Acha - My tribute to you!

Either we talk of the world famous M-I-L, D-I-L squabbles and quarrels, or we wonder how this duo make life heaven for the sandwiched man. Rarely in a marriage there is any mention of the person called the “father-in-law”. If at all, it is very limited. Or there is quite a bit of character assassination that this particular role goes through. So, when I got married, I too had very less expectations from my own father-in-law.

My hubby and sisters called him “Achan”. And, I followed suit. He was a man of few words. I had attributed this to the facts that we did not know each other’s languages and he must be a closed person. And hence, I don’t think I made any attempt to strike a conversation with him in the initial stages. As I write this post, my eyes are getting moist. If God took away my father at a very early age from me, I did not realize, He had given me this F-I-L who was multiple times what my own father would have been!

In the first 2 years of my married life, his role was very limited. He was staying in his hometown. So, we used to meet only once in 3 months. He would ask cursory questions and we would get on with our chores. Very gradually, I started building my rapport with him. I saw him cleaning the toilet one day and was quite surprised. He had come to visit us for a week then. As soon as he came home, he looked around and started the cleaning process. I did not expect him to clean our toilets as well!

Just while I tried to put this across to him struggling to explain this in his language, he kind of gave an understanding smile and said “You both are working. It is our house. We should not see dignity of labor. It is ok. I must be of some use, after all!” All this my hubby translated later on. I was moved. I started seeing the principles behind this man!

My first son was born and I needed support in raising him. So, my in-laws migrated to “our” house. We, in this generation, the supposedly highly-educated, computer savvy, IT folks do not see most things at face value. Our analysis-paralysis gets applied at the home front too. We are actually meek-minded and we think there are calculations behind every step that people take. We don’t spare our own parents and in-laws also from this suspicion. We cannot think straight. We are used to reading between lines. Simply put, we are not simple…but a bunch of simpletons! What else do you call people who keep sensing hidden agenda behind every move?

I was one! But time taught me (though early on) how sacrificing and selfless my in-laws were. The kinds of sacrifices that they made just to ensure I continued with my career are truly immeasurable. All my guesses about them were absolutely wrong. I was put to shame by their generosity and large-heartedness. Now, I am not sure if I would be saying “they” had it not been for a person like my F-I-L.

Every time there was a tiff in the house, every time my M-I-L and I fought, argued, cried, ranted, my F-I-L was the referee. He would be so just. He would command my M-I-L to shut up. That gave me great pleasure. He would advice me in a very kind tone. He would take me aside and tell me, “You are highly educated (!). You are seeing so much in the world. Your M-I-L is totally ignorant. She knows nothing but the four walls of her house, her only son (my hubby), her two daughters, her husband (in that order). And hence there is no point in making her see reason or rhyme in any kind of a dealing. So, it is better that we decide whatever is good for the family. There are families where the M-I-L & D-I-L cannot even see eye to eye. Fortunately, you both bond very well otherwise. These are trivial things. Can you not just ignore and get on with life?” Now, how would one react to this kind advice? He has never raised his voice even once. But he has always made me see what is right and wrong in a very logical way. He has been extremely patient in handling 2 strong women, both of different ages and groups, very successfully. The family engine was well-oiled by this NLC foreman, who was not a great academician but a sound rationalist and abundantly well-read person.

Not only between his wife and me, he settled scores between my hubby and me, he ensured both his daughters lived a normal life with their husbands. He used to take the right examples and explain any tough concept to one and all at home. Such was his wisdom!

When we try to contact an electrician to fix a fan, he would resist. He will sweat it out and fix it himself. If it was a plumbing problem, he will ensure he sets it right. Some carpentry to be done? He would be right there with his tool-kit. Garden is shabby? Don’t know where to put what in the garden? He was the go-to person. Child not behaving properly? Ask Achan. He will know how to handle. Problems at work? Check with him. He will know what kind of action can help. He was truly a “one-stop-shop” solution for all issues at home.

No one would believe that he had 3 huge ailments – BP, Diabetes and Asthma. He was so active till his last day. Yes. For a man who had been suffering health problems for more than 40 years, the single biggest medication was practicing Yoga and Meditation. Every morning he would perform this yoga/meditation for an hour. And then only have his morning tea. Such discipline is rare to find! Whenever his health goes down, we would recommend we see a doctor. He would decline. He would say, “For such small disturbances if we end up seeing doctors, there is no point at all! Let me treat myself with home remedies.” He himself would tell us when it is time to get to the doctor. And that will be when he cannot take it any further. He did not want us to spend our time, energy and most importantly money on him. There are times when we have feared the worst. But he would pull out all his IV fluids on day 3 and tell us, “Let us not help the hospitals become richer. Discharge me right away.” The next day morning you can find him doing his yoga-as-usual!!!

