THERE ARE DADS AND THEN THERE’S MINE

THERE ARE DADS AND THEN… THERE’S
MINE
SANAT KAPADIA
“And come I may, but go I must, and, if men ask you why,
You may put the blame on the stars and the sun and the
white road and the sky”
(Excerpt from dad’s favourite poem – Wanderthirst by Gerald Gould)

Finally that night I got an opportunity to speak to you at length.
You and I share everything, we are buddies! The last 10 days had
been very difficult and that night to have you finally awake and
listening to me was a blessing.
It took me back to all the conversations we have had in the past 42
years. Even when we are at the busiest curve ever, dad never missed
an opportunity to call me up everyday and ask me the standard 5
questions :
- How are you?
- How is Vijayan?
- How is baby? (That’s Tamanna)
- How are your in-laws?
- How are all your friends?
‘Badha majama chhe Pappa. What have you been upto?’ Some joke he
would crack at that moment followed by his trademark laughter.
Smiling at that, I would end the conversation. I would still keep the
phone in my hand and wait right where I was as in less than a minute
he would call back. Without even seeing the number, I would say
‘Bolo Pappa’. Of course, it was him. To tell me something he had
forgotten to mention in the customary daily call.
However, that night we managed to catch up after almost 10 days.
There was silence all around and thank god no one to disturb us.
The first thing ever to notice
about my dad is how lively and
happy he always was. He took the
meaning of ‘livelyhood’ to an
absolute different level which is so
synonymous only with him. Don’t
get me wrong that I am saying this
just because he is my dad. This is
an opinion by all those who have
even remotely crossed his path.
‘Kapadia saheb, kidhar ho? Bahut
din se aapka awaaz nahi suna’.

‘Sir Kapadia, you must regale us with new real time jokes’,
‘What a cartoon your dad is, I must say!’
‘That’s your father? He is insane!’
‘Uncle, chalo hasiye’
These comments have always been a part of my life. So much so that
till a point I thought all dads are like that. I call him my sample piece
– one of a kind. They don’t make like him anymore
For a lot of people it was easy to think that
what a jolly good fellow he is. But for those
who knew him well, it’s actually an amazing
feat to achieve considering that he didn’t
have a very smooth early life.
Dad was born and brought up in a chawl at
Bhangwadi, Mumbai. His mother was his
father’s second wife. As if the conditions of
staying there weren’t really up to the mark,
dad’s mom passed away 2 days before his
10 th grade preliminary exams. Not even once
have I heard an excuse of why he didn’t fare
well in his exams or how the not-so-good conditions affected his
career. Instead, I have heard such amusing stories of his life at
Bhangwadi. About his friends and the very famous theatre there. ‘Jo
Leela college chali’. All who
knew him, knew this
dialogue from a book from
those days. He always
repeated and enacted the
plays transporting his
listeners to that black and
white era. He made it so
easy for us to be a part of his
yesterlife.
How that night we got an opportunity to remember the ‘Leela’
days, isn’t it Pappa? Masi says that book is still with you. We
better hunt for it Pappa. I have to read it.

Though my dadi passed away when dad was very little and of course
I don’t have any clue about her, dad kept her alive in memories. We
have a lot of photos of her. She definitely had some magnetism
around her. Not even one photo have I seen her not smile. Dad must
have inherited her nature. How he imitated her while signing papers.
Sticking his tongue out and bending his head, just how dadi must
have done to sign papers. I also know he loved her immensely.
When he went for puja at the derasar everyday, not only did he pray
for mom and me, he also prayed on behalf of his father, mother and
his dad’s first wife whom he so fondly called masi. Its quite a rarity
to see such a lovely relationship blossom between him and his ‘masi’.
Probably, that’s when I also learnt how to give respect and send
immense love to Tamanna’s birth mother even without knowing her.
So much I have learnt from dad by just observing him.
One of the first things we spoke about at length that night was
Mom. Your best friend. A pillar of strength she is to both of us.
Mom and dad were poles apart. Whatever be the topic or situation,
they could never agree on anything! But that disagreement was
always in harmony. They both stayed in the same building and I still
can’t get over the fact how dad proposed marriage to her. I still
remember his narration.
‘I told Rajni that I
would like to marry
you and you need
to answer me as
soon as possible as
there is another girl
waiting for me. So
if you answer in the
negative, I could go
and give a positive
reply to the other
girl.’
I was aghast at the
frankness besides
laughing out loud on what mom had to reply to him ‘I will have to ask
my father!’ Seriously?! Gosh, mom! One who is so frank at the

