Appan The first time I met him it was in his first visit to Gujarat. I had joined Jaison in the guesthouse. He smiled. There was wisdom and affection in his kind face. And mischief, as he said,So you are Beji! Appan had a smile fixed to his face. Not loud. Kind. And beautiful. He was much fairer than Jaison and was towards the heavier side. That made him look somewhere between Gorbochov and Robin Villiams. Being a father of five girls, having struggled to marry each one of them off, one would have imagined a very different person. Unlike all assumptions he was liberal, free, modern and open to reason. If my boy wants to marry you, let it be. We do not need dowry and such. You come with a pair of clothes and a thread with your tali, you are welcome. But I hope you know what you are getting into. My father in law was the textbook fatherly figure. He had infinite patience. Kindness. He did not raise his voice. He did not scold. He prayed. Every morning . Every evening. And he sang. He heard malayalam movie songs. He read newspaper. He was aware of the gossip, politics and otherwise. He voted for communists when the rest in his clan preferred congress. He worked for the poor. He was active in the church. And he collected money when that could bring solution to the community. He loved all good things. Good food. Good drinks. Good clothes. He wrote poetry. He told me it was okay to wear jeans or any such thing as long as I was the person it projects. He was the first one to buy a radio, a TV in his community. The first one to decide to wear pants in his age group and the friends and relatives group.( that was in spite the daughters revolted.:-)) Among the two sets of parents, my parents and Jaisons, it was with him I could talk everything. Poetry, philosophy, politics and my vulnerabilities. He was with me through my first pregnancy. He with amma choosing to be with me. And I choosing to be with them. When Pappa passed away, till he came, I did not know how to cry. As he secured my heart in his care, he let his own break. It was a morning like this,4 years back, he bathed, went to church and returned to suffer a massive heart attack he could not survive. His spirit never left us. And neither did the images. Of him tasting the pani puri with awe. Or trying his hand behind the wheel. I still talk to him.
Posted on: Thu, 04 Sep 2014 05:04:57 +0000
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