My Baba..I love you….you live on

#daughtertofather

Today is father’s day. Its been more than eight years he left, but there is probably not a single day I don’t remember him. I had written this long back. …

My father is my hero. I guess everyone’s is. But my hero changed so much over a span of just ten years that I could no longer identify him with the Baba I loved and almost worshipped. So, for me Baba was gone much before his body left the world. The void I felt within me did not deepen with his physical departure. To me Baba lived through his writings, his published and unpublished work, the books he would insist that I read, the little poems he had written for me in all the books that he gifted me, the sylheti (a dialect of Bengali) Ramayana that he would famously recite, the logical mind and the love for literature that he passed on to me by way of inheritance.

From my childhood, I saw people come to Baba for help, for medicine (he practiced homeopathy), to show their palm (he practiced palmistry too) to discuss on politics or for general advice on life. Whenever I got a chance I would eavesdrop and now that I think back, I feel astounded at his general benevolent nature. I still remember one incident. Just opposite to our house, a building was being constructed & a laborer, probably a watchman, was living there with his wife & daughter. Baba was great friends with the little girl- he would give her chocolates, biscuits, toys and even teach her the alphabet. One day, Baba had just returned from office, the little girl ran to him and kept pulling at his hand. We told her – ‘He is tired, he will come later’. But she broke into tears and said that her father had got a wound on his foot and it was bleeding a lot. Baba immediately handed me his bag, took out the first aid kit & went to attend to the little girl’s father. I went behind him. He washed the man’s leg, wiped it with dettol, put some antiseptic cream over it and bandaged it. The man’s status as a daily labourer, the dirt on his foot and body, nothing seemed to bother Baba. He came back home, called up our family doctor & asked him to take a look at the man on his way to his clinic. Baba ensured the doctor visited & even bought the medicines he prescribed. He changed the man’s bandage everyday for a few days until he somewhat recovered. This incident drilled into me the concept of equality of man. I learnt by this quiet act much more than a thousand sermons would have taught. Baba did not make a noise about what he had done or kept doing for all he came in contact with. He quietly gave- be it a gift to the neighborhood grocer’s son for passing the exams, or a toy to the maid’s daughter because she brought him his newspaper from the gate everyday or even a sympathetic ear to the vegetable vendor as he dwelt on the woes of his infertile land in his gaon.

Baba was so different from the fathers of most of my friends. He never applied any pressure on me to excel academically. He just seemed to believe that I was doing my best. He would never say no to books. Baba was not a rich man, but whenever I asked for any book, he would ensure I get it. So, it still hurts that I could not get a first class in my graduation, though it has been so many years and career wise it does not matter now. From him I learnt the impact that trust has on a person. In my work life, I have applied this principle of trust and have got material results. Though I often nag at my children and forget to entrust, but the few times I remembered to use it, my five year old child too has responded positively. Baba always taught by example and at the spur of that moment, when the incident occurred. He never dwelt on it or explained things too much. Just a comment, and the message was delivered.  One day, I was talking to a friend over phone, when I just fainted. Everyone at home was worried & my mother asked the friend what was the conversation about that it led to such an impact. My friend said we had hardly started speaking. I recovered & we decided that probably it was gas or indigestion. Suddenly I saw my friend at my door with her father. She was so worried that she had asked her father to drive her down all that distance to see me. After she left my father commented- If you have gained such a friend you have gained a huge wealth in life. I realized the value of friendship. It was a sudden realization & it has stayed on with me- this value for human relations. It overrides everything- my need for money, for growth, for status.

Baba was never a religious person, though he would do some worship sometimes to just please my mother. But his puja too seemed scientific. He had explained to me the scientific meaning of Durga puja. How Durga & her family represents a developed nation with wealth and wisdom, beauty & ethics protected by armed hands from the ten directions, all arms directed by the Shiva of good intentions. He was a storehouse of radical ideas- on one hand he gave a scientific explanation to Durga Puja, on the other he related the Hindu Dashavatara concept to the Darwin theory of evolution.

Whenever I needed something, I knew I could count on Baba. I cried that I was ashamed of not being able to play badminton. He came home early for many days and played with me, teaching me to serve & hit, practicing with me till we both were better at the game. He was so happy and relieved when I got my first job, but one day when I called him up & said I want to leave the job as I was frustrated, he did not burden me with a lecture on how difficult it was to get jobs.

He just said, ‘No need to stick on if your heart is not on it. I am still alive, drop your resignation & come home’. The ultimate lesson on guardianship, delivered in one single line. I know how difficult it is to be counted upon, so tough to be King. It requires so much of inner strength, so much of courage to take responsibility.

I was his eldest child and saw the best in him. By the time my siblings grew up, he was already withering. He had a heart disease and as the disease progressed his mind regressed. From a charming personality, he became a complaining machine. People who respected him for his wisdom started avoiding him as he would accost them with his notions and opinions. I started answering back to him. I started getting irritated with him for his prying questions, his sudden liking for television serials, his snide remarks on our clothes, his fault finding with my mother, his constant complaining of his aches & pains, his constipation, his frequent hospitalization, almost everything.  He went on his last journey to the hospital from where he never returned. I looked on and I thought, this is not Baba, this is a stranger. And the pain of losing him just left. It packed its bags & suddenly went away, all the pain, all the sorrow.

 

Baba is with me, inside me, beside me. He cheers me on my successes, analyses the reasons for my failures, advises me on improvement, reprimands me on my callousness, gives me his shoulder for a quick cry, and holds my hand in my times of fear. My Baba is the thinker, the intellectual, the reader, the writer, the advisor, my HERO.