People
My Father's House
SATYENDRA SINGH HUJA
As I am getting older, my father is getting wiser, and so I visit him every year to take benefit of his wisdom while he is still around.
Coming back to visit my father in India is always an emotional experience. As the plane approaches the coast of India and readies to land in Bombay, lots of thoughts, emotions and memories go through my mind, flooding back about 50 years spent away from home and many visits in between.
Usually my brother meets me at the Bombay airport, and we drive to the city of Pune where my father lives. The trip takes three hours; we have a great opportunity to talk on the way. My brother usually briefs me on the developments of the past year and happenings on the home front.
On the way we usually stop at Lonawala to have breakfast. The last time we stopped there, we shared a table with another couple. Somehow, we got talking: as soon as we introduced ourselves, he immediately started talking about my father because his father had worked for my father, and he had very warm memories about my father.
He insisted on buying our breakfast. This often happens to me when I go to India. Wherever I go, usually they know my father, which is quite surprising to other people who travel with me.
At another time, I was flying within India with a Rotary group and the person on the next seat knew my father from his reputation in the sugar industry and from pictures in his own family album.
My father is an engineer by education, and was CEO of a sugar and chemical conglomerate. He is nationally known and respected in his field of sugar technology.
Once I get home, my father is usually waiting outside, standing alongside long-time family servants and his German Shepherds, to welcome me back home. He places a garland around my neck and gives me a big hug, and I touch his feet to show my respect.
I can see a glow in his eyes every time he sees us. The first act after the arrival is to go to the family prayer room and ask for blessings and thank for a safe journey.
As I pass through the living room, I stop by the picture of my mother who passed away a few years ago. It brings back many fond memories and even a few tears.
I bring gifts for my father, brother, sister-in-law and servants. It is very hard to get a gift for my father because he does not really need anything. So, I will bring him almonds and pistachios and some item of clothing. For my brother, I will also bring some shirts, chocolates and canned seafood, as he is very fond of them. For my sister-in-law I bring some item of glass and perfume. For the servants, I bring some clothing or I will give some cash.
When I head back to the US, my suitcase is also full of gifts from home. My father insists that I take some Indian mitthaa-ees, cashews, candies and pickles, and my brother sends things for his sons and for my sons.
On each trip, three things never fail to impress me. The first is the high density of population. The second is the rapid rate of construction, and the third is the level of new technology.
My father lives in a single-family detached housing area, which allows buildings up to five stories, and thus many of the single-family homes have been demolished and replaced by five-storey condominiums, changing the character of the neighbourhood and the quality of the environment. My father has a big house on one lot and a second lot for a garden, with the hope that one of his sons will come back one day and make a house on this extra lot. Almost every month some developer asks my father, whether he would be interested in selling the lot. My father’s standard answer is that he enjoys his roses more than he would enjoy the concrete buildings.
As for technology, in the last five years it seems that every block has computer hardware or software businesses, and every year there are new kinds of cars, motorcycles, and trucks.
My father’s house is technically not his house, because it used to be in the name of my mother, and when she died it was passed on to her three sons. This was to avoid paying the heavy death duty twice instead of once. My father says that he is only a renter in the house.
This house started as a one-level house containing four bedrooms, five bathrooms, and a dining and living room, kitchen, pantry, office, courtyard and prayer room. While the house was being built, my mother got sick and thus my father decided to build a duplicate house on the top with the thought that he would rent upstairs, so that somebody would always be there while he was traveling out of town.
But soon he realized that he did not like sharing his house with outsiders, and thus he had the property vacated, with a one-year free rent incentive to the tenants, because in India it is very hard to get tenants out by any legal means.
Now, my older brother lives in the upper part of the house, when he comes to Pune on the weekends.
The house is made of brick, concrete and stone. It is in a modern art-deco style, and a bit of mish-mash of modern designs, with a prominent stair tower on the side of the house.
The inside of the house is furnished with semi-modern teak furniture, wall hangings, and the stuffed-head and skin of a leopard, shot on one of my father’s hunting trips. The leopard is often of great interest to visiting children.
The house also has a beautiful garden, garage, carport, private well and servant’s quarters. My father is very fond of landscaping and thus there are trees all around the boundary wall. As a result, a lot of sunlight has been blocked. I asked our gardener why he does not trim or cut down some of the trees so that we can have some more light. He tells me he would lose his job if my father found out that he had cut his trees.