eginning will remain so till the end. You should have just said a yes
immediately But am glad you eventually (and your father) did!
Dad never missed an opportunity
to pull mom’s legs. Whether it was
her slow as a snail pace that she
did all the work or her watching 3
television serials all at the same
time slot, irritating mom by poking
fun at her was his birth right.
However, dad never missed any
opportunity and didn’t leave any
stone unturned to see that mom
was always happy and comfortable
at every stage. He would make her
tea in the morning and boil milk
too. Never had she to know what
medicines she had to eat and when
as they were already kept ready by
him. All she had to do is pop them.
From booking of gas cylinders to
helping her go to Parle to buy
‘undhiya no saman’, whether it was managing the financial work or
going to Talegaon home every month just to do sweeping and
swapping, he managed it all!
‘Rajni, Rajni, Rajni’.
These words one would
hear every minute at
home. Quite amusing I
used to find this because
inspite of he managing all
his own and mom’s work,
he still used to ask for
mom! When mom used
to be away, he would
show the world how
happy he was to gain the
freedom. ‘Hu bando
chhu’, he would gleefully
repeat. But at the end of
the day, actually before

the end, like a sulking kid, would go off to sleep by 8 pm if mom
wasn’t around! Such was their love and so lovely was their
relationship.
It was a compulsion to get the weekend off from the kitchen. I would
wait to go out and binge. It was also a norm to shut the kitchen
down one week every year and eat out. ‘Your mom needs a holiday,
she works so hard’, I was told.
Did I say holiday? As a
family we enjoyed 3
huge vacations every
year. All in the family
and friend’s circle knew
that from May 1 st to May
31 st every year we
would be away. In
addition, Diwali and
Christmas breaks too. I
used to be the most
excited. The travel bug inside me still flutters its winds even at the
thought of travelling. This passion took birth unknowingly from my
childhood itself.
‘What do you do for a month?, everyone would be so perplexed.
‘Travel’, is all I knew I had to answer. We travelled all over India and
would be stationed in a particular place many times for a month. We
have stayed for a month in Srinagar, Nainital, Kodaikanal and many
other places. Never was I bored even for a moment. We had all the
time in the world to relax, make friends with the locals, eat local food
and do what others
yearn to take out
time to do –
Nothing! And still
enjoy every bit of
the nothingness. I
would get
unlimited time
with dad. He
would narrate
various instances
from his life and I

would listen to it with abated breath. Not with any thought of
learning from what he would say but he was such a wonderful orator.
How I wish he would always continue talking. He even sang so many
songs from the 50s and 60s and I would hum after him. He recited
poetry from Wordsworth and I would have them by heart in no time.
We would read together, row boats together and just have so much
fun doing absolutely nothing together!
Unlimited trips, unlimited photos,
unlimited memories. Whatever I
experienced in these trips lies
embedded not only in the photos
but also deep in my heart.
Unknowingly I learnt so much from
my travels, so much from the time
spent with dad, nothing in this
world would have taught me
otherwise and I wouldn’t exchange
those experiences with anything in
this world.
That night I didn’t know which
travel to speak to you about, dad.
All are so special. All flashed in
front of me. How I learnt to row
like a fisherman, swim like a fish,
trek like you on those trips. All different places with remarkably
different views. One thing that all travels taught me is to respect
those views, of all beings, that’s the only thing that could take me
places. Its so true. Nothing teaches like experience. You are one
of the most valuable teachers of my life!
Dad respected money a lot and never splurged them on any
unnecessary things. But for his travels, he spent every penny to see
that we were always comfortable and there was nothing in the
itinerary that we would possibly miss. He was so meticulous with
the financial matters. He was the only one who handled all expense
and income. Actually he never spent. He had two spendthrifts in his
life – mom and me – who took care that he had enough and more
expenses to take care of!

