Weren’t they all a tad weird
The Dyapas generation before me
Who were peculiar in their own way
The men more so
And not so much the women.
My father, Gopal, I knew not much
Having but few memories of him
Of how he was concerned
When I cried rather copiously
At the slightly harsh word spoken to me
That it was not right for me a boy to cry;
I know not what pulled him into politics
But not being quite the political animal
He perhaps was in it for the service
And the name and fame that he relished;
He was far more generous to people
Than seemed prudent given his earnings;
I am told he was mature for his age
Handling family responsibilities
And to an extent the agriculture front
At a young age, barely out of school;
‘Tis not as if he did not try to earn
But fated he was not to earn the big bucks
Though he lived a rather rich lifestyle
Presumably, as some say, thanks to
The income stream from the agriculture
Handled by his younger brother, Hanumanth.
Hanumanth, too, I did not know well
Nor did people in the family
Talk about him much
As he went about his work in the village
Pretty well I am told, but discontent I am told
That he was the one shouldering it all
With his elder brother not helping much.
The more younger brother of dad, Damodar,
Was the one whom I interacted with
Quite a lot throughout my life until recently
When he was the last of his generation
To bid goodbye to us, and he was the intellectual
In his generation, and equally well able to match
The people of our generation in intellection
Knowing as he did quite a bit
Even about Nietzsche the philosopher
Though whom he seemed to admire
Were the statesmen and their oratory,
The likes of Lincoln, Kennedy and Bose
And the world-conquerors like Napoleon
Who, he would never tire saying,
Slept on his horseback and but a few hours
As he marched on gloriously to victory
And so his constant urging of me
To be ambitious to achieve much in life
As much as lay within my powers
Not to mention his urging of me
To get up early in the morning
And to do yoga and exercise
Which I never did practice for whatever reason
But he never tired of reminding me of those
Right till he breathed his last recently,
And seemingly had a more fulfilling time
After the age of 56
At which age he started his practice of law
Having failed a great deal early on
In his undertakings of government contract works.
Then there were the two sisters of my dad
The younger one, Nagamma, widowed at a young age
Whom my grandfather never got married again
Fearing what the public would say
And how that could lower the chances
Of finding suitable matches for his sons;
She was the rock of Gibraltar of the family
Raising all children of the joint family
Almost single-handedly and almost impartially
Though some did think she showed favouritism;
She was the most practical and shrewd
Always lamenting the impolitic ways of her brothers
Who seemed to not get along in the world
Unable to afford even a fridge, let alone an own house,
And we fondly called her Akkayya.
The elder sister, Peddakka as we called her,
I forget her real name,
Was also as practical as they came
Lanky in physique, she never had any illness
And would swig a little whiskey now and then;
Lest you think she was the only Dyapa of her generation to do so
Let me put the record straight and say
All her three brothers drank and smoked till late into life,
But her, too, I knew not well enough
Though I did visit her in-laws village a few times
And lucky she was to pass away in sleep
Quite a few years before Damodar,
The other three having passed away in quick succession
In three consecutive years one after another
Way back in early 1990s, again without much suffering.
In a way we Dyapas of this generation
Seem a tad different from them
In that we all have embraced the world
Far more than they seemed to
And at the same time
The men of our generation
Are a tad more weird
Than the women,
But all far more prosperous and well educated
Than those of the previous generation.
What’s more
The generation after us
Seems all set to outdo our generation.
Know Thyself 