(this is an article I wrote many years ago to capture remnants of memories about my father that still linger in the deep crevasses of my mind)
The first hint of adoration was implanted when I saw that lanky silhouette from a distance, waiting patiently, as he always did, outside the school gate back in the early 80’s. He was tall, fair and handsome with a dashing smile that could win a million hearts. He had a strong jaw line, and wore a close cut hairstyle that was combed largely to his left. He had soft, loving eyes, and his square-rimmed glasses took the attention away from his wide forehead. Like most country folks, he was naïve yet gifted with a sharp wit and an alert mind. He had numerous friends which made it easy for him wiggle out of the hands of the crooked town police who were always hunting for an easy buck or two. My aunts described him, as somewhat of a “Romeo”, teasing the hearts of local women in the parish and ultimately winning the heart of my mom who was stunning (and still is) in her own rights.
My dad or “baba” as I called him, was a very self-less person. He was a devout father who was strongly engaged in the affairs of his family. His honesty reflected a strong conviction in his faith, and he tried to instill good values in his children. He was undoubtedly a dedicated and loving husband, who almost always gave into the wishes of his wife just so she would never feel unloved or uncared for. I grew looking up to a man, who would hurt himself at the cost of keeping his women happy. (Perhaps, that is the reason why I have high expectations from the men in my life). Baba had a firm grip on his emotions, and a temperament that could scarcely be tempted to loose his temper. On the contrary, he was quite the comic, with an abundance of jokes, caricatures and an uncanny knack to cook up parodies of songs at an impromptu. I used to love walking or at least try walking with him. He had gigantic strides that I couldn’t quite keep up with as a child. As a result, I was always on a slight jog whenever I accompanied him to town and back.
He had a fertile imagination and loved to paint. I still recall the sketch he made of mom, with her hair flying against the wind. He spilt his nurturing spirit into his garden, which blossomed with sweet smelling flowers all year round. He loved to keep himself informed and back in those days when radio was still the shining star, he was often seen around the house with a personal radio in hand.
Topping all his interests was his passion for tea. From dawn to dusk, the two things he always had in hand was his radio, and a mug of tea which he enjoyed sipping while listening to Akash Vani, Kurseong Radio or Voice of America. For me, that is a moment frozen in time….it will never be erased from my oft-dyslexic memory.
Unlike most people, with big dreams, big hopes and big ambitions….my father had modest expectations and realistic hopes. Ofcourse, he loved the good life and often sought to be a gourmand. I still recall the time we came home to a big surprise. Back in those days of limited exposure and modest means, it was a treat to find baba come home early to surprise us to a dinner of homemade burgers and freshly squeezed lemonade. I don’t care about the big name chefs…..but to this day, no one has cooked me such a grand meal. No one till date has or ever will replace that.
Our school textbooks were an item to behold. It set very high standards, as my dad would faithfully cover our books in brown paper and line them with plastic (as was the fashion of the day), make neat labels with our names imprinted on it, and have it ready for the school year. As a kid, I never looked unkempt….it was baba who would iron my uniform so crisply that I almost always qualified, if not for any academic awards, at least for the cleanliness award at the end of the school year. I still remember with a little hint of embarrassment that I didn’t know how to tie my shoelaces till I was in the fifth grade.
Today with the ravages of time and a prematurely fading memory, I try to recall everything “my baba” was to me. I have to admit it is hard to recapture him in his entirety. But as I sit and look across the horizon, I still see that lanky figure, with jeans and a felted hat walking towards me. He may be far, far away from me, yet I can still smell his sweet perfume. Perhaps if he was alive today, I would give him that Jovan musk and tell him repeatedly how grateful I am to him for being a great dad and how much I loved and admired him.
