AN ODE TO MY PARENTS

AN ODE TO MY PARENTS My Father, An Erudite Pluralist- V. Sriram The date was 27 February, 2018. His Holiness Sri Sri Ravi Shankar travelled from Varanasi to Lucknow and thence to Gorakhpur on a Rail Yatra, similar to the one he had undertaken in Andhra Pradesh in 2014. That evening he came to our house. While ecstatic devotees were waiting to have his glimpse and seek his blessings, “Gurudev” as he is called by legions of his followers walked up to my ailing father, Valluri Sriram, garlanded him and uttered, “I have come to see you.” Exactly a year later, 27 February, 2019 the mortal remains of my father, whom my younger sister Uma and I addressed as Appa would be consigned to flames. Appa passed away last evening, after his fourth hospitalisation at Prayagraj, succumbing to multiple organ failure. He was stricken with complications of the heart, COPD (he was not a smoker), Parkinson’s and finally brain atrophy. Witnessing the organs of a nonagenarian capitulating is a dreadful sight. It is quite like a forlorn parrot in a cage seeking freedom. There is an intense battle between the body, the spirit, the mind and the soul. Ultimately it only proves that despite modern technology at human disposal we are mere mortals. Appa seemed to have lost the will to continue once his elder brother Valluri Kameshwar Rao (ICS retd.) passed away in November 2018 at the grand age of 104. Confined as he was to the wheelchair, Appa could not attend the last rites of his dear brother, something that devastated him enormously. The youngest of six siblings, my father was born on June 10 in West Godavari district of Andhra Pradesh in 1927. Despite being born into an orthodox Brahmin family he had chartered a separate path altogether. He joined the non-vegetarian mess in Andhra University where he was a tutee of economics. After completing his M Phil, he migrated to Delhi University to pursue his doctorate under the towering Dr V.K.R.V. Rao. Here he was to rub academic shoulders with such intellectual giants as Dr K.N. Raj, Dr Amartya Sen, Dr Sukhomoy Chakroborty and none other than Dr Man Mohan Singh. He was always in pursuit of perfection and excellence and thus often missed the wood for the trees. He was unable to complete his thesis, though he wrote several papers on Macro and Micro Economics. Pandit Nehru was singularly impressed with my father’s intellectual prowess and Appa went on to be a member of a team that visited China in 1955 and interacted with eminent Chinese leaders like Chou En-Lai and Mao Tse-Tung. Appa used to narrate in an animated manner about the growth in China and the Great Wall of China, the only man-made structure thought to be visible from Earth’s satellite moon. Appa had several friends and associates. Late Shri P.H. Vaishnav, a sterling bureaucrat of the Punjab cadre was one among them. My father and Vaishnav Uncle, both avid Wodehouse fans would often recall snippets from Wodehouse and the house resonated with laughter. The turning point in my father’s life was the birth of my sister Uma. She was his talisman and soon he was to work in FICCI, followed by ASSOCHAM and finally as secretary to Shri Hari Shankar Singhania. Shri Valluri Sriram was a socialist by heart and ideological training. He shared a close association with several socialist stalwarts including Dr Ram Manohar Lohia, Shri Jai Prakash Narayan, Shri George Fernandes, Shri Chandrashekar, Shri Madhu Dandavate and the popular Prime Minister Shri Atal Bihari Vajpayee. Appa was part of the committee which drafted the manifesto of the Janata Party in 1977. I fondly recall when Telugu Desam was the principal opposition party, Shri Madhav Reddy, leader of Opposition in the Lok Sabha and Shri P. Upendra would visit our house seeking advice on a broad spectrum of economic issues. Professor S.H. Pathak of the Delhi School of Social Work was his close friend. It was at Pathak Uncle’s house that we would meet eminent theatre and film personalities like Girish Kasarvalli, B.V. Karanth and Girish Karnad among others, which fuelled my deep interest in dramatics. However, Appa was deeply distressed during the 1984 riots and the dismantling of the disputed structure at Ayodhya which reflected his pluralistic nature, a trait he continued to deeply cherish till his demise. Certainly, he was neither religious nor spiritual by nature. He was cast more in the mould of an agnostic attempting to unravel the mysteries of the universe through the prism of Nehruvian thinking and his training in economics. Whilst his elder siblings had unflinching faith in Sathya Sai Baba and I am ardent follower of H. H. Sri Sri Ravi Shankar my father attempted to discover the virtuosity of nature by his readings of Stephen Hawking, Jim Holt, Steve Jobs, Carl Sagan among others. Obviously, the logical side of his brain was developed immensely, always demanding proof. In this pursuit, he