Baba

 

                                                Baba with his favourite daughter, Rani.

 

Come Father’s Day social media is flooded with superheroes ......... Fathers are eulogised. All fathers seem to be the epitome of Fatherhood. Love and unending loyalty are extended to long the dead parent. And yet old age homes are overflowing with neglected, aged parents.

I am not against old age homes or the practical necessity of arranging for a parent’s stay in an old age home. It’s the neglect and disrespect. While the social media is overflowing with perfect parents and perfect offsprings.

Superhero fathers!  Wonderful loving children. 

Highly commendable! 

Enough to make one feel inadequate. Not having the perfect parent. Not being the perfect daughter.

My Baba was not perfect.  Not a story book character.. no superhero. He was flawed. A human being.  Not a superman.

He was honest and upright. And unbiased.

And I miss my Baba.

Almost everyday.

I am almost 70 years old and I am missing him more every day.

This man, my Baba, was not in the least a cosy-cosy, lovey-dovey papa types, who one can eulogize over. He was absolutely unpredictable. He was hard on the surface. Defence mechanism! Survival technique! 

And extremely short tempered. So maybe we are playing and suddenly he didn’t like something…. we would be thoroughly spanked. All of us. Our parents were not ruled by society dictats. They could spank us at will; at the drop of a hat. Sometimes we didn’t even know what brought it all about.

Hence, times were, I wanted to kill him. And plotted and planned many devious ways. Many times during my school days.

And then he would come back from work and bring a surprise gift. And everything was forgotten in that all embracing love. An embrace that empowered and embodied security. An all-encompassing strength.

He was a giver, my Baba. I cannot recollect any instance when a genuine person was turned away from our house without having received something.

There was an old man, a sweetmeat maker who travelled all the way from Sion those days, I’m talking about the 1990s with a load full sweetmeats prepared by him. Whether we needed or not, father would ensure that we purchased a sizeable quantity which would then be distributed. Let me tell you, though, it wasn’t as if we were flush with funds. But, he maintained, we must help as we can. How much we can. Sometimes, maybe a little more than we can.

Just as Baba was not the perfect Father; I was neither the perfect daughter. I was not his little princess. Little minx would be a better adjective.

Didn’t trust me a bit not to get into mischief but trusted me enough to stand up to people to say categorically, NO. She will NOT do that.

That’s the level of confidence I enjoyed from him.

He appreciated spirited people. Was an extremely fair minded man. Times were I could tell him anything and get away with it. In fact, when he was in a good mood, after his burst of temper, one could point out his mistake and he would admit his fault.

He was a man everyone held in awe and thought twice before daring to talk to him.

And this same man would very proudly tell people, “You know, here I was busy writing and this tot, stands at the door and calls out to me – [nobody would dare disturb when he was writing] – and says, ‘Baba, Baba listen’. And when I turn to her she looks at me and says, ‘I’ll break all your bones’.”

I had ‘spirit’ he said. Standing up to him. And he liked that.

A self-made man, having faced much hardship during childhood. No parents; childhood trauma and all that. Psychiatrists will tell you. But, No, he did not need any help or counselling. It was the stress and sometimes we bore the brunt of it. Sometimes the office people did. But all swore by him. They loved and respected him. Were guided by him. For he was a just man. Appreciated all types of work – manual and intellectual. And we, his family, friends and his colleagues and subordinates were all his stress busters.

In a temper he often told almost everyone to get out of the house. Then acknowledged that 'I say that in anger but won’t survive a day without you'. When Ma once went to her parents’ for a long stretch he wrote an unabashed article in his column about how much he missed her presence and the importance of the lady of the house. Work which is generally unappreciated. By most males. Never had I heard him saying, ‘what do you do the entire day?’ to Mother. For he knew and appreciated her contribution.

I remember I had once told him, while just out of school, that government should pay the housewives a part of a man’s salary and he was highly impressed at the logic of it. Had told me once, 'it's comfortable to talk to you because you understand without my having to explain.'

He is the one who told me about women's iinheritance rights.  Allowed me to take important decisions regarding my life. Allowed me to be critical, even of him. Basically, allowed me to be me. Even during the 80s and 90s, he thought nothing of us having opposite sex friends.  

Being an honest man and a journalist he had faced many death threats but I had not seen him back down or be scared. He might have been; must have been. But did not show it to us. We felt secured. Were proud of his courage.

And he did not suffer fools gladly. That he did not. And ensured that all of us were self sufficient, independent. 

Then he was ill. And so apologetic. That I was being inconvenienced. But, he said, when you are not around I don't feel confident. Oh I hated that. Such a strong, independent person, reduced to being dependent. On me! Not a very patient person, Me. But he trusted me to do the right thing. Trusted me to take decision about his health care. Trusted and was emotionally dependant…….

March 03, 20205 - He is gone these 20 years now.

And I miss him. This flawed, honest, loving, short tempered, fair-minded, courageous man.

We had our differences. Plenty. Both being strongminded. Same DNA.

And so …….…..

[Sucharita]