Baba died on March 3, 2020 at around 11:50 PM. He was the husband to my mother for 51 years, a father to me for 44 years, a father to my brother for 42 years, and Suresh for 77 years. He was born on May 11, 1943, in a small town of Brahmapuri in what was then part of Central Provinces and Berar of British India. I do not know much of his childhood, all I know is that he became the breadwinner and provider for his parents and his two brothers in his late teens. His father failed at many a business ventures, could not hold a job and thus the responsibility of the entire family rested on him. Baba delivered newspapers on the side, did other odd jobs to support the family. He then moved to the city of Nagpur. He stayed in the homes of relatives while pursuing his under graduation at City College in Nagpur. He used to tell us of the hardships endured in staying at other people’s homes. How he was shy to ask for food when he was hungry. How he would make do with what was served and go to bed hungry on many nights. Once he found a steady job, he moved his family to Nagpur. With his parents and two younger brothers, they lived in a small tenement style home. One room for sleeping , the other for cooking. While he was toiling at his job he was also pursuing a degree in law. In all this, his marriage was arranged to Ratnamala Bawane. They got married in June 1969. He was 26, she was 19. She moved into the already crowded house. She came from an affluent farming family from a small town. She was used to a large home with help for household chores like cooking, cleaning, etc. Here, she was by herself. She made peace with the situation, and this 19 year old girl became a lifelong companion of Baba – through poverty, disease, happiness, and raising two kids, to his death. She rolled up her sleeves and got to work. While Baba finished law school, she cooked and cleaned and fed and tended to his parents and two younger brothers. This was our mother, Aai. Things improved a bit after Baba finished law school, they moved into a slightly larger house in a chawl.
I was born in 1975, and shortly after, in 1977 my younger brother arrived. At some point around 1979, Baba had to leave Nagpur. We moved to Aurangabad for his job. Aai, along with a 4 year old me and my 2 year old brother joined him. I have vague memories of those days, I remember the small rented in-law apartment we lived at, I remember walking to school with Aai, I remember being annoyed by my little brother wanting to sit with me in my classroom, I remember watching matinees with Aai. But what I don’t have, is a single vivid memory of Baba in Aurangabad. He must have been working a lot. Our lives mostly revolved around Aai.
The first memory of Aurangabad and Baba I have, does not have him physically in it. Aai, my brother, and I were in Nagpur with our grandparents. I remember, someone got us the news that Baba was in a terrible car accident. I remember everyone being distraught. It was 1982, information didn’t flow as easily it does today. So it must have been disconcerting for everyone to not know what was going on. We rushed to Aurangabad. Turns out, the car he was travelling in met head on with a large truck, three people from the car had died. Along with Baba, one of his colleagues and the colleague’s parents were in the car. They had hired a driver. The driver, and the parents of the colleague did not survive the crash. Baba and his friend were in critical condition. I do not remember seeing Baba in the hospital. I remember our Mama (Aai’s younger brother) staying with us to help out Aai with managing the home. His was a long recovery, over 6 months. Those were clearly trying times for Aai – managing a home, two boys and tending to Baba. When I was going through Baba’s papers after his death, I found a file with a newspaper cutting of the news of that accident. Life for him (and eventually us) changed after that event. That event stayed with him for the rest of his life, even though he didn’t vocalize it much. He had multiple fractures, his arm had to be rejoined with a steel rod. That was the first of other foreign objects to be inserted inside his body – some temporary and some until he died. The last of these foreign objects, an Automated Implantable Cardiovascular Defibrillator (AICD) was surgically removed from his dead body minutes after he was pronounced dead.
After the recovery from the accident, we lived for another year in Aurangabad. Baba was transferred back to Nagpur and we moved back. This move is my first fond memory of Baba. We had hired a truck to move our belongings. So, instead of taking a train or a bus to Nagpur, he decided we will travel to Nagpur in the truck. So there we were, riding in the truck from Aurangabad to Nagpur. On our way, we stopped at the ancient majestic caves of Ajanta and Ellora. We gaped in awe at the size of the mighty dam on the Godavari river at Paithan. We marveled at the ingenuity of the Daulatabad fort. Not to mention, the thrill of riding an actual transportation truck. All in all, it was my first travel adventures, It was here that the seed for my wanderlust was sown, thanks to Baba.
Baba, I would find out much later, loved to travel and see distant places too. He traveled a lot after my brother and I had left home for our jobs. He traveled extensively in India from Kashmir to Kanyakumari. He traveled to the United States and stayed with me and my wife for about 4 months in 2004. He showed great enthusiasm to walk everywhere, and see everything. He never said no to a museum or a hike or a long drive. I think, he was living his youth, after his retirement. He never got a chance to enjoy his youth, as he was saddled with responsibilities at a young age. He lived a life that was all work and no play. Not to mention the lack of resources, his pay was a meager Rs. 300 and he had 5 mouths to feed. So in his later years, his face would light up at the mention of a trip to anywhere. While going through his files after his death, I stumbled upon a notepad where he had meticulously listed out ticket prices for museums and parks in Europe so that he can carry enough Euros with him on a much desired trip. That trip never materialized. Aai and him had booked a 4 weeks trip to Europe in 2008, but a month before the trip he had a massive cardiac arrest and the trip had to be cancelled. Seeing his meticulous notes of what to see on the trip, how much it would cost, said everything about him. His curiosity for far away places, combined with his practical sense of the economics required to cater to this curiosity.
