Father’s Day

It has been 30 years since Dad passed away in his sleep, while I was writing my GRE exam at a remote center in Bangalore. I am not sure what would have happened I got the bad news before going to the test center. If I had missed the exam on that day, it would have a set an entirely new set of events to follow.

As I was shaving this morning, I somehow remembered watching Dad shave every morning. I searched in my old pictures box and wow found a picture of him shaving. I think this was taken in Khurda Road, Orissa Railway quarters.

At that time, I was staying at my Uncle’s house in ChinaWaltair, a suburb of Vizag. Dad was transferred to Khurda Rd, and as there were no good schools according to my Dad, I had to stay back in Vizag. I was in 4th grade (skipped 3rd grade) at Kotak Salesian school by the beach road. Mom used to come to Vizag for summer holidays and Christmas vacation and take me to Khurda Road. Coming back to this picture of Dad shaving, I clearly remember the green metal chocolate box he used for storing his razor (metal one that you put the blade and screw the handle),

Erasmic blades, Old Spice after shave, brush, and cream. The chocolate box cover had the face of a beautiful girl with curly hair, wish I had a picture. He had a small mirror with a foldable stand and it the mirror had a crack in the corner. I use to watch him so many times when he was shaving very much intrigued by the whole process. First he would put little dabs of shaving cream on his face. Then he would dip the brush in water (contained in the green plastic mug) and use it to lather his face. He would then put the blade in the razor and tighten the handle. It was beautiful watch him shave, as each stroke with the razor removed the cream and left a clean skin underneath. I used to ask him when I could start shaving, and he would smile at me saying what’s the hurry. I used to get the blade from him to sharpen my pencils, and once I accidentally cut my finger. It was bleeding and did not want my Dad to know about it. so I put my hand in my shorts pocket, and it turned all red as it was white in color. Dad saw that and his face turned red with anger first and told me never to be afraid of admitting a wrong doing.

Dad was a very popular officer in Railway Protection Force, and always received big send off parties when he was transferred from one place to another. The above picture was taken in Vizianagaram when he was transferred to Santragacchi, a small town close to Howrah. There were many people in his staff who would literally breakdown in tears during these events. He was not only their strict superior officer, but also their legal advisor whenever they got into trouble with administration. I remember him fighting on their behalf, writing up the responses to the inquiries on them, and ensuring that they never lost a rupee or their jobs. There were even guys who would run away from the job and come back after few months asking to be reinstated.

Well, Santragacchi was a notorious place and there was a lot crime in the Railway yards lead by mafia. Dad had lot of death threats, and Mom was really scared for his life. He was tall and strong and being a well trained street fighter in his college days (Oh! that’s another episode), he was not afraid of these hooligans. We were always scared for him what would happen to him when he frequented the Chor Bazaar and went on raids to catch the goondas.

To be continued….