Goodbye Tatha

He always played the crocodile while I was the monkey that sat high on a tree and was real clever. Maybe we played the game because it was straight forward, playable; or maybe I learnt from it that I was smart, witty and clever. Every time I outsmarted the crocodile he would smile at me with pride and playfulness and then I would believe that I really was cool. When I look at his picture on my desktop today, I can't believe that he really is gone, but my gandpa is really gone. I even touched him and tried waking him up to make sure he was not just asleep. He was stone as ice and I knew he was gone indeed.

I was the first grandchild of the family so I got lucky, I got the most of him, you see. His love was special for, I am not sure he ever had the time for the rest of my siblings. We travelled in trains, ambassadors and tata estates and we lived in a palace. I would cook up stories of being richer and more famous at school and I think I thought we were indeed all that. When we moved in to the palace of a home, he had made me a room that was especially for me- my study room. He had put a blackboard in there for me and the first two words we wrote on a still wet board were "srinivasan" and "aarathi". Even today I dream of that home, my study room and playing with granpa.

He flew to London, Singapore and everywhere and I would wait eagerly for him to come back with my gifts. He had an eye for fashion, my granpa. He would buy me short skirts when I was still shy to show my legs off. I was the first one at school to wear that fashionable shirt that would knot at my waist. I do think sometimes he thought I was skinner than I looked because some clothes just wouldn't fit. I remember a time when he had jaundice and was all yellow. I wanted to see him but he was always in that room of his drinking yellow milk. He was surrounded by newspapers and business magazines on weekends and his office space was no different. He would reward me and my siblings with “killu mutha” literally the “pinch kiss” when he came home from a long days work. He had a knack for rhyming our names with funny things and I was christened “aarat raja thangam” and “aarat, carrot, beetroot”.
He was my mom’s father-replacement and my dad’s boss father. He was quite the fighter with my granma and they lived many years separated from each other. I remember the first time I witnessed a fight he had with my granma and I remember my heart freezing in fright. There was so much function and dysfunction, I cannot help but be awed by human nature.

Our family is a representation of this wonderful and flawed man. I am a representation of this wonderful and flawed man. I am workaholic almost like him. I strive to attain mastery over what I know in work, I can’t imagine losing it all and often fear I would become heartbroken like him if I did. It’s easy to run like him, away from family’s love and towards work. His grandchildren and children alike, shake their legs with incomprehensible speed, when restless. Our knack for wit, his gift again.

Sadly, as years flew by he moved further and further away from us. He moved back to the village he was born in. He moved closer to his roots, I think. I chose to stop thinking about him and maybe he did the same thing back or maybe not. I am not sure I understand his motive when he built and christened “humanity home” and moved there to live with scores of children that were not his family, but then again, I am not sure I understand my granpa entirely.

When he died, there were a spectrum of people that came that day . His brothers, his nephews, his nieces and his workers, his sons, daughter-in-laws, uncles and aunts, his grandchildren , his wife and everyone else were present. He was all this and more and it made me happy that he was not just a granpa or a workaholic. Today, March 31st 2010, marks 10 days of his departure. I am not sure where he is and I am not sure if he is with us. But I have few pictures of him, his genetic inheritance too and a few of his oddities that make his family unique. Best of all ofcourse is that I have my dad, his son, you see. My granpa leaves me behind thankful for his life and grateful for mine.

I love you tatha.