It has been one whole year since I lost my dad. A friend called me now and expressed condolences. I realize I am not feeling sad - but am I supposed to?
Yes - I do miss him once in a while, but overall I feel happy for him. I celebrate his life (more than I mourn his passing) - the fact, that he was able to achieve so much, with so little.
I have heard stories about him studying hard in a small attic room without any fan, and passing the CA entrance examinations in a single shot. He was the deemed bread earner in our family, after my grandfather had lost his mind (read - mad) early on. The money coming in from the village was very little, as our family battled several law-suits. My father realized that to get a toe-hold in the big city he had to leverage the one opportunity that stood in front of him - education. He studied at the Mitra Institution in Bhowanipore, and routinely flunked his maths (I am told) - then went to the St. Xavier's College and finally went on to crack the Chartered accountant entrance examination. Worked in PWC as an articled clerk and then on to a famous multinational Insurance Company.
I remember glorious days in our little house in Tollygunge when Chefs used to come with long caps on their head, making parathas and dish fry for Dad's British Colleagues who would drop in for a cocktail evening. Much like what we do in Seawoods, but it was a very Brit affair. I would be in charge of the Tape Recorder, spooling in tapes of Guantanamera, as whisky and wine would be poured around. Even earlier, I remember running for the front door as i would hear the horn of his car from a distance. My memories go back almost to the time when I was just three. Surprisingly both our dog Timmy and myself had an ear for the horn of his Car which bore the number plate WBG 6724.
Many years later, I was at pains to see rats scurrying around inside the car, parked for eternity. I had just gotten my first job in my life after college, and the first thing i did was fix the car with all my savings. Then when the body was painted and the steering wheel fixed, I ran out of money and had no funds left for new tyres. So everyday it was an ordeal to try and go on a drive with my esteemed doctor friend, and realize minutes into the drive that we had a flat tyre. My father never stopped me from doing anything. On one hand he was proud of my abilities, specially to crack maths and science - on the other he was at pains with my inability to focus on a single goal.
But focus I did, when the time was right - and my dad helped me walk my way through to IIT. He was an entrepreneur already and tried to run his own practice which he did successfully, but never with much pomp. He patiently sat at my side and helped me do one math paper after another. He never understood the problems, just help me sit through the rigor of doing all the problems daily. With time I got tuned to the process of studying 16 hours at a stretch and then it became a hobby to crack maths problems for IIT. One fine day I sailed through, and I forgot all about him. Years later, I can clearly remember those long afternoons.
Dad was never my inspiration in early life. My uncles were - much cooler - engineers - they all talked science and technology which my Dad could not. He was the boring bean counter. It was only in my late life I could realize how cool he was that he was able to provide all that I needed, without ever once saying NO. He stuck by all my weaker moments - in academics, in profession, when I first proposed - everything. I knew if I was in deep shit I could turn to him, and he would always bail me out.
Towards the end the journey was getting very tiring for him. He was all alone as we migrated to the USA. Somewhere he lost the urge to battle society, and drew the circle of life closer to himself. He had smaller and smaller sets of friends and even smaller set of relatives who could understand him. I fought with him a lot, but when I reflected back, I always felt bad.
The last few days were spent in solitude. It was just me and him cooped up in a hospital room, with no one around. I wanted to talk to him badly, but he had lost his mind. He had dementia and paranoia - which means he could not understand and make sense of what I tried to tell him. I wanted to tell him really bad, how much I loved him and respected his ideals. I wanted to tell him, that I could spend my entire life just trying to live up to his ideals. I wanted to save his village, his little house, everything .. even his little diary, which I do. Actually for a long while, I had wanted to write a letter to him which would let him know what I really felt about him - but I never found the time. Today it is exactly one year (to the hour) when he breathed his last - and finally the letter came out.
Yes - I do miss him once in a while, but overall I feel happy for him. I celebrate his life (more than I mourn his passing) - the fact, that he was able to achieve so much, with so little.
I have heard stories about him studying hard in a small attic room without any fan, and passing the CA entrance examinations in a single shot. He was the deemed bread earner in our family, after my grandfather had lost his mind (read - mad) early on. The money coming in from the village was very little, as our family battled several law-suits. My father realized that to get a toe-hold in the big city he had to leverage the one opportunity that stood in front of him - education. He studied at the Mitra Institution in Bhowanipore, and routinely flunked his maths (I am told) - then went to the St. Xavier's College and finally went on to crack the Chartered accountant entrance examination. Worked in PWC as an articled clerk and then on to a famous multinational Insurance Company.
I remember glorious days in our little house in Tollygunge when Chefs used to come with long caps on their head, making parathas and dish fry for Dad's British Colleagues who would drop in for a cocktail evening. Much like what we do in Seawoods, but it was a very Brit affair. I would be in charge of the Tape Recorder, spooling in tapes of Guantanamera, as whisky and wine would be poured around. Even earlier, I remember running for the front door as i would hear the horn of his car from a distance. My memories go back almost to the time when I was just three. Surprisingly both our dog Timmy and myself had an ear for the horn of his Car which bore the number plate WBG 6724.
Many years later, I was at pains to see rats scurrying around inside the car, parked for eternity. I had just gotten my first job in my life after college, and the first thing i did was fix the car with all my savings. Then when the body was painted and the steering wheel fixed, I ran out of money and had no funds left for new tyres. So everyday it was an ordeal to try and go on a drive with my esteemed doctor friend, and realize minutes into the drive that we had a flat tyre. My father never stopped me from doing anything. On one hand he was proud of my abilities, specially to crack maths and science - on the other he was at pains with my inability to focus on a single goal.
