A Legacy

A child’s relationship with a parent is highlighted by an incident or event. Mine followed the similar traction of a particular occasion turning into a lifetime influence.

For me a scene plays out in memory, similar to a stuck tape, a precursor to my travels embellished as they were with the happiness quotient of steps into the unknown. The year was 1958 and the place was Allahabad railway – platform buzzing with friends, family, business associates, fellow passengers wanting to be part of an “epic” journey. It was a journey that our father was undertaking across the ocean to the Queen’s land, England. Air travel was still in a nascent stage and for any trip across the ocean, the P&O sea liner from Bombay, present Mumbai, on the west coast of India, was the mode of transport.

Father was venturing alone to Europe, for six months, and it was an occasion to be proud of. We siblings watched bemused at the adulation, the awe, garlands nearly strangling father, wondering at the significance of the occasion. Looking back, I presume, this was the first self-made man from the business community embarking on a journey to foreign shores. It was an achievement as Allahabad had its share of prominent political and legal families, the Nehrus, Saprus etc, with one foot in the United Kingdom and here was an undistinguished person following them. It was a long send-off with father basking in the adulation till the train was finally allowed to leave.

For six months, picture postcards were links from cities and ports of call, the unknown and esoteric, from the newly-commissioned Suez Canal, Egypt, Venice, Rome, Gibraltar, Eiffel Tower and finally the land of blighty Britain. The near calligraphic handwriting detailing history and importance of the city/monument were followed by diligent instructions to show the postcards to my German Principal ( St. Mary’s Convent) and it was equally diligently bypassed by me. I was a shy 5 year old and the very idea of waiting outside the Principal’s office was not only unthinkable but impossible. Father must have guessed it as he never once inquired on the Principal’s comments.

His return was equally tumultuous and for days our house was a cynosure of envious thoughts in awe of his travel tales of “shaking hands” with Queen Elizabeth II, of watching a fox hunt, the mesmeric Paris and Eiffel Tower, the Colosseum in Rome, the mysterious Bavarian Forest, Vienna, Amsterdam, Geneva, Egypt and the Sphinx, Gibraltar, other cities and monuments. The coveted items on display were the tape recorder, Swiss chocolates and watches, my German blonde doll talking and rolling her blue eyes saying Ma on pressing her creamy stomach, the powder blue can-can dress one size large that I refused to give to my cousin, pens and pencils and gift items. Father enjoyed the adulation and attention doling out imported largess from his suitcases to envious relatives and friends.

We basked in people’s adulation, oblivious that this bug was being transferred to five siblings who would be mapping out their own trips in India, business ventures in Australia, Cyprus, USA, Canada and Europe. Years later, the eldest and youngest brothers set off for Australia and Canada, the second to USA to pursue higher studies and employment abroad and in India and the third, armed with a degree from George Washington University, USA, embarked on human rights missions to East Timor and other nations to finally settle down in Allahabad. Me, the only sister, kept pace with journalism stints in India, Oman and Hong Kong, travels in North America, Australia, Europe and Asian countries.

Father’s journey was remarkable in that he was a self made person with a passion for learning. When in his teens his family lost their business and home in a court case filed by his uncles, he continued financing his studies by distributing newspapers and doing odd jobs. His dream was to join the Civil Services and he enrolled in Allahabad University. Maybe the financial burden and helping his elder brother in his new business venture were hindrances to his qualifying for the Civil Services. He did LLB (Law degree) instead, and on graduation took up a job in Hindustan Lever¹. Family pressures forced him to quit and join his elder brother full time, a move that would pay dividends in years to come. It was the time of World War II and soldiers from allied countries passed through Allahabad. His elder brother felt that father with his English knowledge would be an asset, to communicate with ‘fiirang’ (western) customers. The business prospered, and when there was a family partition, Father got the establishment he was nurturing.

Rest is golden history as Father embarked on his journey of a successful businessman, an able communicator, planner and property owner. I have vague memories of the parties at our new home (purchased from a departing British couple after Independence) of mother in her French chiffon saris and pearl and diamond necklaces, of American, British guests, friends and relatives partaking in his hospitality. Our home was open to all.

The love for adventure continued, to explore the new and unknown. Every two years he would change his car models and that meant road trips, cars piled with relatives to nearby cities. I remember the one from Allahabad to Kashmir in his newly purchased Landmaster (Hindustan Motors and precursor to the Ambassador car) when he, our mother and two uncles and their wives, drove all the way stopping at different locations. We kids were left in care of grandparents except the youngest who accompanied them. I think that this was the last trip before the detection of his heart problem.

His love for the western attire and “Charlie Chaplin moustache” was balanced by his deeply religious side. Living in Allahabad (now Prayagraj) sadhus (holy men) were frequent visitors and so were the weekly kirtans, trips to Sangam (confluence of rivers Ganga, Yamuna and Saraswati) when a special boat would be arranged during the summer months.

Maybe he knew his time with us was limited and he had to finish the tasks he had set for himself. From riches to near poverty to riches was a prodigious journey, a journey undertaken with the will power to succeed. Now, on his sixty fifth death anniversary (June 6 ) we realise that in his short time with us, father passed on his dreams, and more importantly, exposed us to a world beyond the comfort of home. He would walk us to school (on the same road as our home) and in that short walk encouraged us to discuss what was happening in school, his views on different topics. At times he would ask us to greet and talk with total strangers.

These small steps became king size in our journeys towards self realization.

Father was just 45 years of age when our collective dream ended with a sudden heart attack. Mother and he were scheduled to visit the USA, the luggage packed, passports and air tickets ready. It was not to be as he was booked for another journey.

The news of his death spread across the city and the markets, Civil Lines and adjoining areas, downed their shutters as a sign of respect. It was the railway station farewell once again.

1. A subsidiary of the Anglo Dutch Company, Unilever, set up in 1931 and renamed Hindustan Lever in 1956 ↩︎