A ‘lion’ like no other

Walking down the street or strolling through the mall, I cannot help reading the messages on people’s T-shirts. The curiosity in me is especially sparked when they display something beyond the usual 'GAP' or 'Old Navy' or 'Tommy Hilfiger'. The other day, I saw an elderly gentleman’s T-shirt that said, 'World’s Greatest Dad'. I usually laugh off and later forget even the most ludicrous messages but figured that I had a problem with this one. How arrogant of him to declare himself as the greatest of all dads? Maybe he was a great dad for his child, but that doesn’t make him the greatest, right?

Be that as it may, the dad slogan gave me an opportunity to reflect upon my own father, who was different from most other dads in a very nice way. During those days, the most effective means of enforcing discipline amongst kids was by wielding the stick, or so it was thought. A common scene in many a household was that of a dad beating an errant child with the mom coming to the latter’s rescue. My father was a striking contrast to this stereotype. The prospect of spanking his children was something he would not have imagined in his wildest dreams. I don't even recall him raising his voice, let alone scolding us. Extreme provocation elicited no more than a mild rebuke. My cousin put it very nicely during a recent family get together, ‘Your father ruled by love, not fear’.

An epitome of patience, he never lost his cool even with the most nasty provocateurs. I was never exposed to neighbourly squabbles during childhood. Vicious neighbours kept a reverential distance from my father and by corollary, from all of us. Ours was one amongst a cluster of rented houses (called ‘vaTaara’ in Kannada). The landlady lived in a huge independent house in the vicinity and we barely got to see her. Yet, in all graciousness, my father had penned a touching condolence note and sent it to the grieving lady when she had lost her mother. It is no wonder that, when the time came to vacate our rented abode, she pleaded with my father to reconsider his decision. Nobody likes to lose a gentleman tenant.

His affable nature was a stand out in his workplace too, it seemed. Noticing the stark contrast between my father’s name (‘Narasimha Murthy’) and his deportment, a colleague of his had once jokingly remarked, "How come your name is that of the lion-headed God known for His wrath? Your parents should have named you 'Shantha Murthy' instead." Many a true word is spoken in jest. My immediate thought was, ‘That sums it all about him’.