Father’s Day (Third Sunday in June in US) in the modern times is strange. It tries to make a commercial nonentity of a purely personal relationship. How can there be a single day for remembering billions of fathers across the globe, living or nonliving?
I remember our father throughout the year, in fact in every instance while looking into a mirror; but the season in the winter months (हेमन्त ऋतु) makes my eyes moist with some tender poignant memories of the bygone years. In India one can seek the help of a priest and observe parents’ anniversaries with due diligence. Such facilities are available at Kasi, Gaya, Pithapuram (గయాసుర పాదగయ), and many other places. The Raghavendra Swamy temple also offers such services throughout the year. In US we run into difficulties for finding qualified priests in smaller towns and remote suburbs.
Posterity often thinks of fathers and forefathers in terms of money, inheritance, assets, physical attributes (particularly those in the filmdom), or even some fragment of talent (IQ, musical ability, etc.). But in an ephemeral world what is lasting? Monies have been lost, lands lose fertility, buildings decay lacking proper maintenance, and physical beauty also takes a beating due to the ravages of time. We must remember fathers for those unique intangible qualities which no test tube or Artificial Intelligence (AI) can gift us freely. Here, in this short note I try to capture my father’s personality and give a faithful portrait of his sensitive nature.
Father was very soft and caring. Often he would spontaneously shed a tear at the plight of a beggar, a disease stricken person, or at times he would melt away at our own endless family problems. Whatever be the issue, in a real trouble he would seek the help from Lord Siva – leaving (discarding) aside all the mean earthly bosses or rich relatives. Now as I recollect my childhood and college days I often wonder and exclaim thus: What a marvelous courageous human being! A lesser man would have lost hope and despaired, become despondent. No, not our father – he was an embodiment of true grit and bubbling spirit.
Every year he would take me to a fully qualified doctor and get annual medical checkup. Father was always very apprehensive of the coastal mosquito bite (malaria, now the dengue and other variants) particularly the filarial vector. Not to lose sleep over such unexpected calamities he took me to a pharmacist (P. Rao) and got me a full dose of prophylactic injections. We used to see several people in the neighborhood suffering from the debilitating effects of the disease (filariasis). Such medical visits kept me healthy during formative years; the practice taught me to respect the body and its routine maintenance.
He was much ahead of the modern medical modalities, often incorporating alternate therapy whenever it is available. Once he approached a village herbal doctor for my pestering skin problem. The herbalist solved the issue with one dose of medication; earlier I had consulted a dermatologist in a big city hospital to no avail. I wish I had helped my father with his medical tests and screenings; unfortunately I was away from my native place for most of my studies. Still I feel very lucky to be very close to our father. Often he would confide in me about his routine screenings like cholesterol or high blood pressure.
Father always supported me in my (higher) studies; he made me concentrate (with valid reasons) on studies to the exclusion of everything else. When I was struggling in fourth grade with routine math (long divisions by hand) he arranged tutorial help for the summer two-month recess; it was so intensive and timely godsend that by July, I was thoroughly prepared and proficient for the high school entrance exam (VI grade). In college when I got abnormally low marks in chemistry exam father came to our city and met with my professor to discuss the matter. Later I changed my major – and in the long scheme of things it did not affect my professional career.
His zeal for life and his approach to life’s mundane problems is very unique. Once he had some mild apprehension about the advancing years or an irritating pain due to tooth cavity. Father gently asked a visiting Swami (true Sanyasi) for guidance. The Swami replied nonchalantly thus: “Nothing to worry, any way you trust Lord Siva. Just do the “mrutyanjaya mantra” or recite Chandrasekhara-ashtakam. All worries gone.” For a person who visited Srisailam several times during Maha-Sivaratri festival that simple direct suggestion was enough. He never expressed any fear in life. That toothache, it got resolved with Dabur toothpowder (Lal Danta Manjan), so I think now. Interestingly father (my parents) gave me a big endowment: Excellent eyesight, strong functional natural teeth, and very adroit hands to work on gardening, handy repairs, or instruments.
Lastly I want to mention about bhakti and ethics. Per se, father never instructed me about morals, virtues, or character. As children we just learned from his exemplary character. With very little financial means he traveled the entire length and breadth of India – from Kasi to Kalahasti, from Gokarna to Puri. He remembered our ancestors (grand parents) and faithfully observed their anniversaries fully according to the tradition (scriptural instructions). Father used to gently goad me to visit our local temple every Saturday. Whenever possible I would perform (aided by our priest) puja at the temple on the Masa Sivaratri day – it was all due to my father’s gentle persuasion. Both my parents were lionhearted and full of optimism. Of all the qualities I cherish most is father’s indomitable spirit. My parents (like many of the earlier generations) had that rare quality of total (inner spiritual) contentment; they faced the vicissitudes of life with a smile. To this day it is wonder for me how our father achieved so much in life with so little formal education, meager financial resources, and unhelpful relatives; yet, he provided amply for his family and succeeded both here in the mundane world and hereafter. That was a hard scrappy south India in those days - without government handouts. A wild daffodil will bloom anywhere, every season. Copyright 2025 by the author
