Father, Philosopher, Guide

There are some things that you know intuitively. Some actions you can visualize even without being present—down to the finest detail. Like the one I am about to describe:

‘After reading this post my dad will print a copy and stow it away in his slim black briefcase – his faithful companion to work, only to be retrieved later, maybe after dinner or while sipping his evening cup of tea with my mother huddled close to him listening to him read it out to her. He will read out each sentence carefully, sometimes with a suppressed smile, at others with a faint flush of pride – together they will savor every word written, relish every expression, agree to every thought. He will elucidate if the need arises so that my mom is on the same page -- as they have been through out their lives, not ahead, not behind, just together. Once the post is read he will stash it away, maybe in a folder already neatly labeled, with the rest of his treasures –old family photographs, wedding invitations, pictures of grandchildren…to be read again on some lazy Sunday afternoon.’

Not because this is a great piece of writing but because that’s what he is like. My Dad. Content with his children’s smallest accomplishments but oblivious to his greatest.

A satisfactory portrayal of my dad and his qualities is in many ways reminiscent of the tale of the elephant and the five blind men – all recounts true, but yet, not one complete. For us four, his progeny, he is and will always remain our ultimate guide, our guru, a guardian of our conscience, a custodian of our character. It is to him that we turn for answers when faced with difficult questions, it is his approval we seek when making tough decisions, it is his judgment we depend on when at crossroads. But yet his best gift to us has been the ability he built in each one of us to be independent of him, to walk on the path he showed us, but unaided. To his mother and siblings he is caretaker, the ‘rock of Gibraltar’. For his peers he is the ‘go-to’ man, the master strategist, problem-solver. To his nephews and nieces he is ‘Chief Adviser -- careers, finances, other predicaments’. For his grandchildren he is the bearer of gifts, the key to mysteries, the path to wisdom. To his neighbors and friends he is peace maker, counselor. For his wife he is the answer to all her prayers. All this he is and more.

While it would be an arduous task even for a daughter to list all the qualities that make him such a great person here are some that I find most striking:

While other parents were dispensing verbal advice to their offspring on matters of import he held on to his old-fashioned virtue of letting his behavior set the example. In all his dealings with people we have seen him display these sterling qualities. Seldom slanderous and never demeaning we have always seen him treat everyone with regard. Not easily enraged his most endearing quality could easily be his calm and patience. However big or serious our fault he always kept his cool (that trait none of us have learnt), rarely lost his temper and made us realize that it was okay to make a mistake, that he loved us despite everything. Comparison wasn’t something he believed in; neither was being judgmental; so each one of us was given our own space, our own canvas, to pursue what we wanted to, to become what we could. He invested time in teaching us mundane things usually taken for granted – ironing a shirt, polishing shoes, covering books, arranging money in the wallet, even wrapping gifts. His knowledge is rarely superficial – one is usually impressed both by the range and scale of his information. An eternal learner at heart he challenged our intellect by provoking us to argue, discuss, question, even defy at times conventional wisdom. Many of my childhood memories, fleeting but distinct, revolve around stimulating discussions around the dinner table about international affairs, ethics, value systems, religion, and politics. My Dad. He works hard, plays fair, lives by his values. And it is from his day to day conduct that we learnt life’s simple lessons such as these:

Respect all people; do not mock their intelligence, beliefs, thoughts and actions.
It’s not okay to ever steal or take anything that does not belong to you – borrowing without permission is equally unacceptable.
Honesty, however much the world may change, will always remain the best policy.
Work hard and true; do not take credit for someone else’s labor. Be fair in all your dealings.
There is no alternative to knowledge and there are no shortcuts to learning.
Help those in need whenever possible.
Stand by your family. Always.
Do not bother to be ‘the’ best but ensure that you do ‘your’ best.
Never stop learning. Never stop believing.

Because that’s what he is like. My Dad.

How do you wear your genes?

Browsing through a local book store the other day I came across a travel mug that was made just for my Mom. And for me. And for my brother. And for my sisters. In other words for all of us with the same genes. The mug read ‘obsessive compulsive … in a nice way’. And I can bet my last penny that the mug would have been my thirteen year old son’s first choice for a Mother’s Day gift – that is if he decided to buy one.

In my growing up years I remember my mother dusting furniture with great care everyday, wiping her kitchen counters dry and clean everytime they were used, and putting away scattered and strewn stuff across the house back to where they belonged. She is the Queen of clean and in her kingdom everything has a place, cushions on couches are arranged in a particular order not to be disturbed without permission or reason, no speck of dirt gone astray can find solace in her home, all muck and mess and muddle is relentlessly destroyed in her turf.

My mother’s obsession for cleanliness and orderliness has been passed on to all her children in good measure. So much so that on days that I do not wield broom and mop I feel utterly incomplete. To me the hum of the vacuum cleaner is one of the sweetest sounds, the feathery touch of a furniture duster one of the softest, and the sight of kitchen towels one that evokes positive thoughts. To me a sink full of dishes is the main cause of insomnia, a stained stove top is reason for restlessness, and a basket of unfolded laundry a source of agitation. While most women hover around jewelry counters at stores you can be sure that I am scrutinizing the cleaning supplies aisle. One of my most prized possessions came in a compact package containing four different cleaning cloths – one for glass, one for wood, one for kitchen counters and one for the floor – all at an inviting price of $3.99.

When my brother comes to visit, (after the exchange of customary greetings) he surveys the house for any objects or items that seem out of place. Once he is done with this ritual I wait for what to me is the most valuable part -- his nod of approval, his stamp of acceptance, his gesture that tells me that we share a special bond.

When my sister chops onions she ensures that each slice is the exact same size and shape as the other. Like everybody else in the family she is distressed when she does not find something in what she believes is its ‘right’ place. Her theory is that not only does everything have a place; everything has a ‘right’ place. A scientist by profession, she analyzes this behavior as being similar to Leonard’s (from the movie Memento) who relies on a ‘system’ rather than memory.

But let me not be misunderstood. So far I have only talked about ‘obsessive compulsive’’ now let me tell you about ‘in a nice way’, My mother’s home is a haven for family and friends – sunny, warm and bright, with a whiff of flavorful meals dished out from her kitchen, love and laughter flowing in abundance, unbearably loud chatter of grandchildren, constant ringing of the doorbell and the phone…

If at sixty I can be as energetic, as inspiring, as fun-loving, and as popular as my mom is I would consider myself genetically blessed. Those genes I would wear everyday.