Daddy the Perfectionist

Daddy was the perfectionist I knew from my childhood. Throwing parties was a necessary pass time in the Indian Army, and daddy’s parties were just… perfect.

I remember we lived in Allahabad, in this huge bungalow with lawns surrounded by flower beds and beyond this was a vast expanse of land that was tilled and sown with whatever caught the fancy.

Daddy had once organized a ‘Dosa Party’ which had all the other officers and their families drooling for more(North Indians think, we southies eat dosas 24* 7). Dad had the setup arranged out on the lawns with Chinese lanterns put up for lighting. The effect was surreal that night as people milled about on the lawns enjoying Dosas, vada’s, and all other yummy dishes churned out by mom and her entourage of helpers and a cook who supported her. That was the only time a cook was allowed in mom’s kitchen as Dad hated anybody else cooking for him other than mom.

Dad’s parties were not boring as he made sure there was no lull in the conversation. By nature he was not as good a conversationalist as a narrator but party time was special. Especially with a peg or two in his belly he became the jolly good man we loved to be with. At that time all bachelors in the regiment were ‘sweeties’ for him and I became the ‘nana’ he loved.

There were many more parties he organized in the capacity of being the 2IC (2^nd in Command). In fact his organizational skills were well known and he would always be asked to lead the way for this purpose. He conducted the sports day once at the div level (the hierarchy in army goes like this – Battery, Regiment, Division…and so on). The event was a great success, and I was so bloody proud of my dad as he stood on the podium with the chief guest in the end. What I did not understand was that, why did daddy not give the vote of thanks instead of letting Shahane uncle to do it (that was a another colleague of dad’s Major Shahane). As usual my dad stood only in the backgrounds after the work was done. He was not the one to bask in the glory.

Parties at home meant – a headache for mom, shining brassware, gleaming crockery, new table cloths, freshly laundered bedspreads, exquisite flower arrangements, carpets well dusted…..in fact for that day we would even be scared to sleep on our beds. The whole atmosphere including the burning incense made us feel like we were in a place of worship. Even after dad retired the routine was followed the only difference being – we were the sepoys taking his orders. I became the master – brass- shiner and dad used to nod his head in assent.

It is not that dad did all this to win the approval of anybody….in fact as far as I remember our Christmas breakfast was a celebration in itself.

Before we kids got up our parents would arrange for the breakfast. Dad would be in charge of arranging the table and mom the cooking. Dad would bring out the Bangladesh tea cups (I have inherited those, though now they are good enough only for display), wine glasses, fresh napkins and the final outcome would be a table fit for the queen. We would quietly eat our cakes, clink our wine glasses and feel like royalty themselves.

Dad’s hospitality was well known in the family circle. From the welcome drink to the paan beeda in the end…everything would be perfect. Even my friends who would come every Christmas remember the good food dished out year after year along with the war stories they loved to hear.

Dad and mom made it a point to be there for every birthday of my kids. Dad would help me out in the arrangements. He once brought thermocole cut-outs from Bangalore and fixed them on the walls himself. He showed keen interest to know how I would arrange the décor for that day and make useful suggestions.

With age his contribution would be limited to giving instructions…there he would be instructing and I following him to the ‘T’ and suddenly I would be transported to my childhood days thinking “This was how it was during ‘those’ days”.

When it came to his 70^th birthday he wished to celebrate it with the same grandeur and of course we all helped him do that. Seeing his thrill on receiving gifts I wondered if he felt like the boy he once had been. After the party as we all sat there in the dining room opening each gift he was keen to know who- gave- what. A gift given by his brother (a framed verse on dad) touched him a lot. As he sat there chewing on a toothpick and watching all of us uncover each gift, he seemed relaxed …contented in life.

As I watched my brothers and Beschi arrange for dad’s funeral making sure the lace table cloth was put on, the carpet was clean, the flowers were well arranged…and the many other details that went into making his funeral one of the best I witnessed, I knew they did for him, the man that he was….the perfectionist. There was no other way we could bid him goodbye.