He was meticulous and extremely particular when it came to money. Dare I say, he was frugal. This frugality was a learned habit out of the circumstances of his early years. He grew up in poverty with meager means. If a rupee could be stretched, it would be stretched. Even when he had enough to indulge in a bit of luxury, he flinched, he tread with caution. The first instinct was to be frugal. A habit, that didn’t leave him even when he was fighting for his life in his final days. Two days before he died, he asked for his phone while laying in his hospital bed. It was March 1, he wanted to check if his pension was deposited in his account. He wanted to check if there is enough to cut checks for the household help, for the gardener, for the utility bills, etc. That was Baba, always careful and aware of his money. This habit of him, irritated both me and my brother. We would constantly berate him for not spending on himself, especially when he had the means to. But, it was his natural state to be this way, lest another tragedy robbed him of everything he had. Until he died, Baba was stuck in that tenement home, where he was stretching every rupee to make ends meet.
This is not to say that he was a miser when it came to money. He lent money to people in need with free abandon. I learned of one such event after his death. A family friend’s son was struggling for his life at a hospital in Nagpur. He had been through a horrific motorbike crash a year ago. He had already undergone multiple surgeries and had been in the hospital since then. His family’s finances had dried up from a year of expensive healthcare costs. Baba had just retired from his job as a Government Labor Officer. He was on his way home after collecting his retirement funds, and decided to stop by at the hospital to pay a visit to this family. The mother expressed to him the difficulties they are facing. Baba went to the bank and withdrew a large chunk from his retirement fund and gave it to her. She was narrating me this story a few days after his death and said she owed the life of his son to Baba. Turns out this was one of many such incidents. He helped people, even when he had little. He was the “yes, I am here and will do what I can for you” man. This trait of Baba, may also be from the trauma that he personally experienced in his youth. The trauma of never having enough, the insecurity of not knowing if he would have enough for running his house. I suspect, he received help from others during these days, and he was just emulating what he got from others in his times of need.
Back to 1982, and our move to Nagpur. He had moved his parents and brothers from the chawl to a slightly larger rental apartment which was right opposite my school. While we lived in this house, Baba bought a piece of land in the far outskirts of the city. I believe, it cost him a little more than a few hundred rupees, but even this sum was out of reach for him. He later said, he borrowed from friends and relatives. This was one of his many wise financial decisions. He decided to build a house on that piece of land. It must have taken a lot of financial gymnastics to cater to a family and build a house in his economic condition. We hardly ate out, or took vacations. We got new clothes on our birthdays and in Diwali. The construction of the house took about two years. A date for the Vastu Pooja was decided – November 1, 1984. Invitations went out, arrangements for catering, the priest, and the decorations were made. Baba was busy but also excited. After all, this was a house he had built with his own might. He had inherited nothing, he had educated his two brothers, who now had jobs, he had survived a near death accident, he had two children and a set of old parents to provide for. He had flitted from one rental house to another, never having a place to call his own. This new house was HIS. He will lay down his roots here, and he did. He lived in this house for the rest of his life.
All arrangements for the Vastu were made. October 31, 1984 : India’s Prime Minister, Mrs. Indira Gandhi was assassinated by her own bodyguards. There was chaos and uncertainty in the country. The security situation was precarious and the Government announced a ban on gatherings of people. The day of Baba’s triumph was not to be. He still had the house, but he would not be able to celebrate it like he wanted to. I could see, he was disappointed. He did what he could, and we moved into the house. There was no fanfare. I can imagine, how he must have felt after sleeping in his own house for the first time. For a man who had nothing, to having a roof to call his own for his children, for his wife, for his old parents, for his brothers. He named this house “Om”. “Om” became the center of everything after November 1, 1984. Good times and bad, and ultimately where we brought his lifeless body on the night of March 3, 2020. He was laid on the same cold terrazzo floor of the living room that he had built with his blood, sweat and tears 35 years ago . He would have wanted to lay in no other place, I think.
