Years ago, when Director Sankar produced a seminal classic 'Indian', starring Kamal Hassan in two contrasting roles, the film caught the attention of the public, amongst other reasons, for Kamal's make up. A man in the late 40s was neatly transformed as a man in the late 70s. The creases and crinkles on the cheeks, the skin folds elsewhere seemed so real. However, what attracted my attention was the hair style of the old man. His silvery, gleaming hair, always neatly combed reminded me of another old person. My thaththa. While he went by the name Natesan, not many dared to call him, even affectionately as Natesa Thaththa. He was simply 'thaththa' for all. For me, he was the only 'Thaththa', since I had lost my paternal grandfather even before my birth.
Well, whenever I refer to my 'thaththa', it should be complemented with a reference about his wife, my paatti. By the time I was mature enough to understand them, they were well into their sunset years. However, I could see the distinctive difference in their personality. They were like the peas in the pods, never the same, yet together. Paatti was always the domineering character. She always wore a mask of dominant nature to her face, to the extent that one could easily suspect that the husband is merely a hen pecked one. Or that's what I had thought. How wrong I was!
Later events proved how assertive thaththa was. After his death, paatti lost the command in her voice. Her so-called authoritarian look was lost completely. Her eyes failed to portray her officious nature. She looked completely lost. So she remained until her own death…
Looking back, I could realize the role my thaththa would have played in shaping up the destiny of not only my paatti but also many others. Most of his grandsons and granddaughters, many not have realized what exactly they owed to him. He was a silent teacher for all of us. Teacher, yes. Silent? Not quite. As any retired Headmaster would do to his third generation, he left us a language legacy. For all the grandsons and granddaughters spread around the world, he sowed a seed. A seed of learning English correctly. Unlike any other schoolteacher, he pinched us rarely. He had no 'ruler' or 'scale' with him…yet his firm ways helped us to learn the nuances of the language.
Though I was not fortunate enough to catch him young, I could distinctly recall his interests in finer aspects of life. If our wives have complaints on our overbearing interests in games like cricket and tennis, they may have to probably blame him. I didn't catch him play those games, but his expertise in these games left us with rich knowledge. If any 'pozhudu pogadha' scientist is willing to find out the reasons for most of his progenies reading 'The Hindu' newspaper from top to bottom, the scientist would easily trace the genes back to thaththa. Though he was quite knowledgeable, he was never opinionated. He would happily discuss many topics with us, from Venkatragavan's fielding to Borg's drop volleys.
In his last days, his locomotor senses started to deteriorate and his mobility curtailed. It was sad to see the frail figure confined to the house. For a man who was affectionately called as 'Loco Thaththa', his 'imprisonment' caused much consternation amongst the relatives. Even when he moved to Thirunindravur, what was then a god-forsaken place, to be with his eldest daughter, he silently endured his pain and never uttered any complaints. His death was as silent as his personality was.
However, as one of the grandsons, I strongly believe that he has left us a different legacy. No, I am not talking about the inheritance of his language skills. What we had learnt was only miniscule. The one thing which he never taught us was the one thing we should have bequeathed from him. His ability to be silent when even some of his sons-in-law were ruffling him. His silence was never a sign of frailty. I never knew if he had a gift of gab. But his choice of words, however few it is, were strong enough to convince and convey the messages. Thaththa, you must have taught us these things. Nowadays, these are hard and tough qualities to come by. Why don't you make a come back?
- Your loving grandson
N.Rajaram
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