My father, a lawyer in Poonamallee, commanded respect from his clients, fellow lawyers and even strangers. The reasons could be his height, broad forehead and shoulders and benevolent aura. I took after my mother who was short. But I was denied her wonderful complexion, akin to freshly ground sandal paste.My father seemed to house a ticking clock in his system for he could tell the time without looking at the clock especially during nights.
If he says it is 11.30, yes, it would be around that with a margin of error of five minutes. When he referred to the dog-eared Webster to know the nuance of a particular word, the dictionary would open at the page of its first alphabet, necessitating riffling through a page or two only. He inculcated in me the habit of buying (he called it investing) books periodically; more importantly in reading them. Taking me along, he would go to Higginbotham’s, a sanctuary for book lovers—even now. Bound books of Thomas Hardy, Arthur Conan Doyle or Charles Dickens would be stuffed into the pockets of his alpaca coat after purchase.
Once, he presented a copy of Lamb’s tales from Shakespeare offering the Bard in quintessence. His inscription was: ‘Neither a borrower nor a lender be! And this applies to money and books!’A few of the don’ts he taught me are the detestable habit of folding down the corner of top page to serve as a book mark; leaving the open book upside down, and many more. But one advice I flout is underlining star passages I liked with a six inch metallic ruler and a 0.5 thin ball point pen.
Towards the end of his life span, my father had high blood pressure. This was followed by severe constipation. Once, he went to consult Dr Srinivasan, who had his clinic opposite Stella Maris College. After hearing my father’s case history, the doc advised him to take enema, which was an embarrassing, humiliating and messy procedure to evacuate the bowels. When he said that hesitatingly, the doctor exploded. “Why do you say that? Even Rajaji takes it without fuss. Are you greater than him?”
I was fuming with rage. I could not stomach such harsh words hurled at my father. No one had talked to him that way. Once we came out, I told him with moist eyes, “I hate him.” He chided me. “He is an eminent physician, one of the best. Some give the bitter pill. Some sugar coated ones. The taste is momentary but not important. But the effect is.”