It’s my
dad’s birthday today. Five years have passed since he left us for his eternal
abode but his memories, most of which are associated with his acts of kindness,
still abound.
People loved
him for his gentle nature, polite manners, his willingness to help and his
ability to understand. I loved him for the man he was. Being with him was such
a joy that sometimes while returning from school, if I felt like being pampered,
I would head straight to meet my dad in his chambers at the Madras High Court,
not waiting for him to return home.
Despite my
unannounced arrival, he would receive me lovingly and treat me to goodies. I
would sit at his table and enjoy the tastiest of delicacies while he would be
busy poring over work or running around with his clients. I didn’t know then
that often, the money he spent on me was the money he had saved for his lunch
the next day. No, it was not that my dad had a dearth of clients and therefore
couldn’t make enough money. In fact, he was a good lawyer and had several
clients. The problem, which I happened to realize during one of my visits to
his chambers, was something else. It was compassion.
On the day
that this piece of wisdom dawned on me, my dad had won a divorce case. His
client, a frail woman, approached him after the verdict and thanked him
profusely. After a while, she softly made enquiries about his fees to which my
dad, after thinking a while, said, “Pay me what you can.” She hesitantly handed him two hundred Rupee
notes, half expecting him to ask for more. My dad took it, thanked her and
briskly made his way out of the court with me trotting beside him. As we were
walking, I was curious to know why he hadn’t charged her more. After all, he
had won her a case that would alter the course of her life. Placing an order
for my favourite food items at a restaurant, he turned to me and lovingly said,
“Child, people who come to courts do not come here because they want to but
because they have no other option. That lady is in great pain. She might have
won a case but her family’s just been broken. There is no joy in this victory.
Would you still want me to charge her more?”
The truth struck me then. For the first time, I understood that a win
necessarily did not mean happiness. I also realized why my dad always struggled
to make ends meet.
Often, his
decisions would appear simple but the thought processes behind them
weren’t. Before turning a lawyer, my dad
was a professor. He taught English, while my mom taught Tamil at a college.
When my sisters were born and one of them had to quit their jobs to look after
them, my dad decided to give up his career and stay back at home as he knew
that my mom’s family was dependent on her salary then. Needless to say, the love and understanding
that the two shared was something phenomenal
and something which lasted right till the very end.
The heir to
a rich chartered accountant, my dad never had a desire to acquire wealth. To
him, people mattered more. That was exactly why he had no qualms when my
grandfather decided to donate huge tracts of land owned by the family to the
poor. In return, he enjoyed enormous respect and love from the masses.
In fact,
whenever we visited our native place, relatives from even neighbouring villages
would pour in. They would invite us for a meal at their place and would refuse
to budge until we accepted their invites.
Anywhere between 10-15 invitations would be received during the course
of a week, usually the time we spent at our native place. While I always
preferred visiting some of my uncles’ places, my dad would be careful not to
disregard any invite. He would visit all the poorer relatives first, lest they
be hurt and would relish the simple meals they offered in the same manner he
would enjoy an elaborate and delicious spread laid out at the places of our wealthier
relatives.
Everywhere he went, people would congregate. He was a person who
could mingle with both the rich and the poor with equal ease. Usually, after
the feasts, he would get to resolving long-pending disputes between families
and neighbours. His knowledge of the law and the respect they had for him
enabled him to resolve many an issue amicably. He’d say, “If you go to court,
this will be the verdict. But you and your opponent will both have to spend a
fortune to have this fought in court. Take my advice and resolve the issue here
itself.” Needless to say, the matter would end there.
While most
people remember him for his compassion, I will always remember him for the
immense faith he reposed in me. Once, after having been diagnosed with
cancer, a relative of ours was seen talking to him, offering assistance with
the intention of bolstering his confidence. The person my dad was, he said with
a smile, “Don’t worry about me. My son is here and he will take care of me.
When he is with me, I feel like I have the strength of a thousand elephants.”
I don’t know
if I lived up to the huge expectations he placed in me. But nevertheless, I
tried. I don’t even know if I can be half as good as my dad when it comes to
being compassionate but I am trying. And while trying to do that, what I have
realized is that while there are several successful people, there are not as many
loving and compassionate people left. That probably is why I feel that this
world has become poorer without him.
