Honest to a fault

The beautiful and lovely memories of my late father are like a gentle evening breeze, soothing and invigorating. I never realised my father’s greatness when I was young. I always thought he was too honest for his own good. In the early 1980s, when the IT industry and software weren’t on the horizon, my father was a globe trotter -- travelling abroad 3-4 times a year, but not even once would he bring back anything. “I had gone on official work, not for shopping” was his standard answer to our demands.

Only once, he had brought a pen, which had a small clock embedded in it, but I lost it within a day. I took it to school, against his instructions, and lost it.

When he came to know about it, he didn’t say a word of reproach, which was a lot harsher than harsh words.

He was upright and honest; never misused his office. He once took my mother abroad with him; he paid for her airfare and stay. He was invited for an official dinner, and my mother, too, was invited. After the dinner, my father went over to the organisers and paid for my mother’s dinner; when they protested, saying that she didn’t eat anything much as she was a vegetarian and the amount being paid was a lot more than the cost of the dinner, father would have none of it. “You have to take this’ I’m not supposed to bring her on the official dinner but I brought her because you insisted. If you refuse, I will pay my share as well!”

He would spend hours on his income tax calculations and would include every source, however meagre, of income, much to the irritation of the rest of the family. In fact, he was often admonished for being very honest.

His honesty rankled us a bit as he expected us to do the same. He would ask me if I have accounted for all my savings and the earnings from my additional classes. All this, when online filing was unknown and it was just people’s honesty which mattered.

My father didn’t flinch when my grandfather gave away all his property to my aunt, whose wedding was scuttled. When grandpa came to him to inform him of his decision, my father had just this to ask: “Did you have your dinner?”I had never heard him talk ill of people, even to those who had wronged him. When I asked him about how I had never heard him complain, he simply said: “I don’t feel bad towards anyone.”

His passing away has left a terrible void, but I will never let him go, as long as I am alive.