found robust companions in my children Siddhartha and Tejala, both of who are highly sceptical of “gurus”. My parents in particular have been highly catholic by temperament and I was educated at St Xavier’s School, Delhi and my sibling at the Presentation Convent. We were also closely associated with the church through priests like Bishop Rego and Bishop Remegius and also Mother Teresa. This certainly opened several vistas to my thought process. Among the myriad experiences I have had in life was the visit of Shri Sundar Lal Bahuguna, the noted environmentalist to our home because of my father’s association with FICCI and ASSOCHAM. Appa always rued the fact that he could not complete his doctorate nor join the Indian Administrative Service, a cross he bore all his life. It was ironical that last evening as we stepped out of the hospital, it began to pour. Even the Gods in the empyrean had tears to shed and would be getting ready to welcome Appa (a copy of his favorite Economist magazine in hand). Today his mortal remains lie in the mortuary at the Central Railway Hospital before being consigned to flames in the evening. But when he was physically fit, he flitted between dargah, church and temple in search of the quintessential truth owing allegiance only to financial and intellectual truth. May, his soul rest in eternal peace. For sure, he would now have the chance to discover the eternal truth. “How’s the josh?” the doc asked Father, who mumbled something incomprehensible. Sodium and other electrolytes appeared to be low and the nonagenarian could not distinguish between day and night, between tenebrosity and luminosity, between sanity and insanity. This was the fourth occasion that he was admitted into the ICCU in the last few months. The doctor persisted. Father looked askance; a glazed look in his eyes. He had slumped in bed that afternoon, with BP and pulse not registering. And the oxygen monitor read an ominous zero. For the first time, I saw a flushed look on my mother's face. It was red, not radiant. As devout Hindus, she, my wife and my sister who had come over from Boston switched on the Hanuman Chalisa, the Rudram and the Lalita Sahasranamam in quick succession. The Gods were invoked on the pretentious gizmos to resuscitate a person who appeared to be choked. “How’s the josh?” the doctor enquired once again. Prana levels were ebbing. The patient’s josh was revived partially with the help of a saline drip. With repeated pestilence there was atrophy of veins. But perhaps Almighty God, my unflinching faith in H.H. Sri Sri Ravi Shankar and the resonance of the mantras conjured a Mandrake like magic and he was wheeled in an ambulance to Heartline. “How’s the josh?” Father had recovered partially and a feeble smile played on his emaciated face. Father was administered the Holter Monitor test and the doctor was of the opinion that he would be discharged the next day. “How’s the josh?” Our josh was spirited and we felt relieved. I placed a photograph of the Gods below his pillow beseeching them to be his guardian angels. But the following day the frail body was inflicted by septicaemia. Blisters had formed on his feet as they were exposed to high temperatures when a hot water bag was placed to alleviate pain. Father in the hazy and muggy state felt that a patient on the adjacent bed was his brother who refused to engage in a conversation. My uncle had cracked a century four years back and cast his mortal remains just a few months back. This perhaps had had a deleterious effect on Father’s mind and body. How did our fabled Rishis live for hundreds of years? Pranayama, diet, meditation and no antipathetic or Sisyphean thoughts. That was their josh and the elixir of their lives. Gandhiji once famously said that he would live up to 125 years. That was his josh - his diet, Kriya Yoga learnt from Paramahamsa Yogananda and daily evening satsangs. His Holy Grail of course was non-violence. “How’s the josh?” the doctor asked Father to bolster his courage and conviction. But soon the entourage of specialist doctors recommended a CT scan. The nonagenarian was wheeled out from the hospital to a CT scan centre. That is the state of medicare in the country. Fortuitously the CT scan report suggested atrophy and nothing worse. The result was slowed down reflexes and an inability to swallow food orally. He is now being fed through a nasal pipe. The stripling youngster serving Father is quite distraught that this is the only way to feed him. Father remains incoherent, with an unchanging distant and forlorn look in his eyes. Life in the ICCU for the patient is pathetic and for the kith and kin who attend to him is depressing. We are keeping a vigil outside the hospital, with prayers on our lips and trying to fortify our josh. “How’s the josh?” Well, we attempt to keep it unflagging for optimism is the only key to overcome any misadventure in life.