My relationship with my dad went through many phases. As a small child, I was scared of him but not scared enough to not ask questions – as long as they are not “stupid questions” and I did not pester him.
As a young girl, I respected his scientific acumen and as an adult, I learnt from him that to have healthy relationships, one needs to give space, privacy and respect others’ individuality
Papa ran a small photo studio and did some pathbreaking work in his field and was always busy. A Geologist by education, he decided to follow his passion for photography when it came to choosing a livelihood. He started the studio on 20th February 1962 when he was 28.
Also, at that time my grandfather was retired and Papa was the only earning member of our joint family. A decade later, in 1973, when my sister was born, my grandfather also embarked on a new business which eventually was very successful.
Papa’s photo studio was known as Retina Studio and he was the only photographer in the city and perhaps one of the few in the country, in the mid-1970s who did photomicrography for medical sciences and research work. His work involved long hours of peering into a microscope and taking photographs of the slide samples provided. These photos were then made into transparencies to be used for the purpose of education and research.
The other work he did was taking photographs of medical procedures. He has photographed most of the pathbreaking surgeries that have happened in Nagpur.
For a brief time, he also did industrial photography for some government organisations but he could not get around to beat the bureaucracy and was always unhappy. He was not the person who could go and sit at the babu’s office just so his payment is released. He was of the opinion that he did good work and the payment should be made promptly and as professionally as he did his work. However, he thoroughly enjoyed working in the field of Medical Sciences.
Papa’s typical day started with waking up at 8.30 AM and leaving for work around 10.00 AM. He would on most days come home for lunch around 2 pm and then go back only to return at around 10.00 PM, have dinner, read whatever novel he was reading and go off to sleep around midnight. His weekly off was Saturday and every Saturday evening he and mom would go out and spend some time together. At times my sister and I went along too and we were treated to a meal of Dosa or a glass of Sugarcane juice. I looked forward to and loved this outing and it is a lovely memory.
On Saturdays I had a morning school which got over at 11 AM and I would come back to papa being home and listening to Ghazals or classical music on our gramophone (and in later years on a spool tape recorder) . I would hang around with him upstairs just so that I could listen to it too; much to the annoyance of my mother who expected me to help her with the household work.
He also inculcated the love of reading in us. Even though money was tight he always bought one Amar Chitra Katha and Chandamama every month ever since I was 10 years old. He kept buying these magazines till I finished school -although I had graduated to reading classics in English and Hindi by that time. When I was 15, looking at my love for Urdu poetry he also bought the prepublication copy of “Aaina e ghazal” for me.
There would be days when I would go with mom and spend the evening time at the studio where he would either be attending to his patrons or sitting and talking with a few of his many friends. Retina studio was the “adda” where all of them met. Sometime in the early ’70s he also joined the Masonic Lodge and his circle of friends grew bigger.
He was a people’s person. Loved having friends and family around. Our ancestral home too was a place where people, relatives, and relatives of relatives, or friends of relatives kept coming, sometimes even staying for an extended period of time, much to my irritation and annoyance as it would disturb my school and study schedule. Ours was a traditional family and as the eldest daughter, my first responsibility was to help in the kitchen, attend to the guests.
But Papa always encouraged me to study – study science and even helped me with my physics, and biology lessons. Chemistry I was always good at – I later learnt that our family was a family of chemists. Papa’s ways of teaching me, however, weren’t very pleasant when he realised that I am slacking. He would throw the book away and get angry. I don’t ever remember hitting me but his loud voice was enough to scare me to death. But I still loved being taught by him, he was a good teacher and I could understand the concepts easily if I paid attention.
As I grew up, our relationship changed. He became a confidante and an advisor to me. Gave me all the freedom and taught me to take the responsibilities that came with the freedom. He was the first person to know when I fell in love for the first time at an age of 19. He did not react when I told him, just said, see to it that this does not affect your studies. Ours was an orthodox Kayastha household, and this (while it may not be now) was a big deal for me. Although there was one time when I showed a photograph to him, of me and my boyfriend, which he destroyed along with it’s negative. Many years later, when I was talking to him about it, he said he did not know better and that he destroyed the picture because he was worried it could affect my life in future.
Papa was a modern man, never made me or my sister felt that we were any less just because we were girls. Much of what we both are is because of our upbringing by him and Mom.
He was an agnostic, but respected mom’s right towards her religious beliefs, and mine of being an atheist.
After he retired and closed the studio in 1999, he started spending more time at home. By that time I was married, Aasim was born and that is when we started talking more. Aasim too spent his growing up years with papa and was also taught a lot of things, and perhaps some more than what he taught me.
It was after he fell down the stairs in 2013 that I insisted that he and mom come and stay next doors to us since I was constantly worried about their well being. I have a huge library and a big collection of music, and he loved being here although he did miss being in the house he made for himself, after moving away from the ancestral home in 1998, he understood my concerns so he and mom kept shuttling between both the homes, for the next couple of years.
Papa was an active person and till he was 83 he regularly walked 5 km every day. He had left smoking and had started working out since he suffered an angina attack when he was in his early 50s.
