the head of the family - my badaapa

I used to often say in jest, "my family is a village and my village is my family" referring to the ten-fifteen households of 'Mohanty Sahi' of our Chhanaghara-Kushamati village, though there were fewer Mohantys than 'Das'es (our family name). It always felt like a big large family-village, while growing up, in this relatively modern village, just on the outskirts of the railway town of Jatani, which was just on the outskirts of the capital town Bhubaneswar. We were all a part of the same family tree and while the parents and especially grandparents had the exact nature of relationships - who got adopted by who, who married into who, who moved out and settled where; for us children it rarely mattered. We used to run around, from one house to the other, play in fields together, stole mangoes and guavas from each other's backyards and celebrated all major festivals as one big family. Everyone knew what was happening with everyone. Everyone was related to everyone. Few years back Kali Badabapa (elder uncle) created a family tree all the way from Anam Das (literally someone without a name) to our generation (with my and my cousins names) typed out with pictures. Badabapa used to say we don't know when this first person came to this village and where from; whether he was a man or god; but we owe it to him to remember him and for future generations to know about him. Hence, he did this meticulous job of capturing the entire family tree and relationships.

My grandfather was the youngest of his brothers and one of the youngest of his generation. They all had their set routines and mostly kept to themselves and one could very well predict where each one of them would be at a particular time of the day. We knew this for sure; it was critical for us to time our trips to gardens or pick the place for mischiefs and games. We needed to know where they would not be! In my father's generation, Kali Badabapa was the eldest in the village and most respected and revered. His father was the eldest among the grand-fathers. And yes, everyone in their generation was addressed as grandfather and everyone in my father's generation was addressed as badabapa (elder uncle) or dada (younger uncle) depending on the relative age. Also, in keeping with those times, there were at least six or seven brothers and sisters in almost every family. The age gap between the brothers and sisters, the age at which they got married and had children vis-a-vis their next generation created some interesting situations. There were uncles who were younger than brothers and sisters older than aunts. To illustrate, the elder children of some of my second cousins (my nephews and nieces) were in fact as old or even older to me. Clear ? Try this. A typical village cricket match score board might read:

Pupu - 4 runs : caught - Chungu (cousin brother), bowled - Dhunda (uncle)

The first story has to be about my birth. Father was posted away somewhere in Odisha (most probably Puri) as a part of his transferable job as OAS. It was the trio of Badabapa, my grandmother and my uncle who took my pregnant mother in an autorickshaw from the village to the Railway Hospital in the nearest town of Jatani. The doctor in-charge there was on leave and the emergency doctor refused to take up this delivery case which was starting to look complicated. It was the month of December and it was getting late, dark and cold. Badabapa decided to take the motley group and head to the District Hospital at Khurda and that is where I was born in the wee hours of the morning. My grandmother used to always narrate a story how I was born the size of a mice - she would always open up her palms to show ‘this is how large this boy was when born and then by Lord Gatiswara’s (Shiva, our village deity) grace once he took in a few breaths, he swelled up to normal size. My mother clearly never believed in the story that her son, born to the size of mice, grew instantaneously after inhaling air and moisture. Badabapa, also confirmed my mother’s version as she was his favorite, almost like a daughter, though the traditional customs require a more formal degree of deference between them. My mother later told me he would always enquire about my health, medicines I was taking, advising my mother to either increase or decrease the dosage etc. How does one even think of thanking someone for this? How does one thank his own blood, for one’s life?

In all the hustle-bustle, fun and memories of village life, one picture of Badabapa that remains firm is that of a man of principles, who had always the interest of the family, village and community paramount. The very sense of right and wrong was determined for many of us by what Badabapa said, advised or decided. If he decided for something, that must be right. Such was his righteousness and fairness that even those elder to him (my grandfather and other grandfathers) would consult him. He was always there in the times of crisis and grief; of his immediate family or otherwise. He was always happy with the progress and success of everyone. He was deeply committed to the village school and its welfare; he was the official and unofficial head of the village committee and would work out matters for the benefit of all, whether related to health or sanitation. When I received the National Balshree Award 1997 from the President of India many people, known and unknown, wished me on many occasions, at school, at Delhi and at home. But the memory of Badabapa pulling me closer to his chest and exclaiming "..well done! you have upheld the name of the clan..", would remain strongly etched on the sands of my memory. I can almost feel his red-checkered gamuchha, white dhoti and droplets of sweat on his bare chest even today.

