The memories of our late father, M N Jayaraman, are permanently engraved in our minds. He was a stickler for personal hygiene and always had a perfectly groomed appearance. His grooming set comprised Bharat safety razor blades, Godrej shaving round, an alum block, Lifebuoy soap and Pond’s Dreamflower Talc. He reluctantly added Old Spice aftershave lotion to his range in later years. Sunlight or 501 bars formed his laundry detergent. However, he refused to be swayed by the newer products and remained loyal to the brands he already trusted.
Father had a routine of reading his favourite newspaper each morning. Bengaluru only had three newspapers back then – Deccan Herald, The Indian Express and the Hindu. Dad liked to pass the time by reading the comic strips at the end of the daily newspaper or the back pages of the Illustrated Weekly of India (which he got from the office library). He’d cut out the comic strips on the weekends and assemble them into episodes. Being a sports buff, he kept tabs on the progress of the Indian hockey team and the heavyweight boxer Cassius Marcellus Clay (later Muhammad Ali).
Dad would don his all-white office uniform and pedal down to work on his shining Raleigh bike – a wedding present from his in-laws. He had an incredible range of cufflinks to keep the ends of the sleeves together. Dad folded the bottom of the pants and secured them with a metal clip, thus preventing them from getting soiled. With his hair slicked back with coconut oil and his shoes polished with Cherry Blossom shine, he looked the part.
Dad was obsessed with gardening, and he would bring a variety of seeds and seedlings for the garden. He sauntered around the yard, planting seeds, making compost, transferring pots, and caring for his ‘green friends’. When his labour paid off and the plants bloomed and bore fruits or flowers, it greatly pleased him. He had a long iron trunk containing a mind-boggling assortment of gardening tools he owned, and he cleaned and worshipped them on Ayodhya Pooja day. He would observe this ritual flawlessly each year. Dad’s pant pockets always jingled with small change, and he generously parted with them to beggars. Portrait sketching and pet keeping were his other favourite activities, and they gave him immense pleasure.
But my mother, Padmakumari’s death, in May 2007 was a blow he couldn’t recover from, and he no longer had any interest in life. Her memories filled his thoughts while he spent extended hours in the pooja room. The evening before he died, dad said he had trouble sleeping and looked exhausted. When my younger brother Prem Prakash tried to take him to the doctor, he shrugged it off and said he would be fine. Sadly, this was the last meeting with my beloved father before death took him.
Did dad have a hunch that the curtain call was near? His remark that he was leaving town hours before his death raised eyebrows. He demanded the maidservant put the house in order and beautify the yard with rangoli. The end came suddenly on the evening of New Year’s eve in 2007. Right before he left us, he was curled up on the couch with the TV remote, perhaps trying to turn on the magic box. His death brought a nightmarish end to the year!
