IF WORDS COULD SPEAK

If it is money, power or physical stature that makes a man significant - well, this is the story of a very insignificant man, because he had none of these. He was a small man, he ignored power or position and he was penniless when he died.

But he died in the luxury of love. His investment of selflessness and sacrifice doubled and redoubled in the hearts where he had deposited them. He himself was a bank officer who advised his customers to save for the future. He had not much to save. Whatever he had was spent on those he loved. It looked stupid and reckless to some. When he was told once that parenthood was eventually a thankless job, his retort was to deserve it first.

He deserved it to the full. He had not much to give his dear ones in the form of money or materials. But he loved them to a capacity beyond imagination. By being a loving person himself he taught his children how to love. He sustained that warmth of love about him till the last moment of his life. He taught them integrity by being a trustworthy person-by facing life’s griefs and pains without being broken by them. He convinced them that life was for growing, and all experiences, good or bad, can be useful in that growth.

Work for him was not just a means of making a life materially. It was also a way of making life meaningful. His children took it as a legacy from him. The waxing and waning of work in his office was sensed by his family. They always knew when the stresses and the strains came. At the end of every financial year, when accounts tallied and closed on the 31st of March, the whole family would heave a sigh of relief. Significantly he closed the accounts of his life also on the 31st of March 1998.

His affections were not confined. Cousins, nephews, nieces and friends basked in his love. He was concerned about all. He offered a gentle hand and loving touch to all those who visited, which made a small house seem a big one. They were moved not by the style or show but by the climate of his heart…and so they came often.

With silent dignity and invisible courage he faced the crises of his life. There were many, when life seemed to be at a dead end. The bank he worked for was liquidated, he lost his job, and there were no savings to fall back upon. The struggle was hard. But he made the fight and carried on the duty of raising his children. He did it with patience and self-sacrifice which held nothing back for himself…not even the solace of sharing his anxieties with us.

He was gentle to the core. His children cannot remember a single incident when he lost his temper.. and in return for all that they tried never to hurt him. He was old and sick .It was the most natural thing for him to be irritable and complaining. But even when he knew the end was near he was unnaturally and admirably brave, calm and pleasant. What bothered him most was the thought that he would become a burden to others in his weakness.

The fact was we vied to be at his beck and call.

His family consisted of his wife and four children. Each one believed his or herself to be his favourite. There were hard times in their growing up. But they were happy times too, because of him. Simple surprise gifts, short picnics, encouraging words and acts of compliment-there are so many that will be forever etched and treasured in their memories. He could not always afford to take them out to movies or journeys. Instead, he opened to them the world of books and literature which has now become a way of life for them. He kept them busy and interested with card games, riddles and puzzles. When he was there to lead, polishing furniture and weeding the vegetable garden was like a family entertainment. An old biscuit tin, sealed around, with a slit on top was the common money bank to which they all contributed their little mites. It always took a long time to be full. Opening it at last was a ceremony and a celebration. No book need tell them that the poor have their pure and simple joys.

As they grew up, there was nothing they did not share with him. Hopes and fears, events and achievements, friends at college, the books they loved - he knew everything about them. They were given lot of freedom which they never misused .He had absolute trust in them.

He was so proud of his children. Every progress they made, big or small, thrilled him. This love and pride and concern never stopped. It flowed on to their spouses and their children. They in turn loved and respected him. He was a special grandfather who will always be remembered with deep fondness.

I shall forever be proud of this man. He was my father. Being his firstborn I had the longest term of love with him. But Daddy is no more. With him gone, I know I will never be the same again. Time might dull the pangs of pain that trigger tears at every memory now. Life might slowly come back to its normal course. I might work steadily and even laugh heartily again. But I know something for sure.. a part of me lies buried with him. The loss will be felt forever.