Seeing slightly bitter days in his
early life, dad was very particular
about his finances and
investments. So perfect he was
with ‘hisaab kitaab’ that apart
from his civil engineering skills,
his clients would also request him
to oversee their finances. It was
only because of a sound financial
backing that I could explore non
conventional and not so well
paying career options too without
batting even an eyelid.
That night when we were
talking, I lied for the first time. I
told you that I am aware of all your finances and money matters
and that you shouldn’t be worrying of anything. Not sure whether
you bought my story. I learnt drama from you, pappa, from your
narration of the wonderful theatre at Bhangwadi. I lied that I was
aware of all the contact details of your clients. I lied. But
somehow not sorry about it. It was late in the night and I wanted
you to sleep. We could have continued our conversation on this
the next morning too.
From where dad’s childhood began to
where he ended finally, it has been the
most noteworthy graph to follow. With
barely any means to begin with to
leading and letting us live the most
comfortable life we could think of was a
very big achievement and so proud are
we of him for that. His work life was
very fulfilling. His clients really
respected dad and held him in high
esteem. They would just blindly
handover everything to dad, such was the trust he earned.

How much ever dad
achieved in life, there
was always simplicity in
the way he lived and
where he lived. Whether
it was bare minimum
furniture that was
required in the house,
just enough in daily
meals or 8 pairs of
clothes that he always
owned.
Dad didn’t even let his clothes get ironed. He wore the same clothes
for all occasions; whether he went to a wedding or someone’s
funeral, it just didn’t matter. When we would prod dad, his standard
reply used to be ‘There are two kinds of people – those who know me
and those who don’t. Those who know me, know very well I am like this
only. Those who don’t know
me, how will it matter to me
what they think?’. Of course,
there wasn’t any argument
after that, we always gave up.
He used to love his trademark
‘pehran’ and very often would
pair it up with shorts. He
probably was the only one
who could carry this unusual
combination. Dad could have
been a model to endorse this
style!! Missed opportunity! Of
course, its best I also mention
how he was always scolded by
Mom for trying to wear this
combination to the beach also.
That scolding he never
managed to escape. ‘Aa tari
ma mane nathi peherva aapti. This style and all is so humbug’. How
he would moan!

Dad never even wore a full sleeved shirt. When I saw him wear a suit
on my wedding reception, I was so surprised. That surprise surely
turned into the most hilarious laughter when he finally got his jacket
off. No one but he could have worn a half sleeved shirt inside. How
Vijayan and I laughed when we noticed it!
As far as I can think, he was attached only to two material things in
his life. Anything that could play his music and his handerkerchief.
Yup, I know it sounds very unusual to the readers here, but beyond
these two things, I am really struggling to think of anything.
He loved his music. His songs were from the era of 50s and 60s of
Hindi music. He was in love with Suraiya all his life. He would sing
so well too. My early memories of his kind of music is my early
school days. At 7.30 in the morning he would plug in the radio while
shaving his beard. The station would play all the songs that he likes.
I used to hate it because that meant the songs would wake me up so
early but in time to go to school. Not to mention, the session ended at
8 am with the customary K.L. Saigal song. But listening to them day
after day, I started singing the lyrics too and so well-nested were
these songs, that till today they remain my all time favourite.
Dad had so many cassettes of songs from his favourite movies. So
fond of he was of these and his player that he kept them under lock
and key Its only now since the past 5-6 years, did he finally
manage to understand youTube. He googled videos day in and day
out and sang along!
‘Kise yaad rakhu, kise bhul jaoooo’
‘Afsana likh rahi hoon
Afsana likh rahi hoon
Dil-e-bekaraar ka
Aankhon mein rang bharke
Tere intezaar ka’
‘Awaaz de kahaan hain,
Duniya meri jawaan hain
Abaad mere dil mein
Umeed ka jahaan hain
Duniya meri jawaan hain’

“Layee khushi ki duniya
Hasti hui jawaani…..
Layee Khushi ki duniya’
These are one of
the many on the
tip of my tongue
even now! Dad
still gets
recommendations
on his youTube
everyday!
That night our
conversation
wouldn’t be
complete had we
not spoken about
your music and Suraiya. Your eyes shone when I spoke of it, wish
you would have sung. You sang so well; the song of an amazing
life, you sang so very well. I am still all ears, listening and
learning.
If there’s one thing that he held closest to his self was ….. yup, that’s
correct! His handkerchief! A hanky always had to be in his pocket.
Whether he was at home, going out or even in the bathroom. If there
was even a slight feeling of dearth of his stock of hankies, mom would
run to the market and refill the stock. While going out, even if dad
would have reached halfway to his destination and if he realized that
he had forgotten his hanky, that’s it! It was always a U-turn, back
home, collect the hanky and then proceed further. The number of
times we would have rolled our eyes for his attachment to his hanky.
No, not that night. We didn’t speak of any hanky that night. We
never ever did. The morning after two days when you were at
peace and ready to leave for your last travel, I ensured I tucked in
your hanky with you. It will keep you warm and comfortable
always, pappa.