One of the trees in the center of the lawn was at 65 degrees, leaning towards the ground. I suggested to my father to have the tree cut down and he replied that just because the tree is bent, it does not make it a bad tree.
Every month an old horticulturist visits our house to talk to my father about the state of trees and shrubs. The conversation usually starts with recollections of the past and a cup of tea and eventually gets down to plants and their health.
The house is fairly large, covering approximately 6,000 square feet of floor area. On one visit, I recall, my younger son inquired whether it was a hotel because people were living in different rooms, and they did not look like my father. I explained to him that they were our aunts and uncles who were visiting because we had come.
Some were my father’s friends who come to visit him on a regular basis. Some were people who used to work for him and were in town to be close to one of their family members who was in the local hospital.
The name of our house is “Shanti Niwas,” which is named after my mother. The words literally mean, “Where peace resides.”
Even though I own one-third of the house, there is no doubt in my mind that it is really my father’s house, and as long as I am there, I have to live by his rules and ways.
Let me now tell you of those who are usually ‘living’ in the house.
My father (known as Papa ji), one to three aunts and uncles who are visiting me and my father, often one or two of father’s friends and four permanent servants.
The first staff member is Ram Dulara, known as Bhaaiyya ji. He has been with our family for 38 years and came to work for us when he was barely in his teens. He is treated like a fourth son by my father.
He is the manager of the house, and in charge of everything, including distribution of funds to us. His advice is sought and valued by my father and by everyone else. He is a man of many talents … his duties range from that of a driver to those of a plumber.
The second staff person is Bijju who has been with our family for about 20 years, and is now married to Bhaaiyya ji. She basically does most of the cooking, laundry and in house work. She is treated as a lady of the house and is temperamental.
The third staff member is Nand Kishore. He has been working with our family for about 25 years and is responsible for cleaning the house, shoe-shines, etc.
The fourth is a part-time gardener who takes care of the plants and odd chores.
Besides these people, my older brother, Ribi ji and his wife, Miti ji, live upstairs. They also have two servants upstairs and sometimes there is a little bit of excitement between upstairs and downstairs.
My brother is a most loving and generous man. He cannot do enough for me. I just have to mention something and it will be done. My sister-in-law is also very loving and a wonderful cook. She makes tremendous dishes for me, especially with fish. She is a little bit unhappy though that my father does not treat her as the main lady of the house.
My daily routine at my father’s house begins with my waking up at 6:30 am. I am served tea in bed. I get dressed and go for a morning walk with my brother. We come back by 8 am for another round of tea and cookies on the top terrace. I then read the newspaper and do my paatth for about an hour.
From 9 to 10 am, I shower and dress up as breakfast is served at 10 am. Usually our cook makes what my mother would have cooked for me if she were living. This cook has been with our family for 39 years.
After breakfast, we usually do some reading or head into town for shopping. There will also be guests dropping in as my father has told them that his son from America is visiting. Around 11:15 am, we will have coffee on the patio. At this hour the postman will deliver the mail personally to my father and they will exchange greetings. My father will insist that he eat and drink something before he leaves, especially if these are festival days or the first day of the month.
The time before lunch is when my father and I talk and share family history and stories. Lunch is usually served between 1:30 and 2 pm. My father is vegetarian and thus the food downstairs is vegetarian, whereas the food upstairs in my brother’s home is often non-vegetarian; so I benefit from both styles of food.
After lunch is the time to do some reading, and from 3 to 4:30 pm is time for a nap. Tea is served at 5 pm with some snacks.
Usually we will have a visitor or neighbour join us for the tea. We again go for an evening walk between 6 and 7 pm. When I go with my father, usually the driver drives us to a park where we follow an oval walking trail. The walk in the evening is more of a social event than exercise. Every few steps my father will greet somebody and thus it takes a long time to finish the walk.
This is also time for us to catch up with our chats. When we come back, Bijju usually has lemonade ready for us. Between 7 and 8 pm, we join our father for paatth and dinner is served between 8 and 8:30 pm.
Between 8:30 and 9 pm is news time. Around 9 o’clock, Bhaaiyya ji makes me coffee with whipped cream. After that my father goes to bed, and I go upstairs to be with my brother and sister-in-law, to watch CNN and BBC, and read.
