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Ganesh Pai

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 id="h-ganesh-pai-shares-memories-of-his-father-and-the-lessons-learned-from-his-father-s-behavior-presence-and-attitude-of-forgiveness">
 GANESH PAI
 shares memories of his father and the lessons learned from his father’s
 behavior, presence, and attitude of forgiveness.
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 The tempo1 was ready to depart. It was a short 30-minute journey
 from Bhatkal to Uppunda, a sleepy village in coastal Karnataka, India. My
 father, sister, and I were traveling together. Since we were first in, we
 quickly found seats. Pretty soon, the tempo was jam-packed; even an ant could
 not have entered. As the journey started, the conductor started collecting
 fares, and as he neared our seats, he asked me to stand up and let an adult
 sit in my place. I was about to get up when my father tapped me on the
 shoulder to indicate that I should stay seated right there. The conductor told
 my father, “Sir, you will have to pay full fare for your two kids.” So he
 handed over two notes without batting an eyelid, and my sister and I traveled
 comfortably that day.



 We may not have been rich, but he made us feel rich that day. That’s my father
 for you. I have many such beautiful memories from my childhood about my
 father, watching him up close and being inspired by his outstanding qualities.
 Let me share a few memories from my childhood that have left an indelible mark
 on my memory.&nbsp;



 Growing up, I was a big fan of cricket. Not a difficult choice to make in a
 cricket-frenzied nation. One of my uncles had gifted me a cricket bat and I
 looked for every opportunity to wield my new willow. My brother and I would
 play cricket in the living room on the first floor of our home, and our
 mother’s warning not to play there would fall on deaf ears. My father had also
 advised us to stop playing inside. It was a Sunday afternoon when my brother
 and I decided to have our bilateral series. Things were looking good until the
 ball smashed against a beautiful chandelier hanging on the ceiling.



 To say I was nervous will not do justice to how scared I felt that day. I had
 no idea how to deal with the mess I had created. My fate hung in as much
 imbalance as the chandelier on the ceiling. When my father came home for
 lunch, my mother did the honor of breaking the bad news. In my mind, I was
 pretty sure that I was about to get a tight slap. My father heard my mother,
 gave me a deep look with his penetrating eyes, and left without uttering a
 word. He was upset. However, in that instant, he had forgiven me. His love for
 me outweighed his liking for a materialistic possession. I can never forget
 his act of kindness.&nbsp;



 My father had a rock solid routine. He would have been a perfect brand
 ambassador for a Swiss watch. His clockwork started at 8 a.m. when he left for
 the restaurant, where he worked as the Manager. At 8:30 a.m. he was in the
 market, purchasing vegetables and groceries. At 9:30 a.m., he was at the bank.
 Since he was always one of the first customers, he wrapped up his work fast.
 From there, he completed any other work. Finally, he dropped the bag of
 vegetables and groceries he purchased for our home and then returned to the
 restaurant.


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<h4 class="has-text-align-center">
 He was forgiving, but never gullible. He was prudent
 with his time
 and money, but not a miser. He was centered even when surrounded
 by a cyclone. Intuitively, he seemed to know that he was much greater
 than any situation he would ever face.
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 With this well-planned schedule, he never needed to step out again. He
 believed in the economy of efforts. He would advise us to plan our activities
 to accomplish the most with the minimum amount of time. He would urge us not
 to go out four times to complete four different tasks. Instead, step out once
 and complete four tasks in one shot. He believed in return on time as much as
 return on capital. He may not have read productivity classics like&nbsp;Getting Things
 Done&nbsp;or&nbsp;Eat That Frog, but he could have given any
 productivity guru a run for their money.&nbsp;



 I admire my father’s emotional stability. I remember an incident on a late
 summer evening when I was around ten years old, and we had a short circuit at
 home. There were sparks coming out of the power meter and my mother and I were
 shocked. I ran to see my father in his restaurant and told him, “Bappa,
 there is a fire at home.” Without panicking even for a moment, he
 patiently heard me and quickly concluded that it wasn’t something serious.
 Then he coolly said, “I see. It should not have happened. I will send an
 electrician. Don’t worry, I will see you and Mom at home later.” I was
 shell-shocked to see his calm demeanor in the face of what looked like a
 disaster to me. His calmness gave me a sense of assurance, and I instantly
 felt relieved. Personally, it was like watching James Bond effortlessly
 conquering a high-stake crisis.&nbsp;



 When I look at how my father led his life, I notice that he did not operate
 out of 101 philosophies. He had just a few, and he followed them irrespective
 of the situation around him. He was forgiving, but never gullible. He was
 prudent with his time and money, but not a miser. He was centered even when
 surrounded by a cyclone. Intuitively, he seemed to know that he was much
 greater than any situation he would ever face.&nbsp;


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1A small van

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<h4 class="has-text-align-center">Illustrations by ARATI SHEDDE</h4>

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