For a man who had no interest in material things, one might think
that he would be such a serious man, wouldn’t be smiling or joking
ever!
Wrong! Completely wrong! Dad was just the opposite. He thought
every moment that one hasn’t laughed or enjoyed is a moment
wasted in life. To find humour in every day chores and experiences
was his forte. He would narrate various instances to us and we
would be rolling with laughter. For those who knew him well “Let it
go’ and ‘tumhare seth ko tum bhaavta hain?’ were the incidents that
were well etched in everyone’s mind.
To laugh at one’s own self is an art very
few are able to master. Flying jokes at
his own self to tickle other people’s funny
bones was a ritual for him. I don’t
remember a dull moment in my life with
dad around. He surely drove home the
point that ‘Laughter is the best medicine’
and how well was that point driven.
That night I called you my sexy man.
Not that you are tall, dark and
handsome. But that heart of yours is
just so sexy. Probably even the
Almighty found it difficult to duplicate
it. There will never be another you. I
earlier used to crib about not having a
sibling but that night I was so glad I am
your only born. Because there is no way on this earth that I would
have shared you with anyone else.
There was an equal dose of simplicity alongwith sexiness that his
heart contained. Be it in his clothes that I mentioned before, our
home, mode of travel, his nature and his choice of food.
Dad had a very transparent heart. His heart and mind were one.
What he thought and felt, was on the tip of his mouth without
mingling any words. Of course, some who didn’t know him well,
would find it a bit blunt in the beginning. Like one of his very dear
friends mentioned to me earlier as to how curt he used to find dad’s
nature. Its only when people got to know him well, did they realise

that it’s the best way to be. There were never hidden layers to
disguise the real himself in his life. Since life was not complicated at
all, he could even envision well and take split second decisions. I
have really tried to learn this trait from my father and hoping at some
point will succeed. Its really difficult to not judge people and try and
overlook someone else’s flaws but he managed it with such panache.
His food choices were more than simple. Who would prefer a simple
toast butter with tea over a lavish meal spoilt with choices? With
dad’s mom passing away very early in life, he and my grandfather
didn’t have much choice but to order tiffin everyday from a lodge.
This tradition continued for 16 years till the day dad and mom got
married. My grandfather apparently was all teary eyed the first day
the tiffin came. But my dad was all strong and said ‘When there are
no choices in life, what’s the point of lingering on?’ Even the day of his
wedding, he had the tiffin before
leaving for his own wedding and
refused to join in the festivities at my
mom’s house.
While bread and toast remained his
favourite, I can’t help but remember
how much he liked all chiwdas and
how he even would gorge on butter
and ghee (to be quickly chided by
mom and me). I would love the
garam garam jalebi fafdas for
breakfast and samosas and batata
wadas that dad would so fondly bring
for all of us to gorge on. ‘Garma
garam chhe, jaldi kha’. They all
tasted so wonderful, after all, his love
was the main ingredient in them.
That night, probably after I met you, I again gave a thought to
what you always say. ‘There’s just no point worrying ever. If you
can find a solution, you don’t have to worry. Just get up and solve
the problem. If there isn’t any solution possible, then the matter is
even more simple and you just don’t have to waste time worrying
at all!’

