Writing this post feels like an urgent need. Urgent enough for me to be writing this way past my bedtime. This sense of urgency is coming from having read Kazuo Ishiguro's Nobel lecture in a book format, called My Twentieth Century Evening and Other Small Breakthroughs. He mentions that when he started writing about Japan, it was because he desperately wanted to preserve the Japan that he had constructed in his own mind (he had never visited Japan until then), because he was afraid that he would lose it over a period of time, one bit at a time. I suddenly feel the same need to do this about my own life stories. These are stories that I've told to several people over and over again, but never put them in writing. Now suddenly I'm a little afraid that I need to start writing these down down, lest I forget them.
My grandfather, whom we refer to as Bauji, was possibly one of the most important influences in my life. He moved from a small village in Bhiwani in Haryana to Kolkata (the Calcutta), to look for a job so that he could sustain his family. That was easily five or six decades ago. From what I know, he spent his entire lifetime in a low-income accounting job and retired from the same job. His dream wasn't to create an empire. There were other things that he cared about more. He cared about the people - other migrants like him who were moving from outside. But he cared about people in general. He was instrumental in bringing people together to set up two important institutions of Kolkata - a charitable hospital called Marwari Relief Society and a school called Haryana Vidya Mandir. And as I write this, I'm also realising that I've been blissfully unaware of a whole lot of other things that he has achieved in his lifetime.
Growing up, it was such a common occurrence for us to see people come to our home early in the mornings. Some days it would be requests to have medical bills subsidized because people couldn't afford it. On other days it would be requests to have children admitted in the school. I don't remember a single day when my grandfather disappointed anyone. There are other things that I remember from those mornings. I remember my grandfather leaning against a couple of pillows (a habit which I've inherited from him) on the bed, smoking (he's been a chain smoker for decades) and reading the morning newspaper (at some point in time a half glass of chai was presented to him). It was much later in life that I realized that I also inherited the love of reading from him. He didn't get much formal education (I think he only attended primary school), but he read regularly. Other than the newspaper, he was very fond of reading India Today in Hindi. And every time he picked his fortnightly edition of India Today, he would also get a Hindi children's magazine for us. I remember spending countless hours reading those magazines! At some point in time whenever I felt a shortage of reading materials, I started reading India Today instead! It was through India Today that I was introduced to Amrita Pritam for the first time, whose writing I totally fell in love with. Unfortunately that was her obituary. I think I still have that article somewhere in my files.
On some mornings, he woke up very early. And on those mornings, I would wake up to his voice reciting poems. I'm not sure if these were poems that he had composed, or those of his favourite writers. I know that he wrote poetry (under the pseudonym 'Pradeep' I think). He mostly wrote in Veer Ras I think. I sometimes wonder if some recitals were about him trying to set words to a meter and was my first exposure to an understanding of meters and rhythms. Of course, my interest in Hindi poetry also originated here.
On most mornings, an idli vendor came by our place. I loved having freshly steamed, fluffy idlis for breakfast! When it came to paying for those, it was Bauji again that we went to. We would find enough change in the pocket of his white kurta. On the days his pocket didn't have enough change, we were told to unlock the heavy iron 'tijori' and find a bunch of notes inside of a designated iron box. Sometimes the notes would be somewhat musty, a smell that's distinctly etched in my memory. Anyway who is even a little bit close to me knows of my weakness for South Indian food. He also kept a box of Threptin biscuits inside the tijori, which we weren't allowed to have. On some occasions he would give us one of those. Threptin is a part of my everyday diet even now. I love having fruits, which was also a result of the yummy fruits that he handpicked for us almost every afternoon. I loved those so much and often I would substitute fruit for lunch!
Bauji was also our go-to person if we needed something that our parents didn't approve of. For instance, permissions for school and college trips. He was my biggest supporter when I wanted to attend a better high school and a still better college. He is the reason why I could attend B-School. My parents weren't in favor of sending me for MBA, but he stepped in. He was the one to sanction my work travel internationally. One time he fell sick and had to be hospitalized. I was so scared of losing him that I couldn't bring myself to visit him1
Bauji is now in his 90s. He's become frail. He is now hard of hearing, so I hardly get to speak to him over the phone. Not that I think I'll be able to get through a call with him without crying. I've been told he has become quite weak, so sometimes he faints, leading to injury. And on most days it fills me up with dread to think the void he'll leave behind when he's gone.
