Of tigers and cats

He was a tiger, or so they told me. He terrified people around him. With thick, bushy eyebrows and a ferocious glare I am sure he could have burned people to the ground with just one look. But to me, he was the kindest, nicest father I could have ever got through marriage. Although my own lion of a father has been with me since my teeny weeny days, this new tiger was there right next to the lion at every major juncture of my adult life.

The first time he came to see me at my college hostel, I was such a scaredy little cat. But as I walked out of the visitors’ room I had a sneaky feeling that the tiger had quite liked the cat. And indeed, he did. He used his tiger skills to brusquely brush away any feeble protests from anyone…the girl is from the South, how can she get along with us from the North and such cute stuff…That was just the beginning of a long string of memories.

It might sound silly, but perhaps the gentlest gesture was when he would ensure that my favourite Pears soap would be stocked up in the house when ever I turned up. Whenever life got turbulent, or I felt lost, he was always there with a deeply philosophical thought or a nugget of wisdom that would help me see light. And yes, he read hands. I have a sneaky feeling he often ‘read’ what he wanted us to do. Dream big, do your doctorate, write..not just your research papers, but creative stuff.

A man consumed by passion for his work, he poured himself into the innumerable roads and bridges he built all over India...from border roads on the rugged mountains of the Himalayas to bridges across raging rivers. He always had an arsenal of stories to tell…when he came face to face with a tiger, when his jeep plummeted down a ravine and he was thrown into the air, when he refused police protection in an area ravaged by dacoits, when rising rivers threatened to sweep away the hard work of many a man and woman, when he refused to kowtow to corporate power games and stood strong and proud and charted his own path through life.

Yes, he was a proud man indeed. And he left us that way…on his own, went to bed, never to wake up again. I think he would have liked it that way. Because everyone’s last memory of him remains that of a tiger, ferocious and fiercely independent. But as the fires raged on the beach as a final tribute to his life, a few souls sobbed gently, quietly into the night, remembering every gentle moment spent with the tiger.

Today, as his family and friends gather together to offer him his favourite foods on the 40^th day of his passing away, I offer him this tiny tribute with a promise that I’ll restart writing. I am sure he’ll be very pleased.