Dad’s simplicity is what also attracted all his friends and well
wishers. There wasn’t any jhanjhat with dad. Like his friend once
told me ‘Your dad is the only non-controversial person in our gang!’.
He really held all his friends close to his heart. They would confide in
him and how magically he solved all their problems. He always went
out of his way to reach out to people and see that they were always
comfortable by extending a caring arm if ever the need arose.
Whether it was his friend’s financial or emotional queries, he tried to
offer help to the best of his abilities.
Seeing him for so many years, one thing that’s most remarkable is
that my dad’s friends ranged from small kids to people who would
have been his father’s age. He just transformed into their age and got
along with all like a house on fire. Whether it were my cousins who
were much younger than me, my friends, their parents, everyone of
varying ages in our society, his helpers at home, his co-workers at
work, his own friend circle…… name anyone and he would have
touched everyone’s life one way or the other.
The most interesting thing to see was when in the last few days when
people came to meet him, I got introduced to most of them for the
first time. Of course, I had always heard everyone’s name as dad and
I share all the happenings of each day. But its only then was I able to
place a face on all the names I had heard so often.
Dad had a huge gang who met up everyday at the beach from 5pm to
8pm. I myself went with him a couple of times. They would all walk
and then sit at a fixed spot in the promenade garden spending time
sharing their lives with each other. The bond over years became so
strong that even families mingled with each other and went out for
dinners and trips together too! It was so lovely to see dad interact
with all, they were all different people from different walks of life and
yet so similar. Those three hours a day were always so special to
dad, he wouldn’t want to give it a miss anyday.
A few things his friends not only from Mumbai but also from
Talegaon and work area mentioned to me, shall stay with me forever.
‘Your dad is my words, what I feel, he only can say’
‘Your dad’s heart is transparent – what he feels is what he says’

‘I am what I am because of your dad’
‘Hum sab ko ek din jaana hain,
Blender’s to ek bahana hain, kuch
samay saath nibhana hain.’
‘He is my jigar ka tukda’
The list is endless. ‘Jovani ni khubi’
like dad would say is that all of
them referred to you as your ‘best
yaar’. The conversation with his
friends allowed me to see dad from
a different dimension. I must admit
that though I knew this side of his,
when these words exuberated from
people who are unknown to me,
made me feel really proud. Right
now too as I am typing, there’s a
huge smile that hangs on my face.
Though he was not a very high
connoisseur of food, arranging food
for one and all was something that gave him unparalled pleasure.
Whether it was garam garam samosas and batatawadas for us at
home, wadas and mithai to the beach or even undhiyu to his clients,
that excitement of his would add that extra zing in everything.
That night we spoke about all your friends. I also told you how I
knew about that secret meet up place at the cutting chaiwala and
endless batatawada parties that you friends always had. I also
very happily mentioned how at the time you all would have ideally
been at the beach, all your friends would be coming to visit you
everyday. The time that you spent at the beach gave you such a
high everyday. I always loved to hear all the stories that you
would gather.

Dad spoilt Tamanna also with food. She thought that nana-nani’s
house meant an endless supply of gathiya, pani puri and sherbet.
Dad would be
more than
happy to go
out of his way
to get those
miniature
puris to fit
Tamanna’s
mouth when
she was little.
Of course,
food is not
the only thing
they both
shared.
Knowingly or unknowingly I am sure she has inherited so much of his
sense of humour and matchless joyous nature. Tamanna’s
inquisitiveness and love for travelling also seems to be emanated
from dad.
I remember the excitement on his face when Tamanna came home
for the first time and ever since there wasn’t a single moment he
must have not thought of her. I faded into oblivion, much to my
annoyance, and Tamanna emerged his favourite!
How he exposed her to the feeling of the soft sand at the beach and
the whirlpool of ripples created by the receding waves, the sand
castles that he made for her with that little tunnel where we could
shake hands. The yummy raw mangoes and shingoda bought at the
beach were relished by her in no time.
The paper origami that dad made for Tamanna always amused her
no end and so did the card tricks. She finally managed to learn one of
the tricks. Dad had an unusual way to expose Tamanna (and earlier
me) to studies. He would make everything so interesting. Funny
games to learn spellings and weird drawings that would stay on our
minds to remember stuff later.

