Disciplined life
N J Ravi Chander
Memories of our late father, MN Jayaraman, remain indelibly etched. A stickler for being well-groomed, he was always clean-shaven and impeccably attired. His grooming kit included Bharat safety razor blades, Godrej shaving round, an alum block, Lifebuoy soap and Pond’s Dreamflower Talc.
He hesitantly added Old Spice aftershave lotion to his repertoire in later years. Though he seldom used soapnut powder to wash his hair, the Sunlight or 501 bars made up his laundry detergent. Even after many new products invaded the market, he kept a distance from them and stuck to these tried and trusted brands.
Father had the habit of tossing bread pieces to the murder of crows that arrived every morning and browsing his favourite newspaper. Bengaluru boasted of only three newspapers back then – Deccan Herald, The Indian Express and the Hindu.
One of his favourite pastimes was reading comic strips that appeared on the last page of the daily or in the end pages of the Illustrated Weekly of India (his favourite magazine brought from the office library). On weekends, he would snip the comic strips and bind them episode-wise. He also tracked the fortunes of the Indian hockey team and heavyweight professional boxer Cassius Marcellus Clay (later Muhammad Ali) with interest.
Dad would slip into his all-white office uniform and wheel down to work on his gleaming Raleigh bicycle – a wedding gift from his in-laws. Cufflinks held the end of the sleeves together – he possessed a mind-boggling variety. The pant’s bottom, folded sideways and secured with a metal clip, kept grease at bay. Coconut oil-smeared hair combed backwards, and black shoes gleaming with Cherry Blossom polish complimented his attire.
Gardening was dad’s magnificent obsession, and he brought in varieties of seeds and saplings for the garden. He pottered around the yard, sowing seeds, making compost, repotting and nourishing his ‘green friends’. It delighted him immensely when his efforts paid off, and the plants bloomed or produced fruits.
The mind-boggling variety of gardening implements in his possession was housed in a long iron trunk and venerated during Ayodhya Pooja. He also had a passion for portrait sketching and keeping pets, and though these activities took up most of his leisure time, they gave him immense pleasure.
But my mother Padmakumari’s untimely demise in May 2007 took its toll, and he lost his lust for life. He spent long hours in the pooja room, weighed down by her memories. The night before he passed away, dad complained of interrupted sleep and appeared exhausted. When my younger sibling Prem Prakash and I ventured to ferry him to a doctor, he shrugged it off, saying he would be okay. Tragically, this was my last meeting with my beloved father before death claimed him!
One wonders whether dad had a hunch that the curtain call was coming. Because hours before his demise, he had raised eyebrows by hinting that he was going out of town (which was unlikely). He also instructed the maidservant to tidy up the house and adorn the yard with rangoli.
The end came on the evening of New Year’s eve in 2007, barely six months after our mother departed. He had settled himself on the sofa to watch his favourite soap (the remote was still in his hands) when his life suddenly ebbed away. When my little niece J P Nikitha (12) also perished moments later, it brought a nightmarish end to the year!
(The author is a former banker and has taken to writing as a pastime. He regularly contributes to various national and local publications including ‘Kashmir Vision’)
