Daddy

July 29, 2025July 29, 2025Posted in Delhi, Of Family & FriendsTagged anniversary, Daddy, death, memoriesLeave a comment

It’s been 17 years since.

By the time I reached home he was dead. Traces of white still there on the right side of his face – under the jaw and on his neck. He had finished shaving half his face, the other half still with the stubble of the day before shining in dried shaving cream. He was lying on the warm cement floor with nothing under his head; must have been put there by the neighbours who were standing around him. I didn’t like it and wanted to put him on the settee where he would snooze in the afternoons. That July was much warmer, no rains that year. Sitting in a corner, mother was delirious and wailing. Grief is a river, it must run, I didn’t console her. The neighbourhood doctor, still by his side, got up and held my hand offering condolences. That morning of July 29th I had driven like a maniac only with the hope I would be able to say, ‘Bye Dad’. But no, like always he was in a hurry.

Photo: Daddy (in black jacket) posing for a photo from the jharokha of his house in Lahore. Don’t miss the beautiful cinquefoil arch at the entrance to the house (bottom left) and the lotus on it. The lakhori brick structure has stayed in tact for over 85 years since its construction.

Dad’s Paper knife

February 9, 2025Posted in Art, HeritageTagged 1950s, Art, dad, Daddy, device, Father, office, paperknifeLeave a comment

A Letter Opener, Letter Knife or a Paper Knife was a fairly common device found on almost every office table during the 1940s. It used to be a straightforward blunt blade of metal to cut-open sealed and gummed envelopes. I found this one among a punching machine, a pin cushion, a stapler, a bloating roller pad, a few glass paperweights, a pen holder and various other table items in my dad’s office after he died. This was really fancy for those times. The obverse and the inverse sides of the promotional paper knife, was probably used as a give-away for cycle buyers by Perryson Cycle & Parts company in India. It is pretty much ‘usable’ even today though the mermaid-like fluke (the tail) of the knife is missing, possibly broken, in ‘handling’. With her high cheekbones and curls, this shapely-Greek-goddess-like-sensation must have been a handful for both the secretary and the boss. I don’t think these guys were missing anything in those days. “Dad, this is going to the museum of memories.”

To a Mirror, posthumously

March 14, 2024April 5, 2024Posted in DelhiTagged Books, Daddy, death, family, Father, fiction, home, memories, Mirror, Poetry, thrillerLeave a comment

Father died at home, in his house
looking himself in the mirror;
guiding the razor upside-down on his thin face,
pulling wrinkled skin over shrunken cheekbones,
making faces while shaving; grinning,
upsetting, teasing, and taunting the mirror,
Just then a heart-attack took him in minutes;
And the Mirror captured his soul.

The Mirror was fixed on the wall
facing the kitchen, where mother worked.
She kept her distance from the mirror,
feeling sad and scared of looking in it –
finally, covering it with a towel that father used.

Father owned the house where he died.
‘Krishna Kutir’, the house was named
after my mother, who sold it ten years later
and passed the money to his heirs.

No Father, No House. No Mirror. All gone.
A lot more went with it, my innocence, my youth.
We all grew up in it – a sister, two brothers,
mother, father – and the house itself,
which had come by chance, really.
Father had no money to buy it.
He would say. ‘I was lucky’. Yes, he was.
Indeed, lucky for an orphan and a refugee
to own a house in the capital.

For sure, those days he was lucky,
and happy too, having got a raise in salary.
He also won two lotteries in six months.
First, a ‘lucky draw’ where his name was picked
and a small flat allotted to him for small money.
Second, a ‘cash prize’ for writing a slogan
for a cigarette brand of the working class.
He used the money to part-pay the flat.
Would you believe, there was a time
when one was rewarded to smoke!
Very Lucky!

Like his income, the house too was
low income. LIG Flat they called it.
Dad was proud, ‘I made it like a bee,’
he once told me looking into the mirror.
He saved for it, every paisa he could
like a bee secreting to make a hive –
cutting on his smokes, eats, and bus fare;
cycling to work eight miles one way.

Mother sold the house as it had her name.
The mirror went with the house.
Outside the house, there was a name plate
faded, nailed to the wall, having survived
forty years of elements, envy, and evil-eye.

When Ma moved, father stayed behind
in his house. He didn’t move, he couldn’t.
His soul had been seized by the Mirror.

Not everything died with father, a lot survived.
His dreams, his books, his letters, his diaries
and the Mirror on the soiled verandah wall
from which his face followed us everywhere.

Ma brought all she could, tears & trauma in tow
and the fading nameplate, ‘Krishna Kutir’.
I, for one, couldn’t unhook the Mirror
Father held it tight.

— R, March 27, 2024

Last Love Letter

September 7, 2023September 10, 2023Posted in DelhiTagged cheque, Daddy, LoveLetter, MaLeave a comment

Daddy’s last love letter to Ma. I don’t think he typed or wrote another piece to her. This must have been less than a month before he passed away. We found the letter and the blank signed cheque in one his diaries. The cheque was duly handed over to the newspaper vendor; who initially refused to accept the money and later, reluctantly accepted it. It was not a small amount. Daddy subscribed to nearly 16 newspapers hand-delivered to him at home each morning, besides 8 to 10 magazines. I quote the letter as is and also add the scanned image of the same.

Dearest Krishna ji

As was desired by you (the) other day in view of my not keeping fit as to what generally I pay per month to the newspaper vendor & so being my life uncertain as we both visualise & so I am enclosing herewith the cross cheque by filling the maximum amount which I generally pay him per month’ which you can handover to him in the event of my going from this world. If I go by the end of any month or if in between the month, the refund can be sought from him or can be foregone as you deem fit as I do not want to leave this little burden on you as you have already done a lot morally, physically & financially, and so this. Only pay him my cheque as per the practice.

I also owe you a lot in other a/c. (account) for which I shall also leave a blank cheque sometime later, which can be utilised for the purpose it has been written as while going I wish to wash the charge levied on me. Cheque enclosed is blank duly signed. (hand-written sentence added to typed letter).

So far I remember I have never asked you for any money / anything despite my being best partner in life right from Shadipur times, not even some change even anytime whether I have the money with me or not & so please excuse me for all this trouble & agony which may cause you.

With lots of love, [Pray for your long life to serve all] (hand written)

Loving husband,
/ signed in hand
Paul, as ever

Mrs. Krishna Arora,
Delhi.

Encl: one cheque