‘Let her live her childhood, don’t pressurise her into studies ever, after
all good grades are not an end to everything’, dad repeated day in and
day out. His measure of my success as a parent lay in the fact that
how happy Tamanna would be at any given point of time and
whether fearlessly she could come up to me and share everything.
Phew, I really had to work hard to be even half a good parent as my
dad was to me.
As Tamanna grew up, dad really felt proud of the fact that she could
mingle and make
friends
everywhere. She
is after all, his
grand daughter!! I
clearly remember
when we were in
the UK, dad took
Tamanna to the
playground for two
months. This
playground, was
incidentally the
same where I took
her for over a year and a half. After dad and mom left for India when
I went back to the play area, people asked me if I was ‘Mr.Kapadia’s
daughter?’ Gosh! I really wondered what magic he would have
woven over there with Tamanna that people didn’t notice me for so
many months when I went there and they knew dad in just two
months!
One day when dad called me, I was really flustered with Tamanna’s
teenage issues. ‘That’s great. At least she is a normal teen!! Wait till
she starts dating!’ is the piece of advice that I received then.
Perplexed was I at that time as I not only had to deal with a teenage
daughter but also a teenage grandfather. I raised my hands towards
the ceiling feeling utterly useless. But now when I think back, he was
so right! I am really hoping I can manage to raise her the way dad
raised me and taught me how life was to be lived.
That night, we spoke of Tamanna at length. I told you that she is
growing into a beautiful lady and a responsible one too, just like
you would have liked. I told you how she is loving her football and

is practicing well. I loved the glow on your face when you heard
me mention how she has shown a vertical graph as far as her
academics are concerned and that her teachers were very proud
of her. You seemed to be so relaxed upon hearing her excelling in
Maths. It was your pet subject, after all!
While speaking of family and friends, there’s probably only one
person who fits both these categories and that’s none other than
Vijayan. Dad became
friendly with Vijayan the
moment he saw him. Dad
even guessed that he was my
choice as a life partner
before anyone else did and
the only thing he said was
‘Ah good, he stays so near!’.
I don’t think either of them
treated one another as a
father-in-law or a son-inlaw.
‘Nutcase’ is the word I
have heard Vijayan mention
so many times for dad. A
truly deserved title. Where would you find two such people having a
relation as they did where they would wait to meet each other over a
glass (or glasses) of whisky? I must admit that sometimes I too felt
left out of their conversations which ranged from work and
government to quarter bars and music.
One night that Vijayan definitely cannot forget is when my parents
visited us in Singapore and we played dad’s favourite songs and how
he sang and we laughed till eternity. ‘Sambhad, sambhad’ is the word
that continuously echoed in the house just to ensure that we were
listening keenly to the lyrics. We have videos of dad’s madness and
play it time and again so that we can transport ourselves to that
magical night.

I vividly remember
Vijayan mentioning
that one evening he
had bumped into
dad at a quarter bar
where dad was with
his set of friends
and Vijayan was
with his. Not to
mention, Vijayan’s
friends always
wished how they
could borrow dad to
be their father-inlaw.
I found that thought ever so gratifying.
That night I assured you that Vijayan is there always not only for
Tamanna and me but you and mom as well and that I am very
happy with him. I also informed you how along with me he has
full knowledge of all his financial matters and that you don’t have
to worry about my half baked knowledge in these issues. I told
you how he is waiting to drive you back home.
HOME – is where I always returned to for a hearty laughter, music,
madness and some soulful food.
I thought this section would be
the easiest to write as I was
writing about my relationship
with my father and who would
know that better than me? But
it has taken me days of staring
at the ceiling not knowing
where to begin even after
spending hours of reminiscing
my 42 years with him.
Like any other daughter, dad
has been my only hero, my only
role model. Even if I ever
become 5% of what he was, I
would be elated and feel

absolutely blessed. I used to think that dad was a Superman as he
solved all my problems. I have spent some nights remaining awake
as I thought he would fly from my balcony just like Superman. But I
was wrong. I shouldn’t have just thought you would be Superman, I
should have just known you were and always shall be!
Dad left to work in Bahrain leaving mom and me in Mumbai when I
was quite little. So attached I was to him that I would spend hours
crying for no reason
causing more than
enough trouble for my
mom. I would long for
his trips to India or our
trips to Bahrain. He
used to send some fancy
postcards from Bahrain
with wonderful 3D
pictures and would
always write something
for me. So curious and
desperate I used to be
to read them on my own! In the summer break of grade 1 or so I
pushed my dad into teaching me how to read. We were suppose to
be taught in school how to read the following year. I spent the entire
summer break learning how to read. I read all my school books,
library books and any other piece of writing that came in my way just
to ensure that I could read all the postcards that dad would send once
he returned to Bahrain without asking anyone else for help.
With reading, writing followed like a shadow. It was my turn to write
cards to dad. Oh what a feeling of achievement it was! Dad had
bought me some amazing colour pencils and sketch pens and I would
use them all to make fancy cards. Its only now, after 35+ years that I
finally let the attachment to those colourful pens and pencils fade….
Unlike the other kids, studying was a lot of fun for me, since dad
made it that way. He would make fun worksheets for me to finish
once I got back home from school. The format of those worksheets
used to be different everyday and I used to look forward for ‘what
was new today’ to do. When I would solve all, there used to be such a
sense of pride of having lived upto his expectations, which by the
way, he had none. All he ever wanted is me to be happy in life, in