May be this confidence and conviction that he had about his own health is what made us laid back?! He was active till his last breath. Last week, as ill-luck may have it, while he was all alone in Kerala, he had breathing difficulties and an elevated temperature. He visited the doctor as an outpatient. He called us on a Sunday and said he is getting worse. We could only tell him that he had to get admitted. He did after much pleading and persuasion. He suffered for 2 nights and 2 days in the hospital. The 3rd night in the hospital he passed away peacefully! While we were still traveling to get to his place and be with him as moral support, he did just what he believed in. He did not make us run around. He did not allow us to spend on his medication. He did not stay bed-ridden for even a day. He was moving about till the last day. As we were told by our relatives who were attending on him, “Even when we got him to the ICU, he got down from the stretcher and lay down on the bed himself. He did not expect help.” What do we call this man? Is it an exaggeration to say he was my best friend, great philosopher and unassuming guide?

Kadak...kadak

The hunt continues…

After experimenting with so many maids, we thought we should try out male cooks. We had observed, during our college days, men from Nepal made great cooks. They made titillating dishes as we watched drooling, the affluent gobble up such delicacies. We could neither afford to cook such wonderful meals (students of residential colleges suffer this fate) nor able to try out those yummy food. So, when it came to employing a male cook, we thought that would be a good idea. We were imagining a Nepali cook make hot, soft rotis and mouth-watering side dishes.

It was quite a bit of hunt to get a Nepali cook, I must admit. My better-half went to the extent of checking with watchmen who look like Nepalis to find out if they had their clan looking out for jobs as cooks. Luck (or was it really?!) struck us finally! We got a Nepali cook home and I was truly glad that we zeroed in on one.

He looked a typical Nepali, quite tall and fair-skinned. The initial conversations were pleasant. Anyway, what could be unpleasant about asking him his name and family details! He could speak some broken Hindi. We also tried asking in our disfigured Hindi as many details as possible. We made out that his family was in his hometown (now, don’t ask what/where that was…we could not understand). He had one wife (surprisingly) and 3 children! Boys were in big classes and the girl was small. He wants to earn for them. We had moist eyes on hearing how he managed to stay in a strange place to make this money to fend his family. Until the end of this conversation what we also did not understand was his name! After quite a struggle we got his name, Kadak! Yes. His name was Kadak. Difficult to digest…err..sorry…pronounce.

He said he will make rotis for dinner. My hubby and I were controlling our excitement to eat his fluffy, puffy rotis. So we said, “Ok! Go change your clothes and start work.” We gave him “his” place in our place. He arranged his things neatly. He had a shower. Then, to our surprise, did a pooja. The whole house smelled of the Agarbati fragrance. I was so happy that we not only got a Nepali cook but also a religious one at that. Wow!

He came out of his pooja in a weird shorts and T-shirt. And a handkerchief (which we did not realize was a multi-purpose cloth).  Then he rushed to the kitchen and started making rotis. We were quite impressed so far. Rotis also were not bad. So, we thought, we finally got our catch!

The next day morning he was up early. And my mother-in-law who cannot speak his language or understand what he says had to struggle explaining every detail of the morning chores. She tried hard but gave up. She said he could stand next to her and observe what she does. That way he will pick up. It was quite funny to see her yell at him. She called him “Kadai” in a typical Mallu accent. Did it matter? He would respond in his typical accent (like the mooing of a cow) “Maa”…

Day after day, we saw him stand next to her obediently, hands tied and watch what she was making. He enjoyed her preparations and told us how great a cook and a person she was! He would drink the sambar she makes even before idlis (at least a dozen of them) were served. He would eat like a glutton. He kept praising her sambar skills. We were amused. But still thought we will give him some time. May be one day he will make sambar as delicious as hers!

A week passed by…weekend approached…he was gearing up. We assumed he wanted to astonish us with his Nepali cuisine. Only on that day we had some time to talk to him after his first day. And to our surprise, the guy said he had never cooked a meal in his lifetime. He knew only to make rotis. We could almost hear our hearts break out of disappointment! Through the week we were assuming that we had a Sanjeev Kapoor in the making. We thought he was trying hard to get an understanding of our cuisine and taste buds!

On top of this, he said he had to have an afternoon siesta since he wakes up early.  We observed this trend anyway for a week. He used to go to bed earlier than us. He said he wanted to take one day off every weekend. He wanted to go out on Sat’day nights and said he will be back on Monday early mornings.

For about 2 months – about 8 weekends – we had different interesting episodes. He obviously knew neither the location nor the language. So, as expected, first weekend, we did not see him until Monday evening. One of the weekends, we insisted he returns by Sunday night. He did come, but was sloshed. And he slept outside our house. We found him the next morning snoring on the lawns.

To add salt to the wound, he picked up quarrels with my maid as well. She was fuming seeing this guy who did nothing but eat 3 courses of meals and 2 to 3 huge glasses of “chai”, had every weekend off and on top of it earned a handsome! She used  to scoff at him and keep abusing him in the local language. Thankfully he did not understand. He used to give that dumb smile (or maybe an intelligent one) which none of us understood and mumble something in Nepali.

At the end of the eighth week, we did not see even an iota of progress with Kadak. With our bubble burst big time, we decided to throw him out! End of Kadak…no more Nepali…no more men cooking. Enough was enough! Kadak taught us how “kadak” it was to employ men in household chores.

Now, was that not enough of a Kadak, kadak?