On Sundays, we visit the gurdwara in town and after that we will go for grocery shopping. In India, for grocery shopping you go to different shops for different things. For example, you go to one shop for potatoes, one for the grains, one for sweets, etc. At each place you visit, you have a relationship with the shopkeeper, and thus it involves a social exchange before any business is done.
My father is very fond of fruit, so we end up buying basket-loads.
It is a country where, when an appliance breaks down, you can get it fixed instead of throwing it away as we do in the United States. Once our electric iron had broken and my father had given it to a small electrical shop for repair. I went along with him to pick up the iron. As we walked into the shop, we were offered tea and we exchanged news about each other’s families. My father inquired whether his iron was repaired and the craftsman gave him a package indicating that the iron was in fully working condition. My father inquired about the charge for the services, but the electrician would not accept any money.
Back in the car, I chided my father for not insisting on paying the poor man for the repairs. My father had his usual mischievous smile and indicated to me that he has known this electrician for 30 years. A few years earlier, this man wanted to start his own business, so my father gave him 5,000 bucks to start his business. I was again mad at my father and asked why he did not loan the money instead of giving it to him. My father again indicated, with his usual mischievous twinkle, that he could spare the money and now this man has his own business and he feels good when he feels he has done him a favour.
If he had loaned the money to him, my father explained, the man would have probably avoided meeting him thereafter, because he may not be able to pay it back, and as a result, he would have lost a good friend as well as the money. He said that this was therefore a win-win situation: my father feels good about helping him, and the man can return the favour by repairing the iron … and my father still has a good friend.
Once my father and I were taking our morning walk and a milkman on a bicycle with his cans of milk stopped to say hello to my father. It was a cold day and the milkman was wearing very nice gloves. I recognized that I had bought these gloves for my father when he was visiting me in the USA. My father told me that this man needed the gloves more than he did.
My father is very interested in education. We have a family charitable trust which gives scholarships to poor students for education .He has also provided funds for the construction of a 800-student English-medium high school in memory of my mother. My mother was dedicated to spreading literacy and taught all our staff to read and write.
Now, on my visits, I visit this high school with my father. In the Sikh Faith, we are supposed to give ten percent of our income for charities. My father will often check with me to see if I am following this practice. He encourages us to contribute to the education of the needy.
My father is very active in the gurdwara. In the nearby village, he helped build a new gurdwara. He is the president of the management committee even though he is now 90 years old. Often on Sundays, we will go to this gurdwara for diwan and langar.
We also have visitors from the village who come to seek my father’s advice on all kinds of personal, community and religious matters. Usually there are at least two to three visitors everyday, and in most cases I have to be introduced and have tea with them.
My father is a very organized and fastidious record keeper. He has a file on each son and has all our letters. He updates his accounts regularly, to the penny. This seems a great waste of time to me, but to him it is a matter of principle that all accounts of business and life must be fully balanced. In spite of this he is quite willing to assist us when we really need help.
Once when I landed in New Delhi (1000 miles from Pune) with the Rotary Club visiting team, a man was waiting for me at the airport gate with an envelope full of Indian currency … so that I wouldn’t have to spend my dollars.
Up to 10 years ago, he insisted on providing me spending money whenever I was in Pune.
In India, there are at least three schools of medicine: one western, one homeopathic, and one ayurvedic. My father and most Indians often utilize all three systems simultaneously. He often insists that I try the alternate modes of medicine, even though I don’t have his faith in their effectiveness.
Doctors still occasionally make home-visits, whenever needed. Usually these visits turn into social occasions, that is why they always seem to be late, but this doesn’t bother anyone, except visiting Americans.
I sometimes like to be alone on the roof in the garden terrace, especially on the large swing, which was a favourite of my mother. The view from the roof terrace used to be of the nearby mountains, but now all you see is the mid-rise apartments.
From the roof, you can also pick fresh mangoes from the adjoining trees in our garden -- they are my father’s pride and joy.
While in India, I am not allowed to drive because my father thinks that it is not safe for me. He is probably right, even though I feel that I could manage as I have managed to drive in 50 other countries. But my father insists that the driver chauffeur me around wherever I go. This is also helpful because he usually knows where to go for different things.
My visits back home are in the winter season when there is the Punjabi festival of Lohri, when we make a big bonfire and gorge on a variety of sweets geared to the season. This also happens to be my birthday. So we have a tea party and birthday cake for family, friends and I.
