a secret paper folded in one of the books - if you reach this far, congrats, come and meet me! And he did!!!
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He has taught the value of beautiful handwriting to many. Suresh Anna and Krishnamoorthy Mama come to mind immediately. But it was to me that he taught the true value of WRITING. Two things he taught me have stood me in good stead. - the forgotten art of long form writing - he used to write letters, pages and pages of them, like a stream of consciousness almost, you could even imagine the scene, as if you were sitting next to him, listening to him talk it out. I have preserved a whole trunk full of our correspondence. - he also taught me that writing things out once is equivalent to reading it ten times. My god, how often this device has helped me remember things and plan out my thoughts!
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Dear Dad, After all these years you gave me company, I left home for the first time, to give a talk amid strangers, and you weren't there to wish me luck. To ask me about the topic and give me your sage advice. To ask me for the time slot so you could pray for my success at that exact moment. To use your knobbly fingers and misguided gyro to apply a 13 degrees tilted trapezium of holy ash on to my forehead just as I stepped out. To ask me even before I kicked my shoes off, how the whole thing went. But guess what, it did go well, even without you being there physically. I did place an extra flower at your photograph that hangs on the wall, spent an additional nanosecond asking myself the questions you would, and rehearsing the same lessons you taught me when I was but a kid, way back in the 80s, everytime you accompanied me for the Oratorical Competitions we used to take part in school. I remember your advice "never to focus on one person in the audience". And "not to have motionless hands, but to gesticulate appropriately". I remember that I have to "cover the length and breadth of the audience, and make each person feel that I am actually talking at least a few seconds of the time, to them, directly". But, most of all, guess what I fondly remember most? We were going for "competitions" mostly, and I remember how you used to prepare me for war! You would say, there may be people in the audience waiting to throw you off balance, distract you, upset your rhythm, so, don't get "perturbed by them", don't focus on anybody specific and run that risk. And, as if to give me practical exposure, you used to make me stand in the hall, and take a seat ten feet in front of me, and ask me to deliver my speech. And, once in a while, you used to make a monkey face, a face that I couldn't help but laugh loudly at, and see if I can withstand that distraction and still go through with my delivery! Thanks for the lessons, Pop, and thanks for the memories!
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Half the reason I boldly went ahead with the homeschooling idea for Aditya was his own living proof that a man can be self-made. Mechanism can be learnt by breaking things. English can be well-absorbed by just reading he newspaper and listening to the news. Promotions and ladder-climbing depend on hard work, industry, honesty, and sweat - more than some paper degrees from some snobbish school. Those were lessons he taught me, and they have given me the confidence and guidance I needed to take my own son, Aditya, on an alternative path to career success.
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Readers Digest India, Padham Health Care, Your Family Friend - a Veda Paatashaala, all owe this secret benefactor a lot of thanks for keeping them aloft and safe from bankruptcy. He was a big big fan, a huge supporter, and contributed sizeable amounts from his monthly pension as subscription and donation to these institutions. And, sure enough, the year I stopped the RD-India subscription at home, they did go bankrupt!!
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How to hunt a tiger! - Part 1
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My son Aditya watches TED talks daily, as part of his homeschooling. And, this video above was the one he chose a couple of days ago. I give him questions based on the talk - to test his understanding of it. And when I was watching this particular video to come up with a good question..., I stopped at 11:00. The speaker talks about how drones help in counting the number of fruits.. Memories flew back to the time, just a few weeks ago.. If this had happened just a few weeks ago, I would just say, "Adi, remember to go to Thatha and ask him about the Nala story.. There is an interesting story Thatha has told me about something very very similar (counting fruits!)", and that'd be it. My dad would come along, and blow up a two liner simple story into a mega-epic, add his own witty color to it, and drive home the point so deep that you couldn't forget it even if you wanted to! What do I do now, dad? Who do I send him to? I thought I could just be a dad to my son. You seem to be asking me to be MY dad to my son. :-( For those who don't know the Nala - Drones connection, watch the video above, and read the story below (from the Mahabharatha):- When Rituparna heard this message he called his charioteer Vahuka and ordered him to yoke the horses, for he would reach Vidarbha ere the sun set. Vahuka obeyed; but he said to himself: " Can this be true, or is it a device made for my sake? I shall learn the truth by fulfilling Rituparna's will." Like the wind he drove; once when the king let fall a scarf and would have stayed to recover it, Nala answered: " Nay, time presses, and the scarf is by now five miles behind us." The king wondered who Vahuka might be; for he knew no driver of horse, save Nala, who might drive so fast and sure. Rituparna had another gift, the gift of numbers; as they passed a mango-tree he said: " Behold, one hundred fallen fruits, and upon two branches a thousand and ninety-five fruits and fifty million leaves." At once Nala stayed the horses, severed the branches, and counted the fruits; the number was exact. Nala, in amazement, asked the king the secret of his wisdom; he answered: " It is born of my skill in gaming." Then Nala offered to exchange his skill in driving for Rituparna's knowledge of numbers;
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My Dad. My Super Dad. Felling femmes with his debonair good looks. 60s and 70s. :-)
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My personal private jealousy for a long long time was: He got each one of you something special from England and Russia - but nothing for me. His response - how would I know you'd be coming in to my life a decade later?! Do you folk remember what gifts he got you? I remember a russian doll set, a sewing machine, ...
