Appa
Mine was an arranged marriage. The first people I met from my husband’s side of the family were his parents. The one who drew us all in with his quiet charm, shy smiles, and simplicity, just by being his authentic self was Appa, my father-in-law.
When I first met Appa, he asked me to sit with his family and share a cup of tea. He must’ve sensed I was a modern girl who felt awkward about the arranged marriage ritual of ‘ponnu-paaka’ – literally – viewing the prospective bride.
So, he made it simple by removing the formality from the process: Let’s just chat like we are old friends he said. He asked if I liked riding my little scooter to work, and smiled at my brother’s fondness for vehicles. Appa knew how to ease an uncomfortable situation.
A modern father-in-law
Any new bride entering the fold of a large, loud, overwhelming family knows it can be terrifying to make that first meal or cup of tea in an alien kitchen, alone. I was no different. I was intensely aware that wagging tongues out in the living room were waiting to judge the taste, consistency, heat, and sweetness of my tea.
Judgment can be harsh and swift depending on the interactions and perceived rebuffs in the room. Did I give the aunt enough importance, or did I need to praise the old uncle more? One never knows if all social niceties are properly observed or if someone’s nose is out of joint.
All I knew was that my efficiency, charm, and competency would hang on the reception my tea got, even though an educated professional girl like me should not set store by such things. I had a Master’s in Computer Applications and was working at Infosys at the time.
Appa did the thing he does best. He followed me into the kitchen – quietly removing himself from the larger family and gave me a shy smile. He had come to help.
He proffered the necessary ingredients, a hint or two of how some family members like the water-milk mix. He gently joked about it and left as quietly as he had come. A few minutes later, as I was flailing around looking for teacups, he was back. He found the preferred cups, quietly strained the tea and left again. I don’t think anyone noticed the head of the family nip into the kitchen to help his new daughter-in-law.
When the tea was served and everyone smiled contentedly, he gave me one of his trademark encouraging smiles, and that set the tone for our relationship.
Appa had my back
Appa was always there for me. He and I were going to be best friends. I knew it then. He had my back, he was always, firmly in my corner, supportive without any drama. His was a quiet, steadying presence in a storm.
When my daughter was a baby we went to Disneyland and SeaWorld. My parents-in-law stayed behind at a friend’s place in San Diego because of the heat. At Disneyland, my usually pliant, happy-go-lucky child was hot and uncomfortable and demanded to be carried the whole time. I went home completely exhausted, dreading the next day’s trip to Sea World.
Appa took one look at me and said nothing. My daughter leaped into his arms as I went to take a shower. The next morning at 6:30 a.m. he was dressed and ready to come to SeaWorld with us, “I can carry the baby at least,” he said quietly. I had tears in my eyes. Who does that?
An empathetic man
He always was the one who helped, anticipating his daughter-in-law’s needs. He’d slice fruits for the table because he knew I liked fruit, he knew when to take a fussy infant from my aching arms, and he went for quiet walks with me.
Long before the modern world created terms like inclusivity and empathy – Appa showed us how it is done.
Raju Thatha
Any grandchild who has had the privilege of being held by Raju Thatha has been blessed by the cosmos multiple times over. When I took the train home from work, Appa would meet me at the railway station every evening with my baby in his arms so I saw her first thing as I exited the train. Decades later, many fellow commuters still ask after the baby and her loving grandfather.
They could be fussy, hyperactive, rambunctious, or shy, but children felt comfortable with Raju Thatha. Appa could put them to sleep, and get them to eat, and never, in all the time I’ve known him did he need to raise his voice. They loved him, so they did as he asked.
“You need Power only when you want to do something harmful; otherwise
Love is enough to get everything done.” – Charlie Chaplin
The power of love for family
Appa was not a powerful man, his greatest power was his love for his family and fellow human beings. We all wanted him to be happy because he was a pure soul.
He never took sides in a conflict, yet knew who was aching and needed to be soothed by his presence. If one of us was ill, Appa with his keen sense of empathy, knew when a fruit or glass of water would be welcome. Somehow he knew how and when to do the right things for others, without show or expectation.
For days after their visits to us ended, I would miss Appa.
Appa, my friend
When I speak of my father-in-law, many folks are surprised that an Indian man of his generation had this persona. India, after all, sits notoriously low in world rankings of shared household duties between men and women. In fact, reports state that Indian women spend a good 5 hours and 51 minutes on unpaid work versus men who only spend 1 hour and 19 minutes.
Appa was not aware of these studies. He was just loving, empathetic, and supportive of everyone, sharing the workload and fostering a harmonious atmosphere at home. He inspired many male friends to do more in their households. He did not tell any of us how to behave, or what to do, he showed us. He would light up when I said “Good Morning Appa!” in the mornings, or even when I said a tired ‘Hello Appa’ in the evenings.
As I make the last journey to see his mortal remains, it hurts beyond measure to write of him in the past. His warmth lingers like the sun, shining, always nourishing. We were enormously blessed to have had him in our lives.
“Hello Saumya, “Yenna ma? (What is it ma?).” Even now I still hear his gentle, loving voice in my ears.