Tribute to a father

I learnt from my father the value of hard work and integrity. His professional career spanned over 40 years. He never took sick leave and never made a dishonest penny. He encouraged us to aspire higher. He was also a compassionate man. We were taught to treat everyone with respect and affection,
says Sukhdeep Brar

WE copy the US culture in many ways while simultaneously denouncing its widespread adoption. Valentine’s Day celebration is an intrusion not only into the romantic but also the material life of a growing number of (mostly young) people. But there are two days that the US celebrates that pass unnoticed each year in India, which we might well emulate. In early May, Mother’s Day celebrations honour the women who selflessly inflict much sorrow upon themselves to bring up children who, at different stages of their life, think of mothers as nothing but a nuisance (that changes with maturity but no one has done a study on how much heartache it causes a mother).

In June, Father’s Day is celebrated with much less fanfare, reflective of the less consumerist nature of men in general. Businesses don’t publicise it as much since they don’t rake in as much money as Mother’s Day. In India, it is argued, that we honour our parents everyday. So such celebratory days are not necessary. But we know that all too often we fail to recognise the debt that we owe to our parents.

Such reflections make me want to offer a small tribute to my father whose role and influence in my life I have come to fully appreciate over the years and only after his passing away. What has triggered this motivation is a holiday trip to our neighbour, Myanmar (still better known to most Indians as Burma). My father spent 17 years in Burma working for Burma Oil Company. When the Japanese invaded Burma, he had to flee along with others, leaving everything behind, grateful to be able to make the journey to the safety of Calcutta. There are bits and pieces about his life in Burma that I know of but no connecting dots, no story, so to speak, that might have guided me in any logical way through my journey in Burma. When you are young, you are so self-absorbed that you have little patience for the details of your parents’ life. But nonetheless, the journey gave me the opportunity to reflect upon my father’s life and appreciate the gifts he gave me.

My education is the most precious gift my father gave me. He sacrificed personal comforts and small luxuries to send me and my brother to boarding schools. Not once in all the years I spent in school did I ever hear my father complain about the cost of my education; instead, my dad always encouraged learning. As a young girl, I recall that during our winter vacation in Ahmedabad, my dad had an arrangement with a bookshop owner to allow my brother and myself to borrow brand new books and comics at a nominal rate.

We trekked every Sunday to this bookstore to pick books for the coming week and return the ones borrowed the previous week. I remember being told repeatedly that money spent on books is never wasted. To this day I have an abiding love of books. I buy far more than I have time to read. Later, after his retirement when we moved to our village in Punjab, during our long winter break, my dad would switch on the radio to the 9 am All India Radio newscast in English, and I would be asked to listen to the news and tell him the important news of the day. His rationale? This would improve both my general knowledge as well as my English. It was the same argument with the task of reading newspaper editorials.

My father resisted my mother’s efforts to teach me skills typically associated with girls at the time (such as cooking)— telling me to read a book instead, saying "your brain is the only thing that gets better the more you use it". He always laid emphasis on good education, saying that you can lose your wealth and you can lose your property but you cannot lose your education—it goes with you wherever you go. He emphasised this to my relatives as well and some of my cousins derived the benefit of his insistence that there was no greater investment in children than good education.

The other invaluable gift I received from my father was a deep sense of spirituality without any of the trappings of superstition. My father was a devout Sikh but believed in it in its purest, most logical form, devoid of all of the unnecessary frills that the Gurus had rejected but which still continue to cloud the religious beliefs of most Sikhs. A clear and free mind driven by logic, and uncluttered and unconstrained by ritualistic beliefs, is a gift that I cherish everyday.

During my visits to Punjab I am always concerned about the future of Sikhism. Sikh society has always disproportionately stressed on the external forms of identity of the Sikh religion—which is hard to sell these days to the younger generation—without adequately explaining the values that, in my view, really define Sikhism and set it apart as a dynamic and modern religion with such clear, unquestionable basic values that all of humanity cherishes. I am proud to be a Sikh and my character and personality is shaped by Sikh values, and I am grateful to my father for the clarity of his views on religion.

I learnt from my father the value of hard work and integrity. His professional career spanned over 40 years; he never took sick leave, never made a dishonest penny, and took pride in the fact that there was not a spoon in his house that had been inherited. He encouraged us to work hard, do our best and always aspire higher. He was also a very compassionate man offering help to people in the village when he knew they were in need. We were taught to treat everyone with respect and affection, regardless of their means or station in life.

But he steered clear of any controversy or politics. He was like a Pied Piper for the village children, always encouraging them to go to school.

I do not remember ever hearing my father saying no to me for anything or being intrusive. His input in my life was always positive, always encouraging, always giving enabling advice. I recall his pride at my minor achievements through school and college. When I was suffering from the impasse generated by the pressures for an arranged marriage, he encouraged me to sit for the IAS examination. His pride when I qualified for the IAS was the bigger prize for me.

My father was a true social liberal, unique for the times. A few years later as he lay in hospital recovering from a heart attack, his advise to me was: "If you have a chance to go abroad for training, don’t say no". This advice was reflective of his wider view of grabbing life’s opportunities to broaden your horizons. As a young man, he himself had left for Burma with barely anything more than an address on a scrap of paper. And as I have moved from city to city and country to country, I know that’s what he would have wanted me to do.

I want to say a thank you to my father for these and other indefinable gifts of mind and heart, more precious than money that he gave me which made it possible for me to lead an uncomplicated life and surmount life’s many obstacles gracefully. I regret that I did not fully appreciate these gifts while he was still alive. During my periods of struggle what I have missed most are his simple words of wisdom and encouragement. I hope those who read this will take a moment to acknowledge the debt they owe to their own fathers. Perhaps, the fathers may also want to reflect on how little it takes to give your children a legacy of good values and a strong faith.

(My father, Captain Kartar Singh of Kot Bhara village, Bathinda district, passed away on March 14, 1988).