It was not until I walked in to perform my father’s tri-pakshika that an unexplained sense of uneasiness hit me hard. I struggled unsuccessfully to regain that inner composure to perform the monthly death ritual. I think Srinivas Achar sensed this and did not mind correcting me this time. Perhaps, all these days, I was taking solace under the axiom that it was an end to his pro-longed suffering and so death was good. I came home, switched on the TV only to see the news flashing that SL Bhyrappa is no more. Suddenly the fingers of time played a heavy chord selection on the emotional strings of my memory guitar.
Two things that I and my father spoke a lot on; Books and Bollywood.
Of course, it was him who introduced me to both; but over a period of time, on
both fronts, I had carved out a niche of my own. So the debates concerning
Books and Bollywood were always extended and serious. My father had this habit –
He was always curious on what I read. Since it was one of the books from his own
collection most of the times, he used to sneak in during my reading session to
ask me – “what did you find interesting in that book” and then he would give
his perspective.
I recalled a few lengthy conversations that I had with my
father on SL Bhyrappa’s works, particularly his autobiography Bhitti, in which
Bhyrappa has documented, in detail, the struggles of young self Bhyrappa. My father,
somewhere deep down, had this delinquency that he did not do much for me and
that I would do better in life if he had managed to facilitate my upbringing a
little more structurally. He had said that he did not have the same delinquency about
my sister because he knew her limitations, I had laughed it off, saying we both
have anyway done good in life and it doesn’t really matter now. On many other
occasions, we had debated on SL Bhyrappa’s other works too – Avarana were both
our favorites. He did not like Uttara Kanda for some weird reasons. For some
weird reasons, Lankesh was his favorite; But I hated him! Even to this day, it
hasn’t changed J.
I had even told him very seriously that “If I were you, I’d
work on a thesis and get a PhD on Bollywood”. He forced on me, his opinions of
movies which were technically brilliant, but I wouldn’t get them because the stories
were really duh! Movies like Pyasa impressed him, but I wouldn’t
watch such movies at all and branded them “Patho”. For me, Bollywood was means
of winding off after a busy day at work or road. So my go-to movies were the likes
of Sooryavansham
and Meri
Jung - One Man Army, ROFLMAX! Occasionally, there were middle ground days where we both would watch a great movie together like Anand or The Guns
of Navarone.
And then, there were the usual Indian middle class gyan :
“You guys are enjoying
the capitalist regime. So you won’t understand the struggles of our Nehruvian
socialist regime. I used to chase the BTS conductor to get the 75 paise change
that he used to write on the back of the ticket so that I can use it for
tomorrow’s journey “
“If you work hard and
study well, you’ll do good in life. If you don’t take studies seriously, I don’t
have money to buy you even an auto rickshaw" (Hell, yeah. All my friends used to mimic this :)"
The electricity and water bills that I am not willing to arrange as
per the date; The LPG cylinder that he always remembered to book on time, but I
am missing; Such small memories remind me of him and remind me of the void that is created without him. Along
with it, it also haunts me with the memory of a feeding tube running through
his nose, going down the throat and reaching his stomach; the memory of all
skin and bones, at the mercy of doctors, his arms tied to the bed; his eyes, helpless
and ruminating on the very nature of his existence. Arghhh!
Gods forbid, if at all, any of your loved ones’ life comes to this point
of choosing between enduring cruel clinical procedures that does not come with
any hope and a natural end, surrounded by his loved ones, choose the latter! I
mean it. I know this is a million-dollar question, but be firm and choose
wisely. The broad sympathies and discerning insights needed for the healing of
earthly woes cannot be a mere intellectual consideration. As my father would
have liked it
“Babu Mashoy….. Zindagi badi honi chahiye.. Lambi nahi”