It is wonderful to have a birthday at home because it brings back fond memories from my childhood.
When I am back, I also try to make up meetings at the local Rotary Club. Usually, a member of the club will pick me up and drop me back. Often, I get to meet people there who have worked for or with my father. Once they know our connection, it is hard to break away from them.
Here at my father’s house, I have a number of rituals or things that I do once a year. Bhaaiyya ji gives me a head-to-toe massage. This is also a time for philosophical discussions and catching up on family issues. Bhaaiyya ji also gives me advice on my health and for my general happiness.
Then, I have a favourite bookstore where I go for books on religion, poetry and art. The vacation provides time for indulging in these joys. My father complains that I only come there to read books.
I also always visit our family tailor of thirty years. He inquires about my father and then we finally get down to measurements for tailoring a suit for me, which requires at least one trial before it is finished.
I visit our neighbours across the street who have been our family friends for the last sixty years. Every time I go there, I have to have something to drink and eat. These are special foods that they serve … which my mother would have prepared if she were living. This lady was my mother's best friend.
My vacation passes away very quickly. In these two or three weeks, I get to have a true break, and every need and desire of mine is catered to. It makes it hard to come back to the realities of the US because here I have to do everything myself. But I get adjusted pretty quickly.
My father starts worrying about my departure at least two to three days in advance. He wants to make sure that I have appropriate travel arrangements and that I have done all of my shopping and packing.
My older brother helps me with the latter because he can pack more in less space than anyone I know. Before I leave the house, we do a quick ardaas together and I say good bye to family and the servants. As is customary, I give some money to each of the servants for their help and for their care of me during my stay.
My brother takes me back to Bombay by car or train. I usually spend a day of shopping and dining in Bombay before I leave. My flight back to the US always leaves late at night.
Just like the arrival, the departure too is very emotional.
I always enjoy my visits to my father’s house, but I must confess that I am also happy to be back to my own home.
The last time I visited my father’s house, as usual, I half expected my father to be standing to welcome me at the gate, with a smile and a garland.
But this time around, there was no father.
He had just passed away and I had come to participate in his last rites.
Soon there will be no “Father’s House” either. Inevitably, it will give way to condominiums.
But there will always be my father’s house in my fond memories … and I will visit it again and again.
* * * * *
HAPPY FATHER"S DAY!
[The author is currently the Mayor of Charlottesville, Virginia, USA.]
First published on May 27, 2013; re-published on June 19, 2016
Conversation about this article
1: Sangat Singh (Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia), May 27, 2013, 8:08 AM.
Satyendra Singh ji: you have now completed the painting that Birendra ji started, and given us a glimpse of an early heaven of your dear Pita ji's dwelling. As ordained, whoever comes must go home one day -- "chal chal ga-ee-aa pankee-aan jihhee vasaa-ay tal" [GGS:1381.8] - "The birds have flown away and left ..." You have also solved a mystery about Bhaaiyya ji and his revered place in your household ... and other members of the Huja establishment.
2: Irvinderpal Singh Babra (Brampton, Ontario, Canada), May 27, 2013, 9:31 AM.
Mayor Satyendra Singh ji's account of his dad, Bombay, Lonavala, Poona, their house ... is outstanding. Sardar J.S. Huja, M.& ME, member of ASME, U.S.A., General Manager of Godavri Sugar Mills at Kanhegaon in Ahmednagar, Maharastra, was himself an outstanding man, much respected for many of his professional and personal skills. My grandfather had known him. My heartfelt condolences on his passing away. His family is hugely carrying on his fine legacy on both sides of the Atlantic.
3: Amy Yawanrajah (Malaysia), May 27, 2013, 9:01 PM.
Yes, it seems we do not know that time moves on. We too have to prepare for the time when we will be no more and the House will be but a memory.
4: Harinder Singh 1469 (New Delhi, India), May 28, 2013, 1:01 AM.