Life after moving to “Om” was steady. His brothers got married, moved out to their own homes, which were also possible because of his guidance and prudence in financial planning. In all this, we rarely saw Baba. He was there, but he was mostly absent from our day to day quibbles. Our grandparents and Aai were our go-to people for everything. Baba’s work kept him occupied. His job caused him a lot of stress, that we children couldn’t understand then. Working as a cog in the large Government machine, can be exhausting and frustrating even today. He was the kind, who did his work with utmost sincerity and integrity. In a job like his, there were countless opportunities to take the easy way. His job was to be the guardian of the labor unions against the corporations and enforce the labor laws of the state of Maharashtra. A job that pits you against the moneyed. His reputation was incorruptible. We knew this much later, and then it made sense: why we lived, the way we lived. We were no longer poor, we had most everything but it came to us much slower than others. We didn’t have a television for many years, we didn’t get a telephone line until 2000, a refrigerator arrived somewhere in the late 90s. All of these things came from the salary that he rightfully earned. I remember visiting his office in the Civil Lines neighborhood of Nagpur in the late 80s and early 90s. There was an atmosphere of reverence for him by his colleagues – his peers, his subordinates and even his supervisors. I remember sitting in his chamber one day, and seeing people float in and out. He was a different person at his work place. His work life remained a huge part of him. He built a network of friends, many of them became close family friends to us. He mentored many a junior colleagues, some of whom overtook him in the hierarchies of the system. He most certainly gave more than his work deserved. But that’s not how he thought or functioned. He functioned on 100% commitment to the task at hand. This was evident from the most serious case he was fighting at work to the most menial task he was doing at home. One should have seen him pack a suitcase – he could make an art form out of it. He could have taught courses on it. Whether it was stowing away old newspapers in the attic, or putting up decorations for Diwali or raising the Gudhi on Gudhi Padwa, or packing bottles of pickles so that the oil doesn’t leak out in our suitcases, assembling the cooler before the advent of summer, or disassembling it right before the monsoons arrived. Every single thing he did, he did with a deliberate and particular sincerity. This can also be quite irritating, and believe me it was. As teenagers we had little to no interest in setting up the elaborate Mahalaxmi pooja setup. This annual pooja was a big deal in our home. It was a four day festival smack in the middle of the more fun Ganesh festival. All extended family from Nagpur would be invited for a grand luncheon on the third day of the festival. The preparations for this grand day would be back breaking work. None of which was “fun”. Ok, having all the cousins over and spending time with them was fun, but the rest of the paraphernalia we could have done without. Anyway, this festival was the single most important religious festival for Baba. He had custom-made a miniature wooden house for the idols that would have to be assembled and then disassembled each year. Think of it as a complicated Ikea furniture assembly, but without the instruction manual.
So every year we unpacked all its pieces from carefully wrapped packaging. We would lay them all out on the floor – about 40 pieces of solid teak wood, over 100 screws and nuts. And then the great Mahalaxmi house building project would commence. Baba, his two brothers, and my grandfather – each giving instructions to me and my brother. It was a scene to behold, Baba festering – this piece goes with that one, don’t tighten the screws just yet, stop moving ! Me and my brother would be somewhere in the midst of these grown men, trying to help them out where needed. Like holding a piece of wood for what seemed like hours, until someone attaches another to it. It was exasperating, every single year. But Baba derived much joy from this, we could tell.
His faith was strong and deep. I could never understand it, and I recognize that it wasn’t something for me to understand. I could just let it be, but I didn’t. On many occasions I made my dislike for all things religious quite known. This must have hurt him quite a lot, but I would care less. Although, there were many occasions where I went along with his plans. A calendar year in our home was punctuated by religious festivals, poojas and havans. In retrospect, his faith was what kept him going. He had a hard life…right until well into his forties or even fifties, he toiled to build a safe and comfortable world for all of us. He had no financial support from his parents, nothing that he inherited. So whatever he created it was entirely his doing. His faith must have been a pillar for him in times of strife. Even in his last days when nothing was comforting him, he would scream out the name of the goddess he revered. I have spent many a nights, massaging his feet while he writhed in pain and kept chanting her name. His faith did not quit him, until his last breath. And that I must recognize and respect.
The 90s came, I left home for college. I remember, he really wanted me to be an engineer. I was a lost youth, I had no idea what I wanted to be, and so I went along with the flow. He aspired for me to get into the prestigious regional engineering college in Nagpur. I didn’t score enough, and secured a spot in a Government college in Karad. I am not sure what must have perspired between him and my mother before they made the decision to pack me up and leave Nagpur. I could have stayed in Nagpur by enrolling in a private Engineering college in Nagpur. Of course, a private education would have been expensive, but we chose Karad. So off I went in the monsoons of 1992. He accompanied me to Karad which was a day long’s train journey away from Nagpur. Aai, could not come since she was undergoing treatment for a chronic back issue. After settling me up in the college hostel, Baba went back to Nagpur. I remember, he was quite emotional leaving me there all by myself. It was the first time I lived away from home. It was the beginning of my life where Aai, Baba, my brother and the rest of my immediate family would become periodic appearances, until the present day. From this point on, their lives were lived without my physical presence in it, or theirs in mine. I don’t know what it did to Baba, leaving his 17 year old son in a far away place. Just like, I don’t know what it did to him, when he was in his teens and had to voluntarily leave his home to a distant place to provide for his parents. But one thing was common, Baba in his teens or Baba in his late 40s – he was still the provider.
Science of Confusion 