Anyway, not being immune to such incessant and unsubtle bombardment, increasingly these last few days I've found myself thinking of my dad, dear departed soul - and, have caught myself wondering, too, about my dear departed (to foreign shores) son and wondering "Have I been half as good a father as mine was?" Well, frankly, I have no clue. My son and I communicate only on a "need to know" basis, the CIA would have been proud of us. Or, perhaps, even the Mafia. Il Cosa Nostra, eh, what?
Come to think of it, my father and I (well, to be frank, my father and the whole world, apparently) also used to communicate on the same "need to know" with the only difference being that my dad had a much lesser need to know/let me know. We communicated, mostly, in grunts (from his side) and words of not more than two syllables (mine). His grunts could not, by any stretch of imagination, be called "friendly", but then, again, neither were they "hostile". I suspect he grunted because he had gotten so used to that strong, silent, image - Marlon Brando aka Don Vito Corleone could pick up a trick or two there.
A typical conversation would be like this. Me: "Good morning"; He: "Grhnhnn" sometimes accompanied by a neutral nod. And that would be it. As in, that would be the end of the conversation for a whole day. On days when he was talkative he would actually take the effort to ask me (or my brothers) "Where is the newspaper?". Which is fully THREE words more than that "Grhnhnn", please. And to which the appropriate response is NOT "It is on the table in the hall" or anything of that sort. THE prescribed response (the one that gets me/us full marks) is for us to get off our butt, go, get the paper, give it to him, silently, wait for him to nod, imperceptibly, and vanish. To expect that "Grhnhnn" at this point is asking for too much. He's exceeded his quota for the day, the next 2 days might very well go by without the monosyllabic "Grhnhnn".
Quiet man. Strong. Silent. Could be loquacious, on occasion. As I discovered. To my wonder and joy, one day, in the most extenuating of circumstances. And which is why I write this piece, "Mera Daddy, Mera Hero" - not that the Godrej Natural Hair Colour Free Gift Pack would make any difference. He ain't around no more - and, even if he were, he never did have much hair, on his head I mean (hairy like a bear, otherwise, positively). And, even if he had, he would have given us a goofy smile if we would have dared to suggest he dye his hair. Not that we would. Dared I mean. As I mentioned, quiet man. Strong, silent - we weren't exactly AFRAID of him but hey, why take chances?
Anyway, coming back to the "occasion". 1982. I've just joined Vivekananda College, Madras (yeah, Madras, before those ...whatever), "pursuing" (why "pursuing" - was it running away, trying to escape me?) higher studies, B.Com. Evening college, classes from 5:30 to 8:30 p.m.
First week in college, new acquaintances to meet, new bonds of friendship to strike and all that. Bonhomie. Good cheer. Fun. Etc. You get the picture. Except, this was Vivekananda College, allegedly the worlds most staid, boring, "disciplined" school where students were expected to behave as if "higher education" was even worse that kindergarten. Lecturers with a natural inclination to behave like Dementors, sucking all the joy out of one. Got the picture now? And so it was, one evening, we're sitting in class, lecturer not yet apparated and suddenly the lights go out! There's a power outage. Darkness everywhere. And general, happy pandemonium. All around, classmates shouting, caterwauling and making a general ruckus.
Equally suddenly the lights come on, again and even as the class continues to have a ball, shouting, throwing notebooks up in the air, etc, there's this short little figure of the Vice Principal, dressed all in white, standing and sputtering and looking completely astonished as if a hundred baboons had suddenly accosted him in the passage. He would have screamed at us but for the fact that he was gasping for breath and making strange gurgling noises at the back of his throat. Finally, in the same time that one by one the whole class became aware of his presence, he too gained composure. And, immediately, began expostulating, randomly picking out three of us, including poor, innocent me. "You, You and You - yesss, you" he lisped, "Assk your phather to meet me tomorrow, I will ssseee that you are ssussspended" he lisped and marched out.
We ran after him, remonstrating our innocence - to no avail. He remained lispingly impervious. "I have ssaid what I have to ssay, bring your phaterss tomorrow" he said with finality.
Returning home that night, with trepidation I broached this topic - to my mother, afraid to directly speak to "phather". Half an hour later she assured me that "All is well". I was to go the next evening to my dad's office and then we were to go together to college. Next evening I reached his office. He was busy. A big meeting going on - he was, at that time, working with the municipal agency responsible for Madras city's water supply, and, as always, there was a water crisis. No matter. Dad glanced at his watch, told his colleagues to carry on and walked out with me.
On the way to college he asked me to explain what happened. I did. Succinctly but accurately. He wanted to know what time the Vice Principal would meet us, since he had to get back to his meeting. I had no clue but did mention that he (the V.P) would normally be in his chamber by 5. We reached, walked up to the V.Ps chamber and met up with the other 2 students. One of them had come with his mother, instead of the phather. We exchanged nervous smiles, we three classmates, and the mother and the other phather. My dad had no time for smiles, for minor pleasantries. I told you, quiet, silent types... Marched in to the cabin, announced his presence, his identity as my dad and demanded to know why he was called.
The Vice Principal, looking forward with relish to the encounter, went into a long story of all the many and various transgressions committed by the three of us. He waxed, eloquently, on our complete and utter lack of discipline, our misbehaviour and even our abysmal, poor attendance. Dad held up his hand, gestured to him to pause, turned and asked me "What's this I hear about your attendance? Explain!" Honestly, since it had been a mere week since college had started my attendance was exemplary, 100%. Confidently I told my dad that. Turning to the VP, dad said "You said his attendance is poor? I want to see the register right now". Realising that he might have blundered, the poor man began to stutter and stammer sibilantly. "No, no, it is not about attendance only, look at the dissipline. Thesse boyss are a bad exsample" Unmoved, dad repeated "I want to see the attendance record NOW" leaving the poor man with no choice but to send for the same. Hey Presto, all three of us had an unblemished attendance record!
Fixing the poor, hapless Vice Principal with a cold, disdainful look Dad said "I want my son out of this college right now! In all his 12 years of schooling he's never been cited for indiscipline. And here, within the very first week you've called me to meet you for indiscipline?! And what do I find? You, the Vice Principal, YOU are lying shamelessly!! I do not want my son studying in such a poor environment!!"
Looking back, I kind of feel sorry for that man. He was completely unprepared to deal with this. He had no clue. Remember, Shoaib Akhthar castling Sachin with that perfect yorker? That look of amazed perplexity? I've seen that before, in 1982. Net result, Vice Principal apologising, father ungraciously agreeing to let me continue to study in that college. Game, set and match!
I told you, Dad could - at times - be loquacious. My HERO!
Later that night, on reaching home, my mother wanted to know the details. Dad had already reached home but had not filled her in beyond a minimalistic "No problem". So I told her. And she asked for more details. You know, "who said what, to whom, in what tone of voice, and then what happened, and then who said what" and all that. So I told her, as much as I could, till I ran out of patience too.
Next day, "Good morning" I said. "Grhnhnn" he said. All is well.
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