My Dadan

Dearest Koko, 

It is so difficult to write about a person you have never known.

A person who has existed only in photographs and very indistinct stories. My mother’s father, my Dadan, is a figure like that for me – a person shrouded in mystery. Yet I think it is important to piece together this very fractured jigsaw.

When we were very young all that we knew or were told was that he died at sea and the family was not able to see his body after the demise. They just received a telegram and that was that. No one liked to speak about the incident or about him at all, and we were quick to learn that it was a raw nerve not to be touched. But he was not just that - not just a person who died at sea - he was so much more, and I think I would have loved to know him and be his friend. The first couple of things which come to mind when I begin to stitch this together are of course the smiling face in the photographs, the handsome man in a uniform, the aviators, the fountain pen with his name engraved which I inherited, the small pocket book with photographs of his favorite Hollywood stars. Each of these has a story and I will tell you what I know.

When I was younger, we had a ritual of staying in mamabari during vacations. Me and my cousins (my aunt's children) would descend upon the Bhowanipore house and wreak havoc for a few days, looting Mummum's (my grandmother's) carefully saved pickles on the terrace, or constantly demanding food or some such. During these days, there would be long and laborious afternoons where Mummum would darken the room by drawing all curtains in hope that these tiny devils may be put down. But we would lie down on the bed and constantly speak about this, that and the other. 

During one such afternoon,  I was with Mummum and I demanded that she tell me about Dadan - what was he like, what did he like to do - was he funny or was he angry? Mummum was always very patient with all our demands and that day I saw a very soft glow in her eyes when she recounted what he was like. He was a kind man, he prized his family above all else, he loved his children and his brothers who also lived with them. He was also exceptionally romantic as he always remembered to get a special gift for her whenever he would return from his trips abroad. The last time when he travelled he had got a Yardley talc which still sat on a dusty shelf. This is the best that my memory serves me, recently when I asked Mummum she was so lost, she could not even string together one sentence about him, but that's a story for another day.

He was a radio officer and his voyages would keep him away for a minimum of 6 months at a time. But when he was home, he was the most caring person. He would insist that Mummum sleep in and he would wake up early and make the four children get ready for school, making their breakfast and packing their lunches. Yes, he could cook, and quite well too. Once when he was back he took the entire family for a few months to stay in Darjeeling - staycation, anyone? He would also let the children pose in his uniform and click the photographs himself - below is my mother:

Obsessive story collector that I am, my enquiries did not stop with Mummum. I would go downstairs to ChotDadu, who was Dadan's youngest brother. He was always tinkering with some electrical device or other in his little workshop on the ground floor. Unending wires and microphones and radios were always around him. So while he was soldering something, I would catch him and ask. As a brother he was quite senior to ChotDadu so he was more of a father figure  - stern and serious. But the two of them shared the love for cinema and Dadan would get these glossy photographs of Hollywood leading ladies and gentlemen which ChotDadu would painstakingly stick on to a pocket book. Perhaps to get rid of me he gave me this small book full of Shirley Temple and Greta Garbo miniatures. Sadly I have lost this after moving multiple places but I really loved that book. 

I was so upset to have lost this, but to make up (and also because I am such a good kid) Mummum gave me Dadan's pen - my first Parker. Though damaged, I've never seen a more beautiful color on a pen and it sits in my locker, before any gold or diamonds. 

I guess my love for sea and any ship/voyage related adventure stems from wanting to know what kind of a life he would have led. I would devour Treasure Island, Moby Dick, Mutiny on the Bounty and many more hoping to catch a glimpse of what it may be like. Also, my fear of the ocean, in the same breath. Here's a photo of him and my aunt on a bring your daughter to work day:

 

The news of his passing was delivered a day before or on the morning of Mahalaya. So I've always seen this distaste of celebrating the festival amongst my mother's side of the family. After his passing Mummum had a real challenge at hand bringing up four children all on her own. But I think he is looks at us, especially her and is so happy for what she has achieved. 

Many many years ago, Mummum once said that the day when he was to return she would always be pacing the long balcony which overlooked Chakraberia Road, the children loitering about around her legs, and when he would get off the taxi and take his cap off and look up, she would see that his smiling eyes looked directly into hers, and his smile would broaden. I'm sure that's the smile he smiles now even. 

Love,

Ma