All these years I have been walking the other way round to my father path! He would request me almost every second day for a morning walk in a particular historic garden (the Lodi Gardens in Delhi - established 1444). One day our whole family was invited by more than a score of his grey-bearded friends. We went because we felt bound to attend. But once there, we were all amazed by the atmosphere of the group and the care they showed for each other, the camaraderie. My wife Kirandeep Kaur, our son Manmeet Singh, our daughter Pranvat Kaur, our daughter Gurnadar Kaur, and I joined in the long stroll. And while looking around at the Lodi monument - the Sheesh Gumbad Tomb - it suddenly hit me: how can this be ignored in Sikh history? Guru Nanak could not have left Delhi without looking around at this wonderful garden and its structure(s), for example. Anyway ... now we don't miss a single day when we go to the gardens for a walk. Half a dozen friends join us ... it has added so much to our life, made it lighter and more relaxed. We now attribute our good health and daily routine to our loving Dad. It is amazing how big a role our parents have in our lives!
5: Rosalia Scalia (Baltimore, Maryland, USA), May 28, 2013, 3:12 PM.
What a beautifully rendered piece, a tribute to Mayor Satyendra Singh ji's father. This article sings arias for me -- I can easily read it multiple times because it is so lyrical, earnest and heartfelt at the same time. It makes me wish I had been able to know the author's father because not to know such a man is an serious omission. Thank you for publishing this beautiful tribute.
6: Rabindra Singh Huja (Pune, India), May 30, 2013, 10:46 PM.
I am Satyendra's eldest brother, a retired Naval officer settled at Pune, India. A beautiful narration on how life moved in our father's house and the exact details how Sateydra spent his annual holidays in India. I like his tribute to Bhaaiyya ji who served our family with great dedication. Whenever I asked Satyendra to carry something for his nephews (my sons), his first reaction was always, "Sorry, no space!". Until I got down to packing his bags. Satyendra is such a loving and affectionate brother and our partings on his visits were so tearful. On one of his visits, as usual I drove him to Mumbai for the return flight and as was customary we went to our most favourite restaurant, "Sher-e-Punjab". We ordered some delicious Punjabi food with Seekh Kebab. As we were eating, we heard a terrible crunch and found Sateydra had a broken tooth. Emergency patchup had to be organized as he was leaving in the next few hours. A costly meal in that he had to spend many dollars on his return for a permanent remedy! We wish he does make visits to Pune same as he he did to our father's house at 73 Anand Park.
7: Krishna Kalra (Dallas, Texas, USA), June 04, 2013, 4:08 PM.
Sardar Jai Singh ji was a very close associate of my father and they worked together in the sugar factory. He insisted that my father build a house across the street from him, so that they could be close to each other. He treated my mother like a younger sister. I remember when my father was not in good health, he called me and advised me to come. After my father passed away and I asked my mother to move to live with me, on learning this he got mad at me and asked me if I thought his family couldn't take care of her! He was a gem of a person.
8: Paramjit Singh Grewal (Auckland, New Zealand), June 14, 2013, 7:34 PM.
Thanks for sharing a wonderful article on your father's house. As a child, we visited my Nana ji's (maternal grandfather) and Naani's house with our mother. As long as they, my grandparents, were alive, it was my mother's "peyka" -- maternal home. That point only hit home when both passed away and the house was put on rent. All of a sudden, we had to adjust to visiting our siblings individually instead of all meeting at our family home.
9: Manmohan Singh Kalsi (India), October 05, 2014, 4:15 PM.
My maternal grandfather Sardar Uttam Singh followed respected Huja Sahib from Sardarnagar, Gorakhpur to Mawana near Meerut in 1949 or so - and remained in touch till he passed away in 1990 at Mawana. The annual greeting card from Pune always arrived for my parents and grandparents at Mawana. My father, Sardar J S Kalsi retired from Mawana in 1998 and spent a few years at Sardarnagar. I visited Sardarnagar on a couple of occasions in the period 2004-06 and met many people who remembered Huja Sahib fondly. I am based at Bangalore and will look forward to meeting the family of late S. Huja Sahib to pay my respects, if convenient to the family.
10: Ari Singh (Rio de Janeiro, Brazil), June 19, 2016, 6:24 PM.
Somehow this piece of narration is familiar to all of us, especially those of us who are scattered across the diaspora. This piece is nostalgic and beautifully woven.
11: Jogishwar Singh (Lausanne, Switzerland), June 29, 2016, 11:28 AM.
Singh Sahib, could you please let me know if Ram Dulara is the son of Ram Dhani and spent his childhood in Nabha (Punjab)? Ram Dhani was our gardener havig a young son named Ram Dulara who was my regular childhood playing companion. I would be most grateful if you could verify my request and let me know.