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By the time I got around to it, he was already senile, forgetful, and in fact couldn't really plan more than a move ahead. So I beat him hollow in chess. But I've heard he was decently good at chess, and in fact, VBS Thatha (mom's dad) and Dad used to have heated matches lasting well into the night. And Meenakshi Paatti, afraid of frayed tempers, would just come along some times and take away some chessmen or even upset the board completely before a real fullblown war precipitated..!
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Mom and Dad - through the ages!
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Those days, in England, personal weighing machines came with predictions and recommendations for a happy marriage! They have become poorly worded two-bit sentences of predictions for tomorrow these days unfortunately.. Look at what my Dad got as sage advice about choosing a good partner!
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Peeked into Dad's Sthothram's Bag. So, this is what he has been doing as part of his daily morning routine. So, this is what he has settled into, as an equilibrium, after reviewing hundreds of books and thousands of combinations, customised to suit his taste, to fit his specific kind of desire for inner peace and global happiness. So, these are the Gods he is going to hopefully go looking for, as he journeys through the Unknowns, towards the Unknowable. May he not be disappointed by what he sees and learns.
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Three pairs of shoes. Left to us now, to fill. to fill.. to fill... to fill....... (Why the repeat? Well, them shoes are soooo big, it is 'echoing' inside!)
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He's the only person I know who has been to the pyramids and inside the Sphinx! Unfortunately the photos he gave for development all turned out over-exposed, he said. He had chosen a shanty photo printing shop in Cairo. This is the only photo that survived. You see him far-right.
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Henry and Lisa - in Tamil. Idea dropped though!
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Have you heard him whistle? He will pucker his lips and sing full Carnatic tunes with me - accompanying my harmonium. Those were the days indeed.
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This was perhaps the most favourite song of his, that I know of. Particularly stood out for the "rebellious" lyrics - he used to tell us how much HIS FATHER liked this song (for similar reasons). The crux of the lyrics, for those who don't understand the language - "Who did I depend on, when taking birth in this world? I don't expect any help from you all. Come and check on me, after my time is done"...!
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Did you know of his anti-theft inventions? Typical to most 'inventors', he had numerous ideas that he'd discuss with me but actually implemented only a few. Both for purses and handbags as well as for main entry doors of houses, he had ideas. The door-thing was really unique and elegant. He openly challenged me (and many other relatives who happened by) to try and open it - he'd say, the key is in plain sight, and it is openable if you know how, now try! And we'd fail. Invariably. A Rube-Goldberg like device with pulleys, levers, and recessed pins - you had to use an innocent looking six-inch metal wire to trigger the mechanism! (It's a different story that his pocket was picked twice, he lost his airforce ID, and twice more, thieves broke into our house when we were all away..!)
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A terror to all my school teachers.. I was a good enough student actually and would score high enough marks.. But nothing short of EVERYTHING would 'please' him. So, if a half mark somewhere seemed to have been docked unreasonably, you can find him, reference book and mark sheets in hand, waiting outside the principal's office for an opportunity to get me what he thought was my due. Imagine doing that these days!
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The monkey, the alligator, Henry, and Yes, Lisa!
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A real 'creature of habit'. I just have to exclaim once - hey these newspaper jumbles look like a good way to teach Aditya some new vocabulary. That evening, there will be a year's worth of small square newspaper cuttings of the daily jumble, ready for Aditya to solve. (I think BA Dandapani and BA Balasubramaniam, his brothers, also shared this cutting fetish!) I just had to leave to key in the main door keyhole once by mistake at night. That night onwards to eternity, he would add to his daily night time presleep ritual - check main door to see if key is hanging.
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My Dad's adventure culminating in his joining the Air Force. Wonder what brought him there!
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Even more memories of Dads and Uncles..!
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Another interesting debate / conversation I've had with dad is his habit of getting liquor bottles from csd canteen only to sell it away at a higher price to middlemen standing outside. All this when he used to tell me how righteous he used to feel when rejecting the whole concept of a discounted rate from a military canteen during the time he was in active service. We used to go on and on about it until one day I asked him - lemme try a sip!
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He is more a father figure to me than a father. From my earliest school days, right down to my recent talk at a conference in Bangalore two weeks ago, he wanted to play an active role in the encouragement department. To the extent that he'd want me to tell him exact times of the event/test/interview etc so that he could do a special Durga Pooja coinciding with it. I've had many lucky near misses too, in life. Both physical (accidents on road etc) and temporal/psychological/career-wise. I attribute them partially at least to the protective halo he thought he weaved around me with his prayers. This photo, shot candidly by Radha, shows one such scene. He is deep in prayer, hoping my presentation goes through smoothly!
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For a long long long time, well into my adolescent youth, Amma used to choose him for opening wrong-threaded bottles, he used to win arm-wrestles with me, he still used to display his unique skill of lifting a crossbar-cycle with his little finger. Only towards the end of my teens did he finally concede I had gotten stronger! Even today, when I look back, I remember the metronomic (really! You can set a watch with it!) thump thump of his arms going at the water pump at Gugai Paatti's home.
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For a long long time, I never learnt what mom and dad were earning from their salaries and pensions. That wasn't to be my problem - he said - just focus on your studies. For good or for bad, he cocooned me from all financial matters at home. Only very late in life, I learnt about how much borrowing, pawning, selling he had done to make our ends meet.
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