But focus I did, when the time was right - and my dad helped me walk my way through to IIT. He was an entrepreneur already and tried to run his own practice which he did successfully, but never with much pomp. He patiently sat at my side and helped me do one math paper after another. He never understood the problems, just help me sit through the rigor of doing all the problems daily. With time I got tuned to the process of studying 16 hours at a stretch and then it became a hobby to crack maths problems for IIT. One fine day I sailed through, and I forgot all about him. Years later, I can clearly remember those long afternoons.
Dad was never my inspiration in early life. My uncles were - much cooler - engineers - they all talked science and technology which my Dad could not. He was the boring bean counter. It was only in my late life I could realize how cool he was that he was able to provide all that I needed, without ever once saying NO. He stuck by all my weaker moments - in academics, in profession, when I first proposed - everything. I knew if I was in deep shit I could turn to him, and he would always bail me out.
Towards the end the journey was getting very tiring for him. He was all alone as we migrated to the USA. Somewhere he lost the urge to battle society, and drew the circle of life closer to himself. He had smaller and smaller sets of friends and even smaller set of relatives who could understand him. I fought with him a lot, but when I reflected back, I always felt bad.
The last few days were spent in solitude. It was just me and him cooped up in a hospital room, with no one around. I wanted to talk to him badly, but he had lost his mind. He had dementia and paranoia - which means he could not understand and make sense of what I tried to tell him. I wanted to tell him really bad, how much I loved him and respected his ideals. I wanted to tell him, that I could spend my entire life just trying to live up to his ideals. I wanted to save his village, his little house, everything .. even his little diary, which I do. Actually for a long while, I had wanted to write a letter to him which would let him know what I really felt about him - but I never found the time. Today it is exactly one year (to the hour) when he breathed his last - and finally the letter came out.
------------------------------
Dear Sandip,
Very nicely written. He will be well remembered by me all my life-and ofcourse speaking for myself, I will forever be grateful for that hearty welcome that he gave me everytime ( when he sat at his desk in the front office at home) as I would run into your house at all hours of the day and night.... greeting me with the inevitable offer of lunch or dinner ( which I promptly accepted each time!!).
The other great thing I always looked forward to was that he leaked all your "secrets"( atleast the ones that he knew) to me and kept engaging me for my opinion regarding your latest doings( and there were a lot of those at Varanasi!).Ofcourse he alwas took pains to let me know that I was on the right track ( whatever that was!) and that I needed to engage with you more often to put you back on track ( what a disaster that has been!!) .
Ofcourse I am eternally grateful to him ( and he hopefully remained unaware of this till his passing!) for the wonderful books that you allowed me to "temporarily remove for perusal" from that extensive library in his room. Among them...... " Coffee Tea or Me" a real bombshell of an eyeopener for me at the time! Ofcourse as luck would have it- he discovered it missing on the very day I took it home! I forget what cock and bull story you told him about the missing book while frantically calling me on the phone to replace it ASAP! Ofcourse I was too busy to take your call at that time!
I also have to recall that famous trip to the Calcutta Book Fair- our first - in that very car of yours- and the ever increasing strangely metastasizing bunch of books that you kept saying were being bought by me- he gave me a very quizzical look - obviously the auditor was doing his job- but being diplomatic , he did not opine verbally on the balance sheet "disrepancy".
I remember a self made man who was brilliant, with great integrity and a sense of how the world worked- he first gave me the sense of what it was like to come in from the outside, fight discrimination, get qualified and then move on ahead in life .
A life well lived.
Best
JC
Our memories of Dadu is very recent - very, very fresh....I still remember that summer afternoon in July 2008 - when we waved him goodbye, as we sat on our "Penguin" ambassador, driving off to the airport. he looked worried, as usual - since we were travelling alone - he ALWAYS worried, even though we had been doing this for the last 5 years :-)
He walked doen, copied the license plate no. - and reminded me incessantly, that I MUST call him, as soon as I reached the airport.
That was the last I saw him.
My memories of the first few years of our marriage - is much more distant. Baba hardly talked to me - I was the new "bride" of the house - the new member that had inadvertantly entered his life....I remember giving him a birthday gift the first time and him being very, VERY embarassed!
Then, we went off to the US - and the times we came for a holiday were hardly enough for him to warm up to me.
He took his time......a long time.....and then, silently, somewhere, he accepted me, one day. As a member of the family. As his own. Not an outsider anymore.
And then - we would talk.....every summer I was in Kolkata with the two of you - and he would talk. About the village, about the house - about Ma - even about maids! He would get huge lobsters and crabs for us to eat - and he would get REALLY upset when we would have only 1 !
An evening visit to the Anderson Club - where we would have Fish Fry....
Seeing a movie together in his bedroom -
But the village consumed him. His reading went down - his pleasure in life went down. Most of all - his BELIEF in life went down. I used to feel sad when I saw this....but It was a terrain I could not interfere with.
For me - Tollygunge is incomplete without Baba. I cannot imagine staying there without him. I don't want to.
Mou
I bathed here yesterday - in a makeshift 'ghat' in one of the smaller ponds. The other one (pona pukur - shown below) is in a totally decrepit state, and we need to make a proper one there before the coming monsoon. 
