I’m in 5th grade. My dad’s driving me to school. On the way, he quizzes me on Mathematical Tables. He then asks me what the frontpage headlines were in today’s newspaper. India was under Emergency. I had to know what was going on around me.
My dad loved cars; his possession, a Fiat. And driving. He tended to his car with care.
He was an ex military man who was thoroughly disciplined and had an appreciation for the fine things in life.
He married late and had me in his 50s.
He drove us to Vailankanni in those days when there wasn’t much of a highway. Drove from early morning to late at night, stopping for tea and a smoke. The stretch between Trichy and Tanjore with the canal racing along close to the bad road. I sat in the middle of the back seat, in the pitch dark night, eyes focused on the road ahead, lit by the car’s headlights. My dad was the safest driver I knew.
A little older into high school saw us living in a town about 70 km from Bangalore. We’d drive to B’lore every so often. My dad would cover the 1.5 – 2 hour drive in 1 hour flat. He would not allow any vehicle overtake us. He would ask me to count the trucks in the oncoming traffic. And follow the milestones along the road. At 60+, he had excellent control over the car.
From driving to his love of music. He liked good stuff ranging from Indian classical to film songs. When I was young, he’d play Que Sera Sera, My Bonnie lies over the Ocean among others. Later on, it was the Telugu classical, Shankarabharanam and the Hindi, Satyam Shivam Sundaram. If he couldn’t find an album, he’d have a friend record it for him. He’d write down the names of songs on the cassette sleeve in his own hand.
My dad was a larger-than-life figure. There’s tons to write about him. But I’ll end with the thought of him whistling to his favorite tunes, around the house.
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