whatever path I would choose. I think just to complete tasks that
were set for me by my hero, whether they were for studies, making
sand castes at the beach or conducting science experiments at home,
used to be a huge high. The completion of these tasks were as good
as winning laurels of the highest order.
Dad was a huge fan of well written English prose and poetry. He used
to recite some poems regularly. He would narrate the history behind
them. Hearing these over and over again, even I started reciting
them. I can never forget Abou Ben Adhem, Stopping by the Woods on
a Snowy Evening, And then there were none or our favourite –
Wanderthirst.
Wanderthirst made a strong impression on my clayey mind and
made a concrete impact in such a manner that out of all poems, it has
stayed with me till now. There was a particular tune in which dad
and I used to recite it. We would race as to who would finish it the
fastest. Mom was made to judge our recitation-thon. How much ever
I tried, I never won. This poem was the closest to our hearts. When
these poems were actually taught in schools, my teacher was so
surprised that I was already aware of them.
Same was the case with prose and novels. My exposure to Somerset
Maugham and Jeffrey Archer which led to tumbling upon many other
authors till now is all thanks to dad. A
couple of years back when I happened
to attend an event where Jeffrey
Archer was there, I think my dad was
more excited than I was! When I
referred some other authors to him, he
would always say ‘None like Maugham,
no writing like The Luncheon’.
Dad was not only a wonderful orator,
but his writing was immaculate. So
many friends and acquaintances used
to come time and again to him so that
he could write something for them.
Obviously, how could I be left behind.
Always wanting to imitate him,
sometimes, I started penning my
thoughts too. He helped me edit and

etter it day by day. It was a complete feeling of exuberance for me
when my college teacher mentioned that she had never come across
better writing than mine. When she asked as to where I learnt from, I
was super quick and clear in answering ‘Dad!’. I sometimes still
write for my own happiness. But of late when I used to send the draft
to him to edit he would say ‘You are my flowery writer and I from a
different genre and hence can’t edit’. I wonder what he would have
possibly said to this piece of writing
There are things I learnt and there are those I didn’t – simple things,
nothing fancy, but still didn’t or couldn’t. Like the wonderful crafty
things he made from paper. He used to make some kind of a flying
object which we would launch it from our balcony from the fourth
floor. No sooner it hit the ground, I would run and get it. Then again
and again, and again and again! It was so amusing. He played this
even with Tamanna. His enthusiasm had not dwindled over the
years. In fact, he played it with double the zeal with his only
grandchild.
Similarly, at night before sleeping, in the bare light that shone, he
used to teach me how to create shadows. We made birds fly and
peacocks dance and every now and then a deer would make its
appearance felt. We really had a ‘wild’ time together.
As I grew up and enjoyed
my college years, he
allowed this wild time
even then, albeit with a
difference. He used to be
very frank and open
minded as we all know.
Being a daughter, never
restricted his thinking.
We discussed all topics
with each other without
any hesitation. He would
ask me about friends, boyfriends, discos, etc. Many a times he used to
drop me to college and call me an ‘outstanding’ student as I was
always standing outside the college instead of attending the lectures.
Once during our routine walks at the beach he enquired ‘So, whom do
you like?’. ‘Oh please dad, no one. This isn’t the right age!’. (I was all of
17 and oh yes, did I like someone). He laughed out loud having