He was also aware of his advancing age and the issues of health that come with old age. While he was always clear and had told us and several others, that after he is no more, his body should be donated for the cause of medical academics and research, in 2016 he decided to do the paperwork.
Papa was the eldest in the family in his generation and was respected and loved by everyone. Everyone was also very afraid of talking to him. His two brothers and three sisters are very close to each other but rarely talk their hearts out. All the siblings love being together, not talking much with each other but sitting in comfortable silence, each doing their own things.
Over the past 20 years, Papa talked a lot with me. We would sit and discuss books, music, poetry, and matters of life and death. He had entrusted me to carry out his will of body donation, knowing that I will respect his wish and do it even at the cost of going against our extended family.
When he was diagnosed with fast progressing Interstitial Lung Disease earlier this year, he knew that it’s just a matter of time.
A few months back, one morning he told me “For the first time in my life, I have written something, see if it makes sense” It was a couplet and one small poem. He gave it to me “isko rakh lo” he said.
Papa was an emotional person but always found himself at a loss of words to express his feelings. Perhaps it was social conditioning or it was his upbringing that made him suppress his feelings. He wanted to tell the people around that he loved them, but could not get around to saying it. Although I am sure, everyone did understand that he did. I asked him once as to why does he not express himself, to which he replied. “Pata nahi, kabhi kiya hi nahi”
By March end his health deteriorated, and when we went for a check up, he wanted me to tell exactly how much of his lungs were still clear.
He did not like being very emotional, and while he was a sensitive person, he rarely portrayed it outwardly. The best way to communicate with Papa was on a logical and practical level and that is where he could connect with me most.
A day after his hospitalisation, on the 19th May, he spoke to everyone. Most of the family had already flown in as he was deteriorating fast. He even called my eldest bua, his sister who was to reach in a day or two. A few of my cousins made video calls and he spoke to them, and had a hearty laugh when Atul told him on video call “Mamaji your hairstyle is so spunky”
He was in the best of health that day, could breath effortlessly, and even speak very clearly, which he could not a day earlier. He ate moong dal khichidi, his favourite meal, heartily. Even consumed good quantity of liquids. He spent most of the day talking to everyone who came to visit him in the hospital.
By late afternoon, just the two of us were there, I told him to sleep but he wanted to sit and talk. We talked for a long time, of various things, people and incidences. He reminisced his childhood and spoke to me about his parents and the family. He spoke of his grandsons. “Ishan is too young but it was good that Aasim had come last month” he said. He also instructed me to take the printout of the family tree which he sat and made with Aasim.
A while later he said he is feeling very good and much better but knows that the lungs are giving up. He asked me if he was right, and I did not lie, I said yes, papa, the lungs are not good. To which he recited a couplet
layi hayaat laye, qaza le chali chale
apni khushi na aaye, na apni khushi chale
We talked a bit about this ghazal and then he wanted to hear the K L Saigal version of this ghazal
After this one he recited one misra from another ghazal and wanted to me to recite the entire ghazal for him. We played that ghazal too.
kamar bandhe hue chalne ko yaaN sab yaar baithe hain
bahut aage gaye baki jo hain tayyar baithe hain
We listened to more ghazals by K L Saigal and C H Atma together and then he said “play that piece of Bhairvai by Ustad Vilayat Ali Khan and Ustad Zakir Hussain”. I knew which piece he was talking about. It’s a favourite of both of us. So I played this while he closed his eyes and heard it and drifted off to sleep.
This was the last complete conversation I had with Papa. I returned home for the night as my Swapna, my sister took charge.
The next morning, on 20th, she called me saying that his oxygen levels (SPO2) are fluctuating widely, they don’t look good, and I rushed back to the hospital.
The day passed in making him feel comfortable during the bouts of restlessness due to low oxygen levels. Finally, just before 7 PM, he suffered a cardiac arrest while I was holding him. Swapna and Tarique were also near his bed.
The attending doctors and the staff of the hospital were very quick to revive him, but his lungs were not able to sustain the beating heart. He finally gave up the fight at 7.55 PM.
As per his wishes, his body was donated for medical education and research purposes to NKP Salve Institute of Medical Sciences and Lata Mangeshkar Hospital, Hingna, Nagpur. His eyes were donated to Mahatme Eye Bank and Eye Hospital.
Papa lived a happy and fulfilled life, was surrounded by his siblings and the family during the last days of his life. He had met everyone he wanted to in the past few months of his life. There was no regret and he could feel the love of the family. He lived a life that needs to be celebrated. Knowing him as much as I do, I know that this is how he would want to be remembered.
The photos below were taken in April 2019, when Aasim came home to meet him.
It’s been over a year and I haven’t removed your number from my phone book yet. Somehow your name there is a reassurance to me. No, I don’t expect to hear from you… not anymore, but still your virtual presence allows me to go back and read all the conversations we had, the occasional plans we made and the little problems we discussed. Those problems, insurmountable then, seem so small now, so tiny…