He and his wife, Maa (again, this was a universal name for all children) were the ideal son and daughter-in-law. Having served bed-ridden parents for nearly two decades with love, affection and fortitude. Most grandmothers (including mine) who as mothers-in-law always had a complaint or two about their daughters-in-law (our mothers and aunts) would never tire of praising Badabapa and Maa. Such was the nature of relationships, that Maa used to call my father 'Bada Babuli' or 'elder Babuli' (Babuli being the name of their first-born). Anytime my father or any of us went to Badabapa's house for something and Maa was around the kitchen, she would not let us leave without serving us something to eat. That still continues even today on our rarer visits to our village.

On the matter of food, sharing and brotherhood, let me recount a story in the memory of an elder cousin brother Chandu Bhai, whom we lost untimely due to a road accident. Manabasa Gurubaar (usually in the month of Nov-December) is a very auspicious and holy festival in Odisha. It is in the honour of Maa Lakshmi and the puja, preparation of delicacies (including the variety of pithas) is led by the women of the family who usually keep a fast. For us children though it is a day of eating various salted and sweet dishes which are usually shared among families. One such Manabasa, Chungu bhai, Chandhu Bhai and I, we sat down together, in the verandah of Badabapa's house which was at the centre of the three families. Maa had put out a large thaali for us and started to serve various delicacies that she had prepared and even some that other families had shared with her. All three of us were unusually (or usually) hungry that day and within minutes, we managed to finish around 3-4 servings by Maa. This was a particularly visible spot and watching us eat there, my mother and other aunts got us peethas, ghantas, dalma from their homes and handed them over to Maa to serve. We finished them in a hurry too. All in one big plate. People gathered around; some from rooftops, to see what looked like an eat-off contest. Sisters and aunts kept coming in with bowls and plates full of delicacies and no sooner than they arrived with plates-full of food, they were consumed. We had no idea, what came from whose home and who ate what. We ate for almost an hour and the quantity and quality of food that we three gulped down remains as the best food memory ever. We would always recollect this memory with a smile mixed with joy and pain (after we lost Chandu bhai).

In later years, whenever I used to visit our village, I would share stories of my travels to different parts of the country, including to religious sites. Badabapa, Maa and some other friends and relatives had formed a motley group of pilgrims who travelled in groups of 10-15 to all the religious places. Badabapa would be the head of the group - he was a natural leader, and plan out all things. He would book the train tickets, work out accommodation, darshan timings etc. After checking my well-being and progress, Badabapa would sit down with a pen and paper and note down as many details as he could about places I had visited and were in his scheme of things to visit. Maa would serve me a small dose of playful scolding alongwith food "...it is you, who gives him all this info and puts these travel plans in his head and then he drags us all along at this age to god knows where all..".

Badabapa used to reflect on the loss of village life and would simply sum it up by saying "..how will a village thrive if the people who make the village are not here..". Again, he would never say it with any bitterness but rather as a pain as most of us moved to bigger towns and cities for education and work and our visits back to the village became rarer and rarer. He would say it with understanding and empathy. He would be happy with the fact that some of us still have a lot of attachment to the village and do come back whenever we could. He was surely a big reason why we did so.



I heard from my father that he was unwell, but I was sure he would recover. His demeanor, his smile and his spirit used to always belie his age. When, a few days later, I heard that he is not recovering and rather has reduced his diet drastically, I began to worry a bit. I called up and even managed to speak to him. When he heard that I was recovering from COVID myself, he got very concerned and advised us to be cautious and take care. His concern for the well-being and health of others was the primary thought with him even in his last days. Badabapa was an active man; always doing something in the verandah or backyard and in these last days he must have been a bit restless, not being able to meet many people, travel, inquire about everyone due to the pandemic. I believe but he had done his bit. Left an ideal so high for us that it can never be emulated but only inspire us. He has lived his life to full and given so much. What hurts is that many of us could not be with him during his last journey due to this pandemic. While his body rests, quite rightly in the village, the heaven will be so much better a place now, that his soul has gone there; he will make sure it is !

My grandfather, my friend and spiritual companion

Aja (maternal grandfather) ! this is for you. 

My earliest memories go back to the small, idyllic and beautiful village Palli, which we used to refer as Aja Ghara. Whenever we used to visit Aja Ghara during holidays or any festivities it used to be such a noisy and yet joyous commotion. There would be Aja, his band of loyal servants and even other village folks to welcome us - usually 2-3 of Aja's six daughters, their husbands and their children! The commotion would only increase, servants would be out and climbing the tall coconut trees to get tender coconuts for all of us to drink, mother and her sisters would get busy in deciding the menu for lunch, dinner with the cooks and chatting among themselves and other folks gathered around. We children, mostly living in towns and cities, would grab the opportunity and run around in the large verandas, streets, gardens, small temple of the Divine Mother and coconut fields of Aja. There was also a small pond in Aja's backyard which contributes to the first story here. 