caught me red handed. ‘My dear, if at this age you tell me that you
don’t have a crush on anyone then you are the biggest hypocrite in the
world.’ And I had to come out of my bunker and admit everything.
The very word ‘beach’
that I wrote has given rise
to a gamut of memories
and emotions. Early
childhood would be spent
at the beach building
sand castles and
mountains. We would
build canals and moat
around the castles and fill
it with water. We would
jump the waves and stand, with our feet affixed to the sand to make a
depression with our feet in the receding tide. Every trip would end
with a ride at the merry-go-round and eating shingoda.
The rides changed to walks during college years. I simply loved
them. Life’s most important lessons I learnt at the beach when dad
shared incidents from his past life and present. Those walks and
talks were the biggest teachers. Once I turned 18, we would often
break our walk halfway and visit the bar at Palm Grove for a quick
drink or Alfredos for a chilled beer. If we did complete the full round
and returned back, the temptation of lassi ‘malai maarke’ never
escaped us!
These walks became less often once I got married but enjoyable
nevertheless. Once Tamanna came into our life, it felt as if my
childhood was being played all over again. Many a times, we joined
him and his friends at the promenade garden. It was wonderful to
see how happy the big bunch of friends were. ‘They are such nice
people. Khub mohabbat karte hain mujhse.’
My married life never changed anything between us except that we
saw each other a little lesser.

But our love and bonding continued to multiply every single moment
just like it still does.
Every moment spent with you brought a radiant smile on my face,
just like it still does.
‘Jab hum nahi honge, tab hamari baatein tumhe yaad aaya
karegi’, your words echoed always, just like they still do.
So many dialogues like these we used to have. None would
understand apart from us. It was our little world together. One
dialogue that has not only stayed with me but I have even managed
to pass it to the next generation is ‘Get
up and face the bloody music!’. You
would say this time and again
especially whenever I was on the brink
of giving up.
That night it was my turn. In these
42 years, I must have heard ‘Get up
and face the bloody music’ nothing
short of a million times. That night I
returned the dialogue to you, pappa.
For the first time. ‘Get up and face
the bloody music!’, I pleaded. ‘Get up,
get up’, I repeated. ‘Don’t give up,
just two more days, please don’t give
up.’, I requested over and over again.
You listened intently. I saw that look
of resignation – rarely have I seen
before. But I knew you hadn’t given
up and you never will. What a brave
soldier of mine you are, how well you fought that all of us salute
you!
Just like I said you didn’t give up for two days. And then our dialogue
played in real life. ‘Sony, all good things must come to an end’, you
would always say at the end of all our travels flashing the most
satisfying smiles of your. And to that I would quip ‘Yeah, otherwise
how would we learn to value things, pappa?’, still trying to match
your smile. You are my most valued treasure and this time you have
taken off on the most peaceful travel.

Grief has no rules, it will last as long as love does. Forever.
But it’s not a goodbye. You just crossed the rainbow. I shall see
you on the other side once our souls are free.
You are the liveliest and the happiest person I have ever known
and shall ever come across. I would like to continue this legacy of
yours and celebrate your life because…
THERE ARE DADS AND THEN THERE’S MINE
(from 20.2.1939 to 20.11.2017 and beyond)

WANDERTHIRST
BEYOND the East the sunrise, beyond the West the sea,
And East and West the wander-thirst that will not let me be;
It works in me like madness, dear, to bid me say good-bye;
For the seas call, and the stars call, and oh! the call of the sky!
I know not where the white road runs, nor what the blue hills are;
But a man can have the sun for a friend, and for his guide a star;
And there's no end of voyaging when once the voice is heard,
For the rivers call, and the roads call, and oh! the call of the bird!
Yonder the long horizon lies, and there by night and day
The old ships draw to home again, the young ships sail away;
And come I may, but go I must, and, if men ask you why,
You may put the blame on the stars and the sun and the white road
and the sky.
~ Gerald Gould
Happy 79 th Birthday Dad!
20 th February, 2018.

Death Is Nothing At All
Death is nothing at all.
It does not count.
I have only slipped away into the next room.
Nothing has happened.
By Henry Scott-Holland
Everything remains exactly as it was.
I am I, and you are you,
and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched,
unchanged.
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.
Call me by the old familiar name.
Speak of me in the easy way which you always used.
Put no difference into your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.
Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed
together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.
Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow
upon it.
Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same as it ever was.
There is absolute and unbroken continuity.
What is this death but a negligible accident?
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you, for an interval,
somewhere very near,
just round the corner.
All is well.
Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost.
One brief moment and all will be as it was before.
How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!

Never forgotten, loved forever…