How do you compress 82 years of someone’s life within the boundaries of mere words?

Fate snatched my father away recently, a man I have known for 50 years, a man I loved, feared, respected and adored at different stages of my life.

A man whose entire life was dictated by time is now beyond time.

My first memories of my dad were of his meticulous attention to the clock for every task, be it eating, cleaning, studying or just timed bathroom breaks. My cousins, in our joint household, would break out in a knowing smile as he gently reminded me to hit the loo at 9 pm, every single day well into my teen years.

For him, every day was a neat, discrete chunk of tasks executed at defined times, accumulating towards no specific goal or higher purpose, culminating in dinner at 7.30 pm followed by the 8 PM news, bringing to end an uneventful day. He enforced this schedule on my mom and me as well and so I needed to be home by 9 where ever I was, for 9 pm was his bedtime. He hated untimeliness whether it was the Hindu newspaper delivery boy missing his 6 AM paper route or our driver running 10 mins late for his doctor appointment. He famously dragged his family and a retinue of brothers and sisters an hour early to the Tirunelveli train station, in deep southern India, just so he had a backup plan for any unforeseen circumstances for a 15-minute drive to the station. He loved to be in control of the clock.

An avid cricket fan, he was known to be found at the marina grounds across the longest beach in Asia, for league games, along with his umpire friend, on most weekends. He would expound the greatness of G.R Vishwanath and the genius of Gary Sobers to everyone, whether they knew cricket or not. But the fondest memories of my dad and sports were the era of Becker and Edberg in Tennis. We watched the grand slams together, him rooting for Becker and many a time literally dancing with joy, pumping his fist in my face, every time Becker had the better of Edberg. Over the years our rivalry continued into the Nadal /Federer era, him being an ardent Fed fan. Becker and Federer brought as much joy to his life as his family I think. Tennis was his love.

Over the years the bonds of his control on me frayed and were fully unshackled as I rebelled in what I studied, who I married and where I lived. But he embraced my independence even if this must have caused immense turmoil within him. Soon his grandson replaced me as his new object of affection and control and I have never seen him more joyous than in the presence of his grandson.

He eagerly awaited the trip to meet the little one and as soon as he was out of the San Francisco airport he rushed with joy to grab hold of my ten- month old son, ignoring the wailings of the shocked baby and the surprised look of strangers. A devoted grandpa, he took to a daily schedule to feed my son with a dose of Barney’s “I love you: you love me” songs and he soon became “I love you” grandpa to my son. He would sit at the edge of his bed and watch his grandson sleep, afraid to leave him alone lest he wakes up and finds himself alone in the room.  

Back in India, the yearly summer trips were a treat for him as he decorated the entire house in anticipation of the arrival of his grandson. The entire street and his large family would be duly intimated on the date and flight of his grandson’s arrival. He would be the first at the airport for the flight that arrived way past midnight,  ready to take his grandson home, often sitting on his lap on the front seat of an Ambassador( an old Indian car) during the ride home.

He was generous to all around him, he gave more than they wanted and never changed his loyalty. For decades, he had the same person delivering drinking water at home, the same place to buy freshly ground coffee powder, the same small shop where he bought his groceries and the same laundry man to come home and pick up his clothes. He used the same driver for years. He had dedicated cups and plates for each of us and he always drank water and coffee from the same striped steel tumbler for over 50 years.

A man in need of such predictability in life was not easy with change. Whether it was his brothers and sisters, me or my mom or the corner shop newspaper boy, we had to stick to his clock. Any deviation would result in strong rebuke.

He watched what he ate and more importantly when he ate. Life blessed him with the physique of a weight lifter and the vitals of a teenager and he was sure this was because of his habits. But the celestial guardians of our lifespan must have tried hard to inject something to wind down his life on earth, for at 75 he had nothing to slow him down.

Then the tremors started. It was the first sign that there was something beyond his control; the perpetual shaking of hands and limbs as his body disobeyed his mind.

They said it was Parkinson’s. All good things come to an end, they say, but some are blessed with a full stop and some endure years of commas and semicolons, in his case suffering that seemed incongruous with the man and his deeds. Some diseases take away human dignity, the ability to do simple things such as walk on two legs, get food from hand to mouth or simply swallow.

The disease slowed the man but the medicines took his mind. The side effects transformed him to a person constantly in fear of things imagined. For someone not used to anyone disobeying his commands, his own body and mind standing in rebellion was an indigestible reality. From scores of people being dependent on him, he was now dependent on a few. Some changes become cruel chains, corroding and crushing the soul of even the strongest.

Towards the end, I would yearn for days when he would reassert himself and command me to do something. He did, sometimes, in a feeble voice across the undersea cables several thousand miles away. “Don’t let him (my son) stay late into the night”. A brief light of command and control emanating deep from within him, his grandson on his mind till his last breath.

On a fated Friday morning, minutes after he had admonished us for his Pongal( a rice and lentils south Indian dish) having less ghee, he collapsed beside my mom.

Maybe he willed and issued his last command, a command to Yama, the Lord of Death to be on time.