While tributes pour in for my father and we as a family deal with our emotions, it is overwhelming to be reminded of what a great man he was. My Life’s Umbrella is the best phrase to describe him — when there was too much heat and pressure, he was the cover, when there was an emotional outpour, he was the protector, when I fumbled, he was my walking stick.
While he was a “Modi”, he surnamed us Tathagath and Amritanshu so that we find our own independent identities in life. While he was a science graduate, he regretted that he could not study further. He knew that providing us a good education would be his best investment. When I made it to Oxford to study law, he asked me to check if it was spam mail. Such was his grounded and practical approach in life.
Sending us to a boarding school in Ajmer, making sure he visited us every two months, dutifully traveling for our annual functions, celebrating every achievement, reminding us of verses from the Bhagavad Gita, was his way of telling us that we meant the world to him.
His day would be long, but he made sure the family ate dinner together. He would ask us about our day and guide us, making sure he was not spoon feeding us. When we went to study/work away from him, he spoke on the telephone every day, always concerned, listening patiently.
He reminded us that one inherits the family name, but life’s experiences have to be learned and earned, through toil, dedication, patience, sacrifice and failure and there were no shortcuts.
He was a hard worker, disciplined to the core and a stickler for good habits. Party leaders used to complain that he would escape backstage before a meeting, open his dabba, finish two rolls and come back quietly. A rumour once spread that he loved karelas. For an entire month, wherever he went, he was served karela!
He was soft but blunt, sharp but not impulsive. My mother often wondered why he was a politician, soft spoken as he was, nice and unassuming. I often wondered if there was a better field for his talent. But he was never in doubt. He was a doer, proud of his actions, never scared to fail, but quiet, observant, thoughtful, patiently listening to criticism, self-correcting and seeking ways to help Bihar.
As a politician, he often annoyed people with his straight-forward approach. He ended up saying “no” to things he could not deliver, and never gave false assurances, even if it meant facing people’s ire.
He had no tax background, in fact he was one of those who feared mathematics. But when the opportunity knocked to be the finance minister of the state or head the GST Empowered Committee, he took up the challenge head on. One had to “get a knack of the subject, then nothing was impossible”, he would say. Seeking recommendations to read on a subject, ordering school books, speaking to experts (on whichever side of the spectrum), questioning them with child-like curiosity, cross questioning, redialing, at times apologising for calling again — till he was convinced.
While serving the government, he often returned home with an excited smile to tell us about a new scheme or project for the people, be it school-dress for girls, bicycles for school-children, roads being built. His conversations with us reflected his love for Bihar, its culture and its people and how being in the government was a way to give back to society, which had given him everything.
Once in late 2000, he came back home agitated and said, my life is for my party and my state. I don’t love posts and I carry my resignation letter with me. I will serve my party and country till my last breath. That was his commitment and dedication to his party and to the values he was trained in.
As he realised that he was suffering from cancer, he was shaken but didn’t give up. While he won the first round after surgery, the second round came as a shock. He realised that life had been shortened, but he made sure it didn’t affect his work or party. Quietly and in pain after every chemotherapy session, he took the first flight to Nagpur to remain in Chhindwara for the state elections, or was up till late night for party meetings.
When time seemed to shrink even more, Papa was sad, but assured us that he would fight. I once asked him what he wished for and he said he had got everything in life; love, affection and, most of all, respect. His life was complete, with no regrets.
I think destiny’s timeline was on his side. On April 3 he tweeted about his cancer and returned to Patna one final time. Over the next three days, every person who was associated with him for over half a century, paid him their respects. By the fourth day, his condition deteriorated and we flew him back to Delhi and admitted him to AIIMS, where he remained till his last breath.
Before passing away, he asked us for chocolate and ice cream, his favourites in an otherwise disciplined life.
On the 12th evening, he got up suddenly and asked to switch on the news to see the PM’s rally in Patna, his karmabhoomi. That was the last that he saw, perhaps satisfied for all that he had done and achieved.
Thereafter, he slept and quietly passed away.
Through all the upheavals in life, his faith in the Sangh, belief in his party’s ideals, excitement in nurturing young talent, and hope for a bright future for Bihar remained intact. He was a shy, soft, dedicated and courteous man. His gentleness was his strength, which was sometimes perceived as his weakness.
Now when I see the overflow of emotions, tributes, stories from across the political spectrum of how he influenced people and how he was a part of so many lives, I realise that it is Bihar that fueled him, shaped his character, gave him his sense of purpose.
While his journey continues, in this world and another, I am sure he will continue to do what he loved the most, serving his beloved country and its people.
Thank you, Papa. You were our hero. We will cherish you, always.
The writer is an Advocate on Record in the Supreme Court of India