Rather than washing my feet near the well in the verandah, I took my younger sister and went to the pond to wash my limbs - in the lap of nature you see. I slipped and fell into the water. The water was deep and I was struggling for life. Thankfully, my sister rather than trying to help me, started shouting that "brother is drowning". Meanwhile, Aja and Maa, not finding us around the house, had already started to look for us. Hearing my sisters cries, they rushed to the pond and both jumped straight in and pulled me out. I was on the brink and while going up and down in the green water, I remember praying and visualising a picture of Lord Jagannath which was in Aja's room. The Lord did help in the form of my Aja, my mother and my sister who saved my life that day. I never learnt swimming; mother being terrified if ever I got near water and Aja was always extra watchful for the rest of my visits to Palli.    

After marriage and my even after birth, my mother spent quite some time at Aja's place and finished her training (B.Ed). Hence, I was part-raised by my adorable, loving and doting mausis (aunt). They keep telling me many stories which I save for another day; but each one of them had a name for me, which in turn was the name in which I called them. So, there was Kandura (which means a cry baby), Papabaya (the crazy Papu), Balunga (naughty one), Shandha (the bull).     

Then about giving. We always got such much from him. There would be elaborate preparations while we were about to go back to our homes. Aja would summon extra people and special sweetmeats, dishes would be prepared for us along with a big sac of coconuts, fruits and other gifts to take with us. In our homes, we would eagerly wait for Aja around the Savitri and Prathamasthami time to come with gifts, clothes and eatables for us. He would start from Palli and cover his daughters one by one, going to each daughter's place, staying for a few hours or overnights, giving the gifts and then moving on to the next one. He never missed to do this, until his health failed him towards the very end of his life. That he would do this on public transport, mostly bus and shared cabs/vehicles, in his old age and for six of his daughters was something we were thankful all the time. We would always pray - may god keep him healthy like this and he be able to travel and work independently.

Towards, his later years, he stayed at their townhouse in Jagatsighpur due to Aai's (grandmother) ill-health and the Super Cyclone and other cyclones, which ravaged their village. Born into a family of zamindars, Aja chose to work as a professor in a far-off town of Rairangpur, Baripada. This was not easy and he would stay away from family for most part of the year leaving the young children, his only son and daughters in the custody and care of Aai. Aai managed the household, affairs of the village, collected rents from leased out shops/homes and raised the children. Aja believed and told me often " I am only a custodian of all this (land and wealth), we don't know where it came from and why, so why get attached to all this..". "Simple living and high thinking" is my motto, he used to say.  

On to a more personal aspect of my relationship with Aja. His visits to our home had become more frequent during my graduation, when we were at Bhubaneswar, due to his may official matters relating to his pension and land records. I would immediately shift my base from my own room to the guest-room where he was staying. He would ask us to caress his chest or legs and start sharing stories, anecdotes and works from Odiya literature which he taught at the college. I was also his official pilot, getting him from one office to the other, visiting markets other people etc. But the best part was our visits to temples. Bhubaneswar being a city of thousand temples, there was never a shortages of temples to visit and re-visit. Mornings would be to Lingaraj temple, other temples in Old Town areas, evenings to ISCKON and Ram Mandir for aarti and darshan. And there were the trips to Puri. He and I would travel to Puri, do the customary darshan of Sri Jagannath, Bada Thakura and Maa at the temple and then proceed to Saraswat Sangha Ashram (of Shri Nigamananda Saraswati - who was Aja's guru) which was near the beach. We would usually have our lunch with the Ashram residents and school children. Then we would lie down and chat with the sanyasis of the Ashram. Aja would make a donation and then we would move towards the beach in the evening, before heading back to Bhubaneswar. On a few occasions, some of my friends had also accompanied us on these trips to Puri and enjoyed the company, stories and life of my Aja more than the fun at beach. 

In between all this Aja and I used to share and discuss all that we had read and understood about spiritualism, God and Man. I had begun to read the Complete Works of Vikeananda, my guru Shri Paramahansa Yogananda, Ramcharit manas, Shankaracharya and other masters and was happy to clarify my doubts from him. Aja would share insights from years of life spent as a seeker. He would also share his books with me to read. I remember some of his books, his underlinings and translations of difficult words vividly. He would share all this in the true spirit of empathy, never preaching or prescribing anything but understanding, appreciating my struggles and even sharing his very frankly. Again, the details of all these are very personal and detailed; would save them for another day. He would quote verses and passages from the rich Odiya literature, which I had unfortunately no exposure to, and explain them lucidly to me. We would discuss, debate, share points and counterpoints all the while in the spirit of true satsang or shashtarth. He was my first and true guru-bhai (spiritual companion). 

Aja, I miss you in more ways than one.