A tribute to the wonderful person he was!

It’s been ten years since my father left us, and it is mostly the painful last moments that rock my mind as the day of remembrance approaches. Pain over the loss of a dear one will subside over time. The agony of the loss is severe over the immediately following days, and then as the frequency of memories dwindles, life seems normal. However, when those memories raise their head again, it is in painful succession and scorches our consciousness with their intensity.

Cancer is the worst enemy any human can have. I haven’t known a man with stronger willpower than my father, and yet he too helplessly succumbed to its grip. I try to shun those images of him with his hair falling and his inability to walk from the pain caused by disease. I try to replace them with fond memories of my childhood when he was happy and so were we. But it’s those terrible pictures that always reappear. Cancer is an all-encompassing devil, one that I pray never crosses my path again.

I do not want to dwell on those dark years. Instead, I want to celebrate his life, and remember him for the high-spirited, jovial person he was. So, here I run through the pages of my memories.

Papa had an eventful childhood, being the eighth of nine children. His playmates were his nieces and nephews, some of whom were older than him. He used to tell us about how he would miss school to accompany his father when he went to collect his pension, and I think of how awkward it sounds.

He left Ponani, an old village in Kerala, at the age of 17 for the bustling city of Calcutta, where he worked during the day and studied through the night. Before long, he completed his graduation and left for Bahrain. As children, we used to listen to his accounts of long train journeys across the country, of roadside meals, and how he later traveled to various countries across the globe…today, I am awed by the courage he had. I never realized the challenges he must have faced to embrace the great world he never knew. For a little village boy to end up as a manager at British Airways, his growth was phenomenal. His ambition and inclination to make it big would have been immense.

Some of my earliest recollections are of accompanying him to the library. Papa was an avid reader and book collector and would return from his trips every time with at least a book or two for us. He was also a full-blown atheist, seeking reason behind anything supernatural.

During my teenage years, we often had our arguments. We would quarrel when he wouldn’t approve of my friendships or the way I dressed. It amuses me today when I recall how conservatively I dressed, while he wanted me to be more fashionable. Isn’t it usually the reverse? When I opted for engineering there was a lot of resistance from him saying I should choose literature and not science.…but he finally gave in to my wishes. Ten years later, I realize the wisdom in his words. I have long since lost my interest in machines, the novelty in technology doesn’t interest me, but literature still fascinates me.

Papa spent years rebuilding Padmalayam, the house where he was born; from preparing the blueprint to hauling bricks and painting the walls. The house breathed of his effort and love, and I was often counted among the workforce on my weekend visits from college. It was like camping and while taking a coffee break from work, we used to discuss ideas, change measurements and redraw plans. Living on the construction site, we would barbecue fish on a brick fireplace he’d designed and save the bones for the cat he’d adopted there. He wouldn’t turn out any animal, and there was a time when we had as many as 12 cats to feed at home.

He also taught me a very important lesson, that it’s alright to break free and go crazy once in a while, without worrying about perfecting everything. We thus painted part of the roof bright pink and together enjoyed it every time someone frowned at it.

It was soon after the work was completed that Papa was diagnosed with cancer. I loved that house, but the memories and the sadness that followed broke loose each time I saw it..the thought that he would never be there again was overwhelming, so it was best that the house had to go.

It is difficult to sketch a lifetime in a page or two. His spontaneous jokes and laughter still resound in my mind. Not a day passes when I don’t remember him. The emptiness I felt when I saw his heartbeat still and the flooding of loss when the realization that he would never return finally sunk in…it still haunts me!

However, the limited time we had together has gifted me with a lifetime of memories. His grandchildren never met him, and only know him through me and my brother… But it thrills me when I occasionally see flashes of my father in them, in what they do and say…..Those things tug on memories, bringing a lump to my throat and tears to my eyes, but joy to my mind too….for my Papa continues to live, through all of us!