“Idudhan paasam!” exclaimed Joseph the watchman who had silently walked into the room, as he saw Dad sleeping on my lap. I smiled at the genuine delight on his face to see his master being taken care of. “Joseph, how come you still work for Dad?” I asked him, curious why he chose to work at such a menial job when both his sons, software engineers, were well off and wanted him to quit. “As long as he is alive, I will always serve him”, was the instant reply. Dad had rescued Joseph from refugee status and given him a home and livelihood decades ago.

This feeling was not unusual among the people who worked for my father. He was a truly incredible human being, and I consider it the greatest privilege to be his daughter and have the benefit of his teachings and love in my life. The concept of agency was something I learned many years later, but he truly embodied it. He never doubted he could do anything. He leaped straight into the how.

Later, I asked Dad what the secret of inspiring such devotion among his employees was, many of whom had worked for more than 40 years with him. I had started a company, and it was a major question in my mind. I instantly regretted asking him because I could see the pain he felt in trying to talk. But he answered succinctly and brilliantly, “humanitarian consideration and adequate remuneration”. That was my dad. He could drill down to the core concept so quickly on any topic.

My earliest memories of Dad were of him picking me up and hugging me tightly. It was a very special relationship. I always felt his unconditional love. He was always there for me. Whatever question or problem I had, I could walk into his room at home or office and sit down, and he would put down whatever he was doing and focus all his attention on me. And he would solve it for me. He could do anything.

He made sure we, his children, had the best education and life experiences possible. If we were struggling in school he would never lecture us. Instead, he would sit down with us and understand what the problem was. He set up a study room for us with desks and regular study times. If we had difficulty understanding a subject, he would find the best tutors for us. I was failing first grade, and I remember the discussions he had with the teachers in his social group. He switched my school, and I never looked back. He delighted in our successes and set high standards for us. If we got the first rank, but scored a 97 on the exam, he’d want us to aim for a 100 next time! He would admit that he was not into reading, but he filled our house with books. Time Life books that introduced us to paleontology, writing, history, science etc. He subscribed to Time, Newsweek, Readers Digest and German magazines. He had amazing self-improvement books in his library – from Napoleon Hill’s Think and Grow Rich and Dale Carnegie’s How to Win Friends and Influence People to BKS Iyengar’s Light on Yoga. He had taught himself yoga and could do
a sirsasana even when he was 65. He had theories on everything, from the definition of luck (luck = integrity + hard work + intelligence), to why people felt a certain way. He would even discuss at length with the cooks how to improve making yogurt or chapathis.

Our education was not limited to school. When my brothers were interested in table tennis, he hired the national railways coach to coach them and even converted part of our house to host a table tennis camp. He would buy Meccano sets and get on the floor with us to build things. He would wake up at 4:30 AM to take my brothers to the best tennis coach in the city, because that was the only time slot the coach had. We got music lessons and he arranged for Jay and me to perform at his social events. All this while he was building a Chartered Accountant’s practice from scratch into the best in town.

The best of all were the trips. He would plan a month-long annual trip with us. He had a road map of India under the glass on his desk at home. Our job was to get tracing paper and trace the road route for the entire trip. He showed us how to use a divider to measure the distance between two stops, and calculate the driving time after we converted the distance to kilometers, using average speed and mealtimes, sightseeing times etc. built in. Every road trip was different, exploring different parts of India. It was very exciting because we were so involved in the whole process. Mom’s job was to pack for the whole family. We would also take one of our cousins along, and when the trip started, he would show us how he logged the odometer reading at each point. One of the more exciting memories I have is how he would stop and load a gun when we arrived at the entrance to the Dhimbam forest at night. Once he even let us children shoot into the air because the gun had not been used for a long time! This desire to travel never left him. Once when he was visiting me in Texas, we went to a party where our friends celebrated Dad and Mom’s anniversary. There he met a friend of ours who had work in Alaska. The next thing I heard was “I’m going to Alaska with Karunakar next week”! Karunakar came back from the trip saying he was blown away that Dad wanted to learn to ski at his age.

His focus on education and adventure was amazing because he didn’t come from a family that prized education or adventure. Simple farming folks, it was the tradition to put the boys to work in the farm after 5th grade. Dad was allowed to stay in school because his teacher made a special trip home to persuade my grandparents to let him continue – he was that good. Even so, before school started, he would make sure that the fields were prepared for work before the worker came, by turning on the water etc. He was always interested in streamlining operations. Our home ran like clockwork. He even designed water and electrical systems that kicked in when there was a shortage of water and power.

“You should always understand why” he would tell me, even when I was a young child. He never wanted me to obey a rule blindly, but rather to understand the rationale behind it. I think that was his biggest gift to me. Whenever I was able to decode an arcane tax law or figure out a solution to a difficult problem, I would send a silent thanks to Dad for showing me that everything can be understood logically.

His entire life was an inspiration to me, especially the story of how he handled adversity. When he was about to enter college, he faced a major challenge. He had set his heart on an engineering degree. There was just one last set of final exams to clear, and he was almost guaranteed a seat in engineering. Just a week before his exams, he was removing a straw from a sugar cane crusher when his right hand was pulled into the machine. His thumb and little finger were damaged but spared, and his middle three fingers were amputated. With his engineering hopes crushed because disabled students were disqualified at that time, he still had the monumental task of passing his handwritten exams to get into college. “I stayed up nights to practice writing with my left hand” he told me. In a week, he was able to write all his exams with his left hand, within the allotted time, and stood first in the exams! Many times in my life when I faced overwhelming difficulties I would remember how Dad faced them and move on to find a solution instead of railing against fate.

Dad loved technology and embraced new things as soon as he heard about them. We had movie cameras and tape recorders long before anyone else we knew had them. We watched TV through VCR’s before TV transmission came to Coimbatore. Our cars were equipped with cassette players and amazing sound systems. He would have loved the world today. I feel a twinge of sadness whenever I come across exciting new technology. Dad would have loved this, I tell Vish often, and he comforts me with a hug as he agrees.

Above all was his ability to dream big and make those dreams come true. I realize now how lucky I was that I spent my childhood soaking in everything he had to teach me. His belief in me gave me the confidence to take up any challenge in this world. He told me once “I wouldn’t push you so hard if I didn’t know that you were capable of it”. That single sentence has made me push myself every day of my life.

A century after his birth, Dad’s influence remains as vital and vibrant as ever. Though he left us in 2008, the lessons he taught, the love he extended, and the integrity he lived by are woven deeply into the fabric of our family. As we celebrate his centenary, we don’t just look back at a remarkable life well-lived. Led by his example, we look